by Zoey Parker
But he isn’t a viable option, a little voice in the back of my head whispered. I tried to shake it away and splashed some water onto my pale, slightly green face. This morning sickness was really getting to me.
I frowned. I should be lucky to have someone like Shawn. After all, wasn’t he here, knowing I was pregnant and would only be marrying him—assuming that was still my plan, though I wasn’t sure anymore that I could do it—for the sake of a baby that was someone else’s? And hadn’t he come to get me instead of just running off to save himself, just because he knew I was in danger?
How could I not want him?
And yet, still, I didn’t. In fact, I found myself sometimes not even liking him lately. I told myself it was my hormones and that I was being oversensitive, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that Shawn was no longer the boy I had been best friends with for so long.
Taking a steady breath, I dried off my face, ignoring the purple bruise-like marks from lack of sleep just beneath my eyes, and unlocked the door to the bathroom. Time to get to it. And time to ask Shawn where we were going.
When I walked out, he was standing by the car filling it up with gas. He was talking on his cell phone, pacing. As he ran a hand through his hair, I noticed that he looked agitated. Which wasn’t really unusual given that he’d looked agitated for all of this morning now, but I got the feeling he wasn’t happy about whatever conversation he was having with the person on the other end of that phone.
Biting my lip, I thought about trying to get close enough to eavesdrop, maybe figure out what was going on. A second later, though, I felt stupid, childish. What a ridiculous thing to do! If I wanted to know what was going on, all I had to do was ask him. Regardless of how emotional I’d been or how on edge he was, we were still best friends.
Still, I hung back a little, watching him for a few moments longer. Shawn finally stopped, saying something animatedly to whoever was on the other end. He let out a sigh, then nodded. He must have agreed to something that the caller had said, though I couldn’t hear anything and was worried about getting closer for reasons that I couldn’t place.
Finally, he pulled the phone away from his face and shoved it into his pocket. He ran a hand through his hair once more, then went back to the car. He pulled out the pump and replaced it, screwing the gas cap back on.
I decided it was time to head over to him, before he noticed me and asked what I was doing. Forcing a smile, I asked him, “Shawn? Do you know where we’re going?”
He jumped a little at my voice, like he was surprised I was there. For a moment, he looked really nervous about something, but then it passed. He forced a smile and nodded, “Yeah. I do. It’s only about an hour from here and if we go now, we’ll get there long before dinner.”
A weird feeling crawled up my spine, but I nodded anyway. “Okay, let’s go.”
We climbed back into the car. He didn’t tell me anything specific about where we were headed and I didn’t mention to him that I’d been standing there while he was on his phone, trying to listen in to his conversation.
***
The place was a dump. A complete wreck. I’d been in some less than perfect places before—hell, my little studio apartment was shoddy at best and it was in a bad part of town—but this place took the cake. Even by my low, low standards, it looked awful.
There was a sign out front that said the Market Town Inn and there was a neon sign below it that was supposed to say whether or not there were any vacancies, but the “no” part of the sign kept flickering, so I really couldn’t tell if there were or weren’t.
“We’re staying here?” I asked Shawn as he pulled in to the parking lot. I felt bad instantly, not wanting to sound like one of those prissy, high maintenance girls, but I just couldn’t help it. This looked like the kind of place you went in a horror movie to get killed by a serial killer.
Shawn shot me an annoyed look, but seemed to forcibly smooth out his features a second later. He offered a smile as he said, “I know, it looks like a little shithole, but I promise, it’s a good place to stay.”
I was about to open my mouth and protest. There were probably bugs in the bed, holes in the wall, and all kinds of diseases in the bathroom. But then Shawn pulled up next to a parked red truck that I recognized instantly.
“Oh, my god, Logan!”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Shawn grin. “See? Told you.”
I blinked, glancing from the truck to Shawn and back to the truck again. I was overcome with relief. My brother was here and alive! That must have been who Shawn was talking to on the phone at the gas station! Logan was probably calling to tell him for us to come and join him. For a second, I was just so happy that I leaned over and threw my arms around Shawn, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
He was momentarily surprised, but then I felt his hands reach for my waist and his head turn so his mouth was aimed for mine. I pulled back quickly, realizing my mistake instantly, but did my best to play it off as just excitement to see my brother. Which it was. Flashing a bright smile at Shawn, I quickly popped open the passenger door and hopped out, racing to the truck. “Logan?” I called eagerly. “Logan, where are you?”
I heard a door slam, and turned to see Shawn getting out and jogging over to me. I thought I heard him curse. “Would you shut up already?”
My eyes got wide as I looked at him. I didn’t think he’d ever told me to shut up before. “I just…” I just want to see my brother, I finished in my head.
He raked another hand through his hair. “Sorry. It’s just, we’re kinda in hiding, you know?”
I bit my lip, feeling ashamed. I nodded.
He put his hand on the small of my back, pushing me away from the truck and towards the line of doors that marked the motel rooms. I almost squirmed away from his touch, not wanting his hand there, but decided that would be rude. Shawn didn’t mean anything by it.
We walked all the way to the end of the corridor to the lobby where a bored-looking attendant sat behind a small, rickety desk. There was a little squishy toy frog posted on the desk with a taped message saying, “Push me” on it instead of a bell and the inside of the lobby smelled like a weird mixture of fish and old feet. Definitely not a good smell. What was worse, they had one of those air freshener things in the room which spouted some awful, fruity tropical pineapple smell into the air, too, but not enough to cover up the bad smells.
It was enough to make my stomach roil, and I thought for a moment I was going to throw up again. It was only the knowledge that my brother was here somewhere and we’d only have to be in the lobby for a moment that kept me from racing to the nearest bathroom or outside. I wasn’t about to be picky.
“Excuse me, sir?” I asked, getting the attention of the brown-haired man behind the counter.
With lazy, annoyed eyes, he looked up at me. “What?”
Rude, I thought, but pushed it aside. I wanted to be nice to get this guy to be helpful. Smiling brightly at him, I asked, “Have you seen the owner of that red truck out there?” I pointed to where Logan’s truck was. “He’s a guest here and we’re supposed to meet him. Can you tell us where to go?”
The man let out a long, obnoxious sigh, like I’d just asked him to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and walk across the Sahara Desert or something. I really didn’t like him much, but I was trying so hard to stay calm and pleasant.
He turned to his ancient computer, which was actually so old it still had that black background with the green letters on it. I didn’t even think you could still use those. He typed something in and the computer beeped. He typed in something else. Then he waited and waited, staring at the screen with boredom written across his features. After what felt like eternity—I’d begun breathing through my mouth, but then imagined I could taste the fish and the feet smell, and that was so much worse—he finally turned to me and said, “One oh two. Opposite end of here. They go in reverse order.”
Then, without another word, he turned away
from us, propped his feet up on the opposite counter, and flipped open a magazine like we weren’t even there at all.
I shared a look with Shawn who was staring at the man in disgust, then led the way out of that room and back to fresh air. As soon as the door closed behind us, I breathed in deep. Thank God.
Shawn pushed ahead and led the way to the room at the other end. We almost reached the door, excitement building inside me, but then Shawn began to slow, his pacing turning into little more than a crawl. I was getting impatient, so I moved to pass him, to race to the door, but his arm shot out and caught me before I could. I whirled around to look at him in surprise, my eyes wide.
“Wait,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. He looked nervous about something. “Maybe we should just get our own room first, you know? Then we can call Logan and—”
I stared at him like he was crazy. My brother was right there! Mere feet away! And get our own room? Something in me shuddered at the thought, and it wasn’t in a good way. We’d had sleepovers before, slept in the same room, done the same things, spent whole days together before, but somehow things had changed. Now the idea of sharing a single room with Shawn seemed…well, not like a good idea.
I didn’t know why.
Focusing on my brother instead, I shook off Shawn’s grip and said, “Are you crazy? Logan is right through that door!”
Shawn opened his mouth to say something else, but I wasn’t listening. I raced for Logan’s door, banging on it impatiently as soon as I did. I heard Shawn mutter something but didn’t catch what it was. I didn’t care.
“Logan! It’s me! Open up!” I continued to pound.
Finally, the door jerked open and my brother was standing there, blonde hair and blue eyes. The same way he’d always looked. My brother, the one I knew. Not a criminal, not a murderer. Just my brother. I was about to rush into his arms, when I noticed the scowl on his face. My expression dropped.
He cursed, poking his head out of the door and looking around quickly. He spotted Shawn and glared at him. I noticed Shawn shrug out of the corner of my eye and wondered if maybe it hadn’t been Logan on the other end of the phone earlier that day after all.
When Logan seemed satisfied that it was only us, he reached out and grabbed me by the upper arms. I winced at his grip, his fingers digging in slightly to my flesh. He jerked me inside. Shawn was there a second later and then the door was closed behind the both of us. Logan released me with a shove.
I half stumbled, half fell onto the bed, surprised by the sudden release, my eyes wide. “Logan, what’s—?”
But he wasn’t listening. Interrupting, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?”
His eyes were flashing, almost menacing, and for a second I thought I was completely wrong. This wasn’t my brother. This wasn’t the boy I’d grown up with. In fact, this was a complete and total stranger standing right in front of me. I felt tears prick behind my eyes at the thought, but I pushed them aside. I had to focus.
“We… we ran away,” I told him, glancing over at Shawn. “Because of…of Nikolai. You know, the guy who—”
But I didn’t have to explain. Logan paled the moment I mentioned Nikolai’s name, telling me he knew exactly who was after him. I frowned. How did Logan even know Nikolai’s name? And why was he so angry?
“Shit,” Logan cursed, threading his hands through his hair and gripping it so tightly I was worried they’d pull back with blonde chunks clutched between the fingers.
My heart thumped, almost painfully. I stared at my brother, then glanced at Shawn. He was looking around the room, looking casual. Like maybe he knew something and didn’t want to talk about it.
I swallowed hard. Licking my suddenly too dry lips, I returned my attention to Logan. “What did you do, Logan?” I whispered, dread pooling in my gut. I worried he wouldn’t tell me. I worried he would.
Taking a shuddering breath, he looked over at me, aiming his gaze just a little off from my eyes. “You won’t have to worry about Nikolai anymore. None of us will.”
Chapter 26
Nikolai
The first thing I noticed was the ache. It was all over my body, beginning at my jaw and moving outwards in throbs that felt like blood trying too hard to pump through my system.
My head pounded, a splitting, blistering headache making it difficult for me to focus on anything else. For a moment, I just had to endure it, let it throb and pound and flood my system with awful, wracking pain. It was dreadful, to say the least.
The pain didn’t subside, but as I grew used to it, it became easier for me to focus. I began to attempt to figure out where I was, what was going on, and whether or not it was intelligent for me to move.
As I followed the catalogue of my aches, I found that my shoulders were sore as though I’d just come from the gym and worked until I tore muscle. My neck was in a similar state, stiff enough that I wasn’t thrilled with the thought of moving it. I left that still and alone for now, hoping it would ease out a bit with time. Traveling lower, I noticed my ribs were sore—I’d likely been kicked, perhaps when I was unconscious—and below that, I felt stiffness in my legs. They felt less as though someone had kicked them, however, and more as though they’d been left in a single, uncomfortable position for so long.
I hadn’t opened my eyes just yet. The pounding in my head, though slowly becoming more tolerable, cautioned against that and I definitely didn’t want to make it worse. I tried moving all of my limbs, making sure there was nothing too badly damaged, and found that everything seemed to more or less be working just fine. Maybe I didn’t feel great, but at least I wasn’t broken—or dead.
The thought raced through me, bringing the softest tinge of cold with it.
I was a hit man. I wasn’t afraid to die. But that didn’t mean I relished the idea. There were people out there who had a death wish, who stared it in the face, watched it and even waited for it, baited it until it came for them like a raging bull. But that wasn’t me. I liked this living thing.
Shaking off the thought of death—well, my death, anyway—I forced my eyes open. They felt grainy and a little rough, like I’d just gotten out of the ocean or been asleep for a day.
How long have I been unconscious?
As soon as the thought hit me, I snapped my eyes the rest of the way open, ignoring the pounding of my headache. I jerked myself up into a sitting position, realizing just how bad things could be.
“Shit,” I said out loud, realizing that it was already dark out. The day had shifted, leaving me behind, and now Logan could be anywhere. Had he been the one to attack me? I had to assume so, though there was a chance it could have been someone else. His buddy, Joshua maybe, or even that asshole Shawn guy who was so interested in my Madeline.
I doubted that last one, but acknowledged that there was a possibility for it. I doubted he was involved with Logan and Joshua and their ill-planned heist, but there was a chance he’d followed me while I trailed Logan and tried to get rid of me.
Looking around, I took in my surroundings. It looked like I was in a ditch somewhere. Beneath me, the earth was moist, soft, not quite muddy, but not dry either. It smelled almost fresh, like rain had hit recently. Looking past the ditch, or up over the side of it anyway, from what I could see from my seated position, there was nothing but trees surrounding me.
I frowned. How far had Logan gone to dump me?
Struggling to my feet, ignoring the ache in my limbs and the dull throb of my ribs, not to mention the sharp jabbing pains in my head, I thought things through. Madison was heavily wooded, so there was a chance I was still in town. But if Logan—assuming, of course, he was the culprit—had half a brain in his head, he’d have gone at the very least to the edge of town. Far from him and his truck.
Or maybe he’s already moved on from Madison, I thought gravely.
I cursed again. I would have to call Sergei back and figure out if the truck was still there. I searched myself and found I no longer had my gun, nor my
wallet. My phone was missing, too, which actually made me angrier than the rest. The gun was easy—I had another in my car, which I hadn’t parked at the motel, so it would be safe from whoever attacked me—and I had spare cash, IDs, and credit cards there, as well. But the phone? That was a direct line to Mickey and to Sergei. I wasn’t overly concerned that whoever had taken the phone would have the balls to call either of them, but I didn’t like the idea of not being able to get ahold of them.
