by Holly Hart
I sagged a little as I finished my impromptu, but powerful speech. Roman caught me before I stumbled. "Okay, okay," he said, his voice smiling. "You got me. Remind me never to let you go into politics, okay?"
"Believe me," I said with feeling, jutting my chin out to make the point. "That's the last thing I'd ever want to do." The comment lingered, though, lodging itself in my subconscious. If the last week had taught me anything, it was that crazier things have happened.
I looked down, toward Roman's sleek wristwatch. "Come on, it's time."
Roman cast one last, lingering look at the rifle lying next to us on the table, but to his credit he didn't so much as mention it.
I hope I'm right about this…
26
Roman
We waited on the corner around the block where the Irishman, Massey, had first accosted us. My hands twitched, fingers aching for the cold, smooth, comforting feel of a warm trigger underneath them. Ellie was right, as she so often was, but I didn't have to like it. I'd never felt more naked. The handgun strapped to my waist was all well and good, but it was a peashooter, when I could have had a cannon…
Get out of your head…
Dead on two in the afternoon, a car turned onto the potholed street that led toward my leg, deep in the heart of the industrial district. I blinked as I saw it. "You've got to be kidding me…"
"Roman…" Ellie warned. "Remember, play nice."
Suitably warned, I realized that I was resting on the balls of my feet, and rocked back onto my heels. Again, Ellie was right. No use in leaning forward threateningly. The die was cast. If they wanted us dead, it would happen. But it didn't feel that way.
As the car crept forward, the reason for my surprised outburst became clear. The car was a stretch limo, black, and polished to within an inch of its life. It crept down the street, weaving around potholes and crushing old, discarded tin cans as it moved. The crackling sound they made as they collapsed in on themselves reminded me of popcorn popping in the oven. Ellie linked her hand with mine without a word. I could tell she was nervous. She was right to be.
The limo purred to a halt in front of us, and neither of us moved. Ellie said what I guessed all of us were feeling. "Well, what the hell do we do now?"
Before I could reply, the driver side window rolled down with an electronic hiss. "What're you folks waiting for," a familiar voice cried out, the upbeat Irish accent bringing a smile to my list before I wiped it off. "Get in the back. The bosses are waiting."
I looked to Ellie, and she shrugged, at as much of a loss as I was. "I guess we better do what the man says…"
I stepped forward and opened the rearmost door, my other hand resting on the handle of the weapon holstered at my waist, ready to draw. I saw Ellie's disapproving look out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored it. I hadn't brought the rifle, but there was no way I was letting her step into the inky darkness of the back of the limo without at least some protection. "Me first," I murmured.
As usual, she ignored me. My heart leapt into my mouth as she stepped forward and ever so deftly maneuvered herself in front of me. Before I had a chance to react, she clambered inside. The last thing I saw was her tight ass disappearing inside the limo.
Not now…
I hurriedly climbed in after her, ready to do battle to save her. Instead, as my eyes adjusted to the lower light inside the car, I heard a soft voice.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet us. I know that deciding to trust us can't have been easy."
I blinked, and the limo's interior faded into full view. It was stunning. Four liquor bottles slotted into a glass cabinet on the right-hand side. They sat beneath one of the windows, their clear and golden contents still rippling. My ears detected the ever so slight background hum of a miniature fridge, and I saw metal tongs.
Our hosts, though, were another story. They were a study in contrast. One looked as though she was born for this – royalty, or close enough. The other… Not so much. He was dressed in a smart, dark gray suit, but the jacket lay on the seat by his side, and his crisp white shirt was rolled off at the sleeves, revealing a patchwork of tattoos underneath. His face was bearded, though well-maintained, and his hair swept back messily behind his ears. He had the thickly muscled, calm demeanor of a fighter. I eyed him up warily, and came to one quick conclusion – he wasn't the kind of guy I wanted to mess with.
Ellie continued merrily, as though she wasn't phased for a second by her new surroundings. I couldn't say the same for myself… "Oh, it was nothing. Honestly, I was a bit nervous, but Roman insisted."
I almost spluttered out loud at Ellie's barefaced lie, but somehow managed to hold it together. In this kind of environment, Ellie was entirely in control. Like I said, I'm a fighter and a lover, not a talker. That's not my domain, never has been and I guess it never will be. I hope it never has to be, especially now that Ellie's by my side.
The man opposite reached out his hand. I bit the inside of my lip and reminded myself to stay in the moment. They hadn't given me any reason to suspect their motives… Yet.
"Conor. Pleased to meetcha so I am. The wife dragged me down, but I've been wanting to meet ya. Any man sticking two up to Victor Antonov is fine by me."
"Roman," I grunted, accepting the handshake. Conor's hands were firm and calloused. Definitely a fighter, I thought. And definitely not one I'd like to get on the wrong side of, either. "Thanks… For not shooting us." I broke a smile, just to show there were no hard feelings.
"Thanks for not shooting my man earlier," Conor grinned. "It's getting harder to get a visa these days, even for the Irish, would ya believe it!"
There was a slight crack in the privacy shield separating the driver and the main cabin, and as if on call, I heard Massey say. "Yeah, a close one, so it was. Remind me never to believe you again, Conor. It'll be easy, you said. Just a drop off, you said," he mimicked. His tone was light and airy, and my eyebrows danced. This whole thing was getting curiouser and curiouser. Conor and his man, because I hesitated to call him a henchman, had an easy, friendly relationship – not what I would have expected if he really was a typical mob boss.
Conor rolled his eyes, and replied with a tone filled with mock exasperation. "Massey, how many times do I got to tell ya to keep that damn thing closed. Don't think I don't know what you're doing, boy."
His reply came in the form of a groan, and the mechanical hiss of the privacy shield rolling back up. "Can't get the staff these days," Conor chuckled. "Forgive me, I've been awfully rude, you haven't met my wife, have you?" He turned to the elegant woman sitting to his left, and a genuine smile lit up his face just at the sight of her. "Maya, Roman," he said, pointing at me. "And Roman, Maya."
The limo's engine growled into life, and the vehicle continued its slow, gentle route down the street. I tensed, my shoulder stiffening, but Ellie shot me a look. I had to make do with letting out a deep, stressed breath of hot air. "Nice to meet you," I said, hungry to get on with the formalities. I felt out of place, and hasty to get out of here, like flames were licking at the soles of my feet.
She smiled, and I could tell why Conor's face had filled with such delight as he turned to her. At any other time, I knew that I would have hungered for her. Not now, not after meeting Ellie. I could respect her beauty, sure, understand her effect on men – but it washed over me without leaving so much as a high water mark.
"Me too. I'm just sorry it's under such… Terrible circumstances," she replied. As I studied her in the murky, dimly lit atmosphere of the limo's cabin, I noticed that there was something off about her. No, not off – different. Better.
Her hand rested on the slight swell of her belly. My eyes flickered downwards in a movement I had hoped to conceal. Either I was getting rusty, or Maya was a damn sight sharper than I had anticipated. I figured it was the latter.
"Is it that obvious?" She grinned, with the same delighted expression on her face as any one of the legion of pregnant women across the world who say they aren't telling
people just yet, but so are…
I looked down, embarrassed. "I'm sorry…" I murmured.
"Don't be," she replied with a gentle laugh. "It's no big secret. You don't get to tell many people in this line of work. Most of my men, bless their hearts," she said with a quick glance up at the privacy shield, "are more of the meathead variety." She looked disappointed that Massey was unable to hear. I guessed that he didn't fall in that category.
"You're pregnant!" Ellie half-shrieked. "I don't know how I missed it!"
I wanted her to hurry along, to find out why the hell we were sitting here, and how the hell this all fit together. But more than that, I wanted Ellie to be happy. I wanted her to get a break, even if it was just a few seconds, from the misery we'd both been feeling. And this might be as good as it got.
"Four months along," Maya smiled. "Couldn't keep him off me, could I?" She rolled her eyes and gestured at Conor who grinned unrepentantly. He grinned, as if to say: can you blame me?
"It's one of the reasons we're here, actually," she said, her tone and posture changing all at once. She was straight-backed, in control – all business. I shuffled up and sat thigh to thigh with Ellie. I guessed she'd be doing the talking, but we were sitting at the big boys table now, and I wanted to give her all the support I could.
"What do you mean?" Ellie asked, her brow bunching together. I was glad she asked.
"Conor and I set this all in motion," she sighed. "When we killed my father. I don't think either of us expected Alexandria to turn into a paradise of sunlight and rose petals overnight, but," she spread her hands and clenched her jaw in an expression of distress. "We didn't expect it to go downhill this fast, either. You and Roman here have got caught in the middle of a war we started, and we want to help."
That's more like it…
"How?" Ellie asked shrewdly. I shouldn't have doubted her commitment to our cause. Looking at her, the way she held herself, interested yet guarded; her face expressionless, it was as if she'd been playing the game for decades, not minutes.
Maya nodded. "We know what," she paused to correct herself, "who they took from you, Ellie. I'm sorry you've had to go through this. As a mother, I can't even imagine how you're feeling right now." She stopped and blinked, her eyes glancing at me as if for the first time. "Are you…" She said, breaking off as if worrying that her question might cause offense.
"The father?" I growled, feeling my throat close up. "Yes."
"I'm sorry, to you too," Maya said.
"Don't be. Just tell me how you're going to help."
27
Ellie
Maya accepted Roman's bluntness without complaint; as if she felt she deserved it. "Of course. Victor wants you to meet him by the war memorial tomorrow, doesn't he?"
I spoke first, because I sensed Roman's leg trembling. He was bristling with distrust, and I wasn't sure I blamed him. "How could you know that?"
"He doesn't change. He used to say he liked that place," Maya said, a hard, joyless smile on her lips. "Quiet. No police. Good field of fire… Believe me, I'd never get in bed with a man like that."
"I wouldn't let her…" Conor chuckled. Just as with his wife, the smile didn't extend to his eyes. I believed them. They weren't trying to pull the wool over my eyes; they weren't working together with Victor. Conor for one looked as though he might physically recoil if he had to speak about the man for much longer.
"Okay, okay," I said, closing my eyes for half a second to take stock. "Let's get back on track. What are we actually going to do? It's no good just sitting around and waiting. The clock's ticking, and every second we wait is another second he's got my son!" I knew I sounded desperate, but I didn't care, not any longer. I felt desperate, and it was hard enough keeping things together without hiding that, too.
Maya's eyes spoke in volumes of sadness. "I'm sorry we can't speed things up. It's going to have to be tomorrow. What time are you supposed to meet him?"
I saw Roman look at me, and I locked eyes with him. We conferred wordlessly, as though we've been married for decades. I nodded, though my head moved barely half an inch. Decision made. "Midday."
Maya chewed her lip. "He's going to kill you, you know that? If you go to that meeting, you're as good as dead."
I had suspected it, but this was Roman's world, not mine. I wasn't used to having to wade through a dozen different shades of gray. No, not gray – dark, blood red. This was a dangerous world, and I felt that I was just a tourist in it, not an expert. I was glad when his voice growled to life.
"Of course. The odds are stacked against us, you might say."
Maya chuckled. "You might," she agreed. "I don't think Victor's evil enough a man to kill the child, too. He's sick, don't get me wrong, but he's a businessman. He knows that his men are fathers, sons, and grandsons. They're more than happy to kill. They'll draw the line somewhere. My worry is what happens to the child after –" she paused.
"After we're dead," Roman said. Those three words set a chill inside the cabin, and a shiver up my spine. After all that I had been through in the past few months, death didn't scare me as much as it might once have. But something scared me more – dying without ever seeing the face of my own child. Dying without a chance to bring my baby up, without seeing him in a school uniform for the first time, or hear his first word, watching him learn to walk, or –.
"Precisely."
"We can't let that happen," I choked.
"You're right," Maya agreed. "And I don't intend to. But what we need is a plan, and to be honest," she shrugged. "We're all out of ideas."
"I've got an idea for you," Roman grumbled. "I get my rifle, and I put a bullet through his head. How's that?" His shoulders were tense, hunched over, and his thick, powerful neck had almost disappeared beneath them, like a turtle retreating into its shell.
Maya and Conor looked at each other, communicating a silent message. I looked at the pair of them with distrust. Conor turned back to face me. "We were hoping to find another –"
"No!" Roman boomed. "That man has my son, honor demands that he doesn't live to take another breath. He's taken enough from me already, more from Ellie," he pointed at me with his elbow, and leaned forward threateningly. "Why the hell would you want to protect him? Because your wife's his niece? Not good enough."
He stared daggers at Conor, and the wiry fighter met his gaze without flinching. If the temperature in the cabin had dropped a few moments before, now the mercury in the dial shot right past a hundred.
"Boys!" Maya remonstrated, with a calm, teacher-like smile tickling her lips. I looked at her with renewed respect. I could see how she'd managed to insert herself so nimbly into the top of her late father's organization. She was a very, very impressive woman. "No fighting."
I laid a hand on Roman's shoulder and pulled him back. He relaxed into my touch, but he stayed on a hair trigger, coiled and ready to spring. "Thanks," I muttered to Maya. "I think we're all a little bit tense. Why don't you tell us what you're thinking," I said, in a tone that sounded conciliatory, but demanded real, solid answers.
"Conor and I are trying to build a new city," she said. "Now, I'll be the first to admit that it hasn't all gone as smoothly as we had hoped… But we need to break this cycle of violence once and for all. We need to send a message –"
"We are not sending a fucking message with my baby's life on the line!" Roman barked.
"Roman," I chided. "Let her finish." Whatever she says, it better be good.
Conor took up the baton instead. "Listen, man," he said in his lilting accent. "Don't be a fool. I hate to say it, but your child's life is on the line whatever happens. All the lady's asking is that you don't kill Victor. If he dies, another snake just takes his place at the head of the table. We should know. We are trying to put a stop to it, or at least hold back the tide. The law needs to take Victor down, not us."
"So what are we supposed to do?" I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth. "Just sit on our hands and pray?"
M
aya shook her head. "No," she said evasively. "But that's where we hope you come in…"
My hands jumped to my chest. "Me?"
This time, Maya nodded. "Victor doesn't just kill people. It's bad for business. Dead men don't pay protection. Or even ladies. So I asked myself, why was he hunting you down so hard? A reporter at a struggling small-town paper, fighting off the wolves at the door. There must be a reason. So I read a few of your articles, and I began to get a sense of who you are, Ellie. You have something on him, don't you? Tell me I'm right." She looked hopeful, her eyes wide and posture disarmingly open.
"You want me to write an article," I said disbelievingly. "That's what's dumped me into this mess in the first place."
Maya clenched her fist with elation. "You do have something. Something big."
"Did."
She deflated like a popped balloon. "No he can't have it, it doesn't make sense. Why is he still hunting you?"
"He doesn't." Roman grunted. "The police do. She was carrying every last document when her boyfriend –"
"Ex-boyfriend," I corrected firmly, a flash of hurt burning through my skull.
He shot me an apologetic look, and pressed his thigh against mine. "When her abuser beat ten bells out of her and put her in hospital. If it still exists," he cleared his throat, "and that's a big if, then the police have it in some evidence locker. And unless you've got a man on the inside," he said, looking up hopefully. "Then we're outta options."
Conor's foot kicked out and hit the nearest door. "Bollocks," he swore. "I told you they'd come in useful."
Maya cracked her neck. "Hindsight's twenty twenty," she groaned. "But you go to war with the army you have, not the one you want. What if we could get you into that evidence locker?" She said, looking her gaze with mine. Looking into her eyes was like staring at a huge sheet of pearlescent blue-green sea ice – and just as cold.
"Out of the question," Roman said, leaning forward. "She stays with me."
