“I’m a Callahan, Shaw.” She looked at me as she got on I-90 West and began to accelerate until she was driving between seventy and eighty miles an hour. “We have to get out of the country to get out of this shit—at least for a while. But before we do that, we need new identities and there’s a guy I know that can get them for us. He’s in the Lucifer’s Saints.”
“What? You mean one of the most dangerous biker gangs outside of the Hells Angels? Are you crazy?”
“Not certifiable.” She smiled at me before she looked at the road again. “Listen, Bronaugh Cox is my aunt—my dad’s sister. She never really claimed him because he couldn’t keep himself out of trouble but he is her wee brother. I’m her niece. She wouldn’t turn us away. Just shut your goddamn mouth about being connected to a Russian Bratva, and we’ll be fine.”
“Why is that?”
“One of the club member’s brother used to be part of the Koslakov Bratva, and one of my cousin’s is married into the Kitaev Bratva. It didn’t go down too well but let’s just say they have connections with other Russian Bratva families.”
“Kitaev is Povikov’s cousin twice removed but the guy is dead—his son is running the organization now.”
“Well, Erik cut all ties with his father’s closest allies. Povikov might try to contact him but the problem is he’s not gonna get any information. We need to get to Northern Nevada before we go to Mexico and if I’m correct, Kitaev operates out of L.A. We can get to Mexico through Arizona—we don’t have to use the California pipeline.”
“We do if you wanna go to Baja California. It’s the least violent part.”
I listened to Liv’s breathing for a moment. “Let’s just worry about the phones and then we’ll figure the rest out. It’s a three-hour trip and some change so let me think. You, on the other hand, need some rest. When’s the last time you got a decent amount of sleep?”
“Before Walpole but . . .” The tears came though I felt like a complete pussy about crying. “What about everyone we lost? Your mother, my mother, Ness, our friends . . .”
“We don’t know that they’re all dead, Shaw.” She sped up and breathed heavily. “Listen, I’m trying to save our asses because that asshole, Carter, and Povikov are gonna be after us. They might try to hit our families if they aren’t dead but they want us. We have the drugs and the money. I’m running on fumes right now plus I’m high and drunk. Let me get to Brooklyn and we can get rid of our phones. Can you just . . . give me till Brooklyn? I can’t think about deaths right now or I won’t make it.”
I could hear it in her voice that she and I were on the same wavelengths. She hadn’t forgotten anything. We were both running on adrenaline at the moment and we needed to get out of dodge.
Povikov was an animal but he was also my biological father. He probably wanted me to be punished for stealing his drugs. Carter still thought I was a Shaughnessy so he might give me a reprieve for being Irish. We didn’t know exactly what anyone would do with us but we knew they would want their drugs and money back. If we could get away with not spending too much of their money then we might be okay.
My mind was all over the place but there was one thought that repeated in my mind. I’d do anything to protect Liv. She’d been the strong one and right now she was carrying me but it wouldn’t be like this forever, not if we had to do a cross-country trip.
Ironically, I didn’t even think about the dead cops. We’d get rid of the gun in Brooklyn—throw it over the bridge. Neither Liv nor I could be tied to that. Dead men couldn’t talk. We didn’t plan to rob any banks to draw attention to ourselves so we really only had to worry about the gangsters; they didn’t call the FBI, DEA, ATF, or attempt help that would involve government agencies. However, they did have a national network so it was mostly dodging their guys everywhere we went.
Could we do that?
Luck only lasted so long, and eventually, everyone’s ran out.
Liv and I being Irish or not.
“Shaw, wake up. We’re here.”
My eyes immediately opened and I looked over at Liv. She’d parked in front of a gorgeous brownstone, obviously in the gentrified area of Brooklyn.
I cleared the sleep from my eyes. “Who lives here?”
“Family,” she replied non-committedly. “Mom’s side—not my dad’s.”
We both got out of the car and she locked it before we both walked on the sidewalk and up the stairs to the door. She knocked on the door. It was literally moments before a wild-haired dude with bright gray eyes, strong masculine features, and a tanned complexion answered the door.
“Shit, Liv, give a nigga some notice when you’re comin’ by.”
“Fuck off, Tyrone. Where’s the fun in that?” We walked inside and she quickly said, “This is Shaw. Shaw, this is Tyrone Divjak, my cousin.”
“Divjak—what kind of last name is that?”
“My moms converted to Islam—married a Bosnian, yo. They met at the mosque. I don’t practice myself but you do know that Liv and I have a French Creole grandmother on our maternal side, right? Aunt Callie is lighter than my mom and could pass for white so that’s pretty much what she did. She moved away and claimed her Irish side. My moms didn’t have it so easy—she had to claim both sides but both Liv and I got white dads.” Tyrone explained after he closed the door behind them.
“The hair gives it away,” I said, attempting a joke.
“This shit?” Tyrone took off his wig and threw it on the sofa. He revealed close cut, silky brown hair. “Gotta represent when I deal with the brothas, ya know? Some don’t want deal with a white guy—don’t matter if I got a nice year round tan, no one believes I’m a quarter black.”
“Tyrone, who the fuck is that?” a foreign accented voice asked as a pretty blonde walked out from one of the back rooms with a distinct Eastern European look.
“Just Liv and Shaw, babe. This is Anica Lukić, my fiancée.”
“Wait—you’re not Bosnian.” Liv approached her and looked Anica up and down. “This bitch Croatian?”
“Serbian, actually. Not all of us were bad you know. I immigrated to America to get away from all that ethnic shit. I love Tyrone—I don’t give a shit if he is half Bosnian.”
Shaw whistled. “And a big deal in Northern Ireland was if a Catholic and a Protestant married each other. No ethnic exchange involved.”
“It was religion too—the war,” Anica said as she lit a cigarette and sat on the sofa. “Albanians and Bosnians are Muslim, Croatians are Roman Catholic and Serbians, well, we have our own church—we’re Eastern Orthodox Christians. Not that any of that shit matters. It was easy to pick out an Albanian because most of them are pretty swarthy looking but not so much Bosnians . . . they looked like Croatians and us.
“Our cowardly men had to make them pull their pants down to see if they were circumcised. That’s what happened during that fucking war. I was born during the war but holding me responsible for what my piece of shit father did makes as much sense as blaming a kid born Tutsi during the conflict in Rwanda or a German born during the war. We didn’t commit the atrocities—we just have to live with the shameful aftermath though. That’s why I left.”
Tyrone glanced at his cousin, whose features had softened. “I love Anica, Liv. I don’t judge you—don’t judge me.”
“Speaking of judgment,” she began, “we need burner phones. Two of them. Samsung Notes are ideal but if you have the new iPhones then we’ll take ‘em.”
“You got some cash for this transaction?” Anica questioned as she exhaled cigarette smoke.
“Wouldn’t be here if we didn’t,” I interrupted.
Her sky blue eyes glared at me. “As long as this shit doesn’t get back to Tyrone and I. We don’t want to know why you need them. We’ll take your cash, throw in some New York plates for your new car outside that’ll check out and you be on your way by the morning.” She paused and dragged from her cigarette. “We live a quiet life despite our illegal activities. We aren’t on anyo
ne’s radar and it helps that when we do run into people who’re prejudiced, Tyrone can pass for anything. If he puts on that wig, he could be mixed, Puerto Rican, Dominican, whatever. Without, most people think he is Greek, Italian, hell even Eastern European. I can be a silly white girl with a great American accent or I can pass for Russian, Ukrainian, Estonian or Polish. We don’t have trouble, and we sure as hell don’t want any either.
“We’ve only had trouble once. This Bosnian who was in the war recognized him as one of their own, and he was with me. The guy was ready to kick his ass and spit in my face for being a Serbian slut but the bar we were at eighty-sixed him. It was the first time I was scared for us to come home. I kept looking over my shoulder for that man with sad green eyes who looked like he’d been through hell and back.”
“I’d never involve Tyrone if it meant trouble for you two, Anica. He’s my blood—maybe some of the little bit I have left. If I thought our activities could get either one of you killed then I would have used someone else.” Liv’s eyes never left Anica’s.
We both knew it wasn’t Tyrone we needed to convince but his suspicious girlfriend.
Anica finally laughed. “I’ll make you two some New York licenses as well. They won’t hold up to real scrutiny but both of you are gonna have to change your look.” Her blue eyes looked my way. “How attached are you to that hair, lover?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Good because I’m gonna be working on your girlfriend’s hair. Just cut his, Tyrone. Make it like yours.” Anica glanced at Liv. “Do you mind becoming a redhead? I’d recommend dark auburn. I’d do something wild like purple or turquoise but you two need to blend in.”
“Hold up, you plan to do my hair?”
“Liv, she’s a licensed hair dresser. She works at one of the top salons here in Manhattan,” Tyrone explained.
“I’m not an amateur if that’s what you thought.” Anica dragged from her cigarette before she put it out in a lead crystal ashtray and stood. “Let me get my tools of the trade.”
As much as I didn’t want to admit both Tyrone and Anica had the skills anyone needed to escape a former life, before they were through with Liv and us, they’d not only done better than I thought but excelled at everything they did.
Tyrone had shorn my hair to a cut similar as his own. I still had hair on the top, which Anica dyed white blond and messed around with a lot of different products until it was spikey. I looked like your average hipster.
Hell, it was what she did to Liv that turned my head. She cut her hair in an asymmetrical bob with bangs and dyed it dark auburn. Liv was virtually unrecognizable, and that was a plus because no one could ever manage to forget those gorgeous violet blue eyes of hers with the green surrounding the pupils. It was good that she could look down and away when not wearing a pair of sunglasses.
I ended up parting with twenty-five thousand of the cash we had but they’d provided New York Driving licenses under the false names of John and Cynthia Marquette plus New York state tags for the Charger so we would be harder to find. Both Tyrone and Anica assured us they would hold up under scrutiny but advised us not to get stopped by anyone in law enforcement.
That was all I needed to hear.
We both took showers and got a change of clothes from Tyrone and Anica. She and Liv were about the same size so it was easy for Liv to transform into an everyday, all-American girl in a pair of skinny jeans and a black tank top. Anica gave her a few more outfits.
I wore a pair of baggy black jeans—not too baggy that my underwear were showing—courtesy of Tyrone and a white tee-shirt. He also gave me a couple days’ worth clothes so we could change our outfits.
Looking into a mirror, I didn’t feel like myself. I didn’t look like the old Shaw. I could have been a dead ringer for a Justin Bieber type if my eyes weren’t so shockingly blue. No one would know it was Liv and I who were on our way out of the country.
Tyrone halted us as he gave us a Whole Living bag full of protein bars and water. “I’m assumin’ whatever y’all got involved in, you need to leave the country. Liv’s cousin—and my sister—Shannon, lives down in Ensenada. It’s in Baja California. She’s made a life there and has been down there for at least three years. She can offer you shelter until you find your own place. Here’s her address.”
He handed it over to me and I glanced down at his handwriting, which was quite neat for a guy.
Liv embraced her cousin and kissed his cheek. “We were never here. Povikov shouldn’t come after you two but if he does, we had the wrong address, we held you two against your will and then fled with papers you did not make for us willingly, okay?”
Anica laughed at that one. “You think they’ll believe that and we don’t have a scratch on us?”
I silently agreed with Anica and swung my right fist right into Tyrone’s eye before my left fist hit his jaw.
“Fuck, man, I know you gotta make it look realistic but I am gonna be fucked up for at least a week!” Tyrone exclaimed.
“Hit me with your gun in the head, along my hairline—that’s what you would do.” Her eyes never left Liv.
She grabbed her nine-millimeter pistol and swung it harshly at Anica’s head. The young woman fell down but she stood, blood leaking from a wound to her head. “Perfect. I can cover it up for work but if the Bratva come down here and pay us a visit, I have wounds from two psychos who were trying to get out of dodge and didn’t care who they hurt to do it.”
Liv looked at Tyrone. “Sorry about that. I feel like shit we had to hurt you at all—”
“Your twenty-five grand makes up for it,” Anica responded as she held a paper towel to her head. “Now get the fuck outta here. We gotta call the cops to make this legit. We’ll lie about the car type and give them your old descriptions but you wanna get outta New York as soon as possible.”
Liv looked at me and threw me the keys. “Let’s go. I don’t want Povikov to be able to trace our journey. We gotta get on some off roads real quick and head down to Nevada via the south. The mid-west is too obvious, and we’re bound to run into some of his thugs.”
As much I hated her plan of taking the southern route, she had a point. We’d never make it if we went through the mid-west.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” I murmured toward her.
She walked past me and fluffed my newly blond spiked hair. “I’m ready now.”
While Shaw hauled ass, passing New Jersey, Delaware and Maryland, I didn’t breathe right until we entered Virginia. It wasn’t like Povikov didn’t have guys there because he did—we were still too close to Washington, D.C.—but we planned to keep going south until we entered the Carolinas and then start to cross over.
I studied Google Maps and tried to plan out our destination. It was a funny thing but I’d never seen most of the United States and neither had Shaw so I wanted to make this into a road trip despite what we were running from.
“Hey, sweetie, you with the map, where are we restin’ our heads tonight?”
I looked over at him and couldn’t help but smile. He did look a lot like Justin Bieber but the look suited him. Plus, he was built in ways that Bieber could only imagine. I knew for a fact that it wasn’t just Shaw’s dick that was huge.
He’d worked out in prison so he’d built his body. Although still on the lean side, he had to be at least two hundred and twenty pounds on his six feet, four-inch frame, and it was all muscle. Hell, when he slipped his shirt off and I got a look at his chest, his pecs were built and he had an eight-pack instead of a six-pack.
His whole body had my girly hormones working overtime but I wasn’t stupid. Shaw and I had a tentative relationship, built on mutual love and respect but there was no way he would disrespect me. I didn’t even know if he’d have the nerve to initiate sex between us despite it being him who broke my hymen four years ago just so I could save him from Vladimir Povikov’s death, which he’d caused.
Our relationship was weird. He looked at me as a sister on
e minute and the next, the look in his eyes was of a man looking at a woman. I was never afraid of him—that was an impossibility because the man would lay down his life for me—but I did often get frustrated with him.
I was a red-blooded woman, not a goddamn statue of Madonna and child. I hated our Catholic values grilled in our heads that there were good girls and bad girls. I wanted to be very bad for Shaw but the real question was would he let me?
“Earth to Liv! Babe, where are we stayin’ tonight?”
I looked over at him and checked the time. It was barely past three in the afternoon. “Where are we?”
“Just passed Blacksburg.”
“Nashville is six hours from here. Wanna see if we can make it and rest up there?”
“And take you to the famous Bluebird Café? Sounds like a plan.”
I reached over, wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “That’s what I love about you.”
“Hell, you used to watch Nashville like a damn religion. At least that’s what you told me when you visited me in Walpole. I’m assumin’ nothin’s changed.”
I shook my head adamantly. “Nothing except our location.” I grabbed a pre-rolled joint from his box of Camel cigarettes and lit it.
“You think that’s wise?” Shaw looked over at me with those crystal blue eyes that could soak my panties if I let him but I only rolled my own and dragged from it.
“We’re on the run from gangsters—twice as bad as being on the run from the law. At least you know they’ll give you a chance to surrender, make a deal and get maybe five, ten or even fifteen years instead of a life sentence. These people want us dead, sweetie, might as well live life to the fullest.” I exhaled the strong smoke from my lungs. “Damn, this stuff is potent.”
“Povikov likes it that way. He always adds a little cocaine in its liquid form into his marijuana. It’s the reason why everyone wants Povikov Fifty-Seven on the streets. He can charge as much as he wants because people can’t get that same high from anyone else’s chronic.” Shaw grabbed the joint from me and dragged deeply before he handed it back.
Run (Run Duet #1) Page 4
