by Nicole Fox
“Well, well,” Declan growls from behind us, interrupting Molly just as she’s about to spill the beans.
Both of us spin. Molly’s demeanor completely changes. Skillfully, she slides into event-manager mode. I can tell she’s still drunk from how manically she moves her hands when she talks. But, otherwise, she seems okay. And Declan doesn’t notice.
“Mr. Walsh,” she says. “What a pleasure to see you. Can I say, you look very dashing tonight?”
I know she hates kissing up to Declan the few times she’s had to do it, but she’s a professional. She handles it well.
“Having a private little talk, yeah?”
Dashing, Molly called him, but he looks anything but. In a crumpled suit with his clearly coked-up eyes, he looks pathetic. I hate him. But I’m not scared of him, not anymore. I wonder when that happened.
“Just finalizing a few details,” Molly says.
“Well, come out here. I’ll show you the best detail of all.”
Molly follows him before I have a chance to say anything else. Reluctantly, I go out with them.
I don’t look at the photographs when we walk into the big function room. With its chandelier and large ballroom-style floor, it’s like something out of a Victorian estate, except for the blown-up photographs of half-naked Andrei, wearing the Minotaur mask and little else.
And yet, despite how screwed up it is, I feel a glow of professional pride at the photos. Enlarged, the carnality of The Beast really shines through. I did a good job.
I shake my head, clearing it. Declan is smiling. That is never a good thing.
“Wait here, ladies, if you’d be so kind.”
“The guests will start arriving soon,” I protest. “We don’t have time for your games.”
Declan chuckles. “This won’t take long. Anyway, don’t you think we’re missing something? Someone?”
He walks away, sniggering. Immediately, I wheel on Molly. But before I can ask her again what the hell she was going to tell me, Dad and Rafferty walk into the room. Dad is just as amped-up as Declan. But Rafferty is his usual quiet self, standing with his hands behind his back, frowning at the room.
“Look at him,” Dad snarls, indicating a photo of Andrei holding a comically small kitchen knife. Purposefully comical, highlighting the contrast. But Dad just sees the surface-level stuff, as usual. “Ha! Big bad Russian, eh?”
Garret, Jerry, and Ronan are behind them. Garret doesn’t trail me when I’m in the house, not from room to room, but he is never far away. I wonder if he knows more about this. Somehow, I sense that everybody’s in on a big secret I’m unaware of.
“Best part’s coming, boss,” Jerry sneers.
“Yes, yes,” Dad beams. “I can hear him now.”
So can I.
Everybody does, because they turn to face the sound of the footsteps, accompanied by the sound of Declan cursing. Eventually, Declan—helped by three other guards—pulls Andrei into the room by a chain around his neck.
I gasp, my hand rising to cover my mouth. My other hand moves instinctively to my belly. Of course, I knew this was going to happen. But knowing it beforehand and seeing it are two entirely different things.
His beard is grizzled and knotted, his hair long, his body scarred and beaten. But he stands straight, and the glint in his eyes is bright. He looks heroic, like they could do anything they wanted to him and it’d make no difference.
He’s better than all of them, even chained.
He looks at me, a small smile playing at his lips. Then he glances at my hand on my belly. He nods, and I think I know what he’s saying. I meant it. I’m here for you.
“Where’s his mask?” Dad grumbles. “Jamie? Where is it?”
“In … in my bag,” I say. “In my room.”
“Somebody get it!” he roars.
Jerry looks at Ronan, masterful delegation, and Ronan slinks from the room.
Then Dad swaggers over to where Declan and the other guards stand next to Andrei. He has manacles on his feet and his arms are cuffed behind his back, but, even so, Dad seems wary of getting too close.
“Don’t worry, Russian,” Dad beams. “This is just the starter. The main course will come later, in the basement. And dessert? Do you want to know what dessert is?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Andrei says easily.
“We’re going to cut you into little pieces and feed you to a bunch of fucking piranhas. That’s not even a joke, is it, Rafferty? You did arrange it, right?”
Rafferty nods. “We have made all the appropriate calls to the aquarium, Cormac, yes.”
Andrei smiles at Rafferty’s dry tone. “It seems I’m not the only one getting tired of your tough-guy act, Cormac. You better be careful, or Rafferty might go the same way as Timofey.”
Both men flinch. Dad curses. “Soon,” he snarls, “I’ll make you pay for that comment. And everything else. Just wait and see. Now, where is that fucking mask?”
“Cormac, can I chain him to the wall now?” Declan says, sounding like a spoiled kid on his birthday.
Dad waves a hand, and Cormac, along with the other guards, leads Andrei to the wall. He goes easily, mostly looking at me, smiling as though to let me know he’s okay. I’m just glad to see that he can walk, that he has all his limbs and fingers and toes. Dark purple bruises cover his chest and belly and back, but otherwise, he seems okay. I guess they’re saving the worst for the basement.
I shiver.
Declan runs a chain through the manacles on Andrei’s feet and the cuffs behind his back, and then secures it to the wall. I note that the key ring has three keys on it: one for the cuffs, one for the foot chains, and one for the wall. Declan slips the key ring into his inside pocket.
Okay, so I just have to get that key ring … and then what? There will be armed Irishmen everywhere.
“Sir,” the butler announces from the doorway. “The guests are beginning to arrive.”
“Well?” Dad wheels on Molly. “Make sure everything is set, girl! Where is the serving staff? Where is that goddamn mask? Quick, move!”
I don’t like the way he’s talking to Molly at all, but, before I can call him on it, Molly has already strode from the room to get the serving staff. I feel Garret at my shoulder, standing closer than usual.
I turn to him.
“Something’s happening, isn’t it?” I whisper.
He hesitates, then nods subtly.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Miss,” he says, clearly using ‘miss’ just in case Dad hears. “Not exactly, anyway.”
It’s predictably horrible once the guests start to arrive.
I have to stand at Dad’s shoulder to greet them with him, both of us playing completely different roles to who we really are. It’s worse when everybody is in the function room, though, because it’s like a photo negative of a real exhibition, inverted, feeling the opposite of everything I normally do.
Excitement becomes anxiety. Joy becomes terror. Love becomes hate. I feel like I’ve slept-walked into a horror movie.
Andrei stands at the edge of the room, between two giant photographs, staring mutely in his mask. I know they’ve gagged him, too, the monsters. The Irishmen and women gawp at him, making hmm noises. One glamorous lady approaches me, holding her glass of champagne like it has insulted her in some way.
“You really have captured the brutality of him,” she says in a heavy Irish accent. “How did you do it, my dear?”
I try to think fast, but nothing comes to me. I feel sick: morning sickness combined with just how wrong this is.
“Determination,” I say eventually, the only thing I can think of.
“Determination!” she cries. “How droll!”
I even spot one lady running her fingernail down Andrei’s chest, giggling naughtily, as though she’s at the zoo. I find myself hurrying over to her, seething. It’s only Garret who stops me, lightly guiding me with his hand on my elbow.
“Rem
ember, you’re being watched,” he whispers.
I back off, turning to look for Molly instead. She’s busy talking with the serving staff. I narrow my eyes at one member of the staff, noting how awkwardly he holds his tray. Plus, earlier, another one almost dropped a glass, only catching it at the last second, champagne spilling.
Molly is amazing at her job. She has contacts with all the major companies in the city: decoration, serving, catering, everything. So why would she purposefully choose servers who were going to make mistakes like this? Or maybe it’s just a coincidence, and the servers are nervous.
I would believe that if this had ever happened at another of her events. But it hasn’t. Something isn’t adding up.
I wait until she’s done talking to them and then approach her quickly. At least, I try to, but on the way I’m intercepted by a bunch of people. I play my part: talking about lighting, angles, emotive impact, whatever they want to know.
But, as soon as I can, I make a beeline for Molly and grab her by the arm. She flinches way, way more than she should. It’s like I’ve just snuck up on her with a blowtorch or something.
“Jeez,” she says, laughing hollowly when she sees it’s me. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“We need to talk.”
“Not here,” she whispers. She glances at Garret. “Can we trust him? I don’t want him to leave your side.”
I nod. “Yes, we can trust him! Let’s go before somebody else asks if I used my phone camera to take these photos!”
Molly laughs, sounding more genuine now, if still drunk and worn-out. “Nobody actually asked you that, did they?”
“I swear to God, they did.”
We leave the room together, walking a short way down the hallway. Molly is about to continue to the kitchen, but I’m getting impatient.
“Here is fine,” I say. “Just tell me what’s going on. It’s the servers, isn’t it? And you’re working with the Russians.”
“Jesus, Jamie!” she hisses. She grabs me by the hand and tugs me into a nearby storage cupboard, closing the door on Garret. I see him turning his back to guard us, as the door shuts. “Yell a little louder, why don’t you?”
“This is crazy!” I exclaim. “Sorry for being surprised. Just what the hell is going on? You do know that everybody in this room is armed, right? And even if you managed to sneak Russian servers in, there’s no way you got guns in, too.”
“Just slow down,” Molly says. “You’re making my head spin here. One thing at a time. Or better yet, just let me explain, okay? I don’t know how much time we have.”
My heart is so loud right now, I have to force myself to calm down, to talk slowly. “Okay,” I tell her. “Just tell me.”
She takes a deep breath. Smiling awkwardly, she says, “I don’t even know where to start. Let’s just get the facts out of the way.” She lowers her voice. “I’m working with the Russians and, yeah, it’s the servers. They’re all Russian. Well, they’re Russian contacts. They can’t be anyone from the Bratva or the Irish might recognize them. You notice that my uncle isn’t here, right? He’s been paid to stay away, because he found out about me and …”
“Your Russian boyfriend,” I whisper. “The man I almost caught you with. His name. Elik? No, Evgeni? Egor! Andrei mentioned a man named Egor!”
Molly’s expression changes instantly, becoming one of affection.
“Yes, Egor and I are together. And he’s the one who persuaded me to help him free Andrei. And the serving staff are, pretty soon, going to attack. I was going to tell you to go and hide, but then I saw that Garret was following you way closer than he usually does. He knows something’s going on. I can tell.”
“You’re in love with a Bratva soldier,” I whisper.
She snorts. “You’re one to talk! You’re in love with a Bratva boss!”
My mouth falls open. Part of me wants to deny it. But I can’t, I realize.
It’s the truth. I love Andrei Bakhtin.
Oh God. Please let us make it out of this alive.
“He’s tied to a wall!” I say. “If everybody starts shooting, he’s going to get killed!”
Molly sighs shakily. “Egor says he knows the risks. He’s waiting nearby. When the guards move from the fence to the house at the sound of the shooting, he’s going to move in with the men.”
“I have to free him. Declan has the key. I can get it.”
“You should stay out here. Let Garret guard you until it’s all over.”
“No!” I interrupt. “I’m not leaving him chained up like a—like a—”
“Beast?” Molly offers grimly.
“But he’s my Beast, not theirs! And I’m not letting them kill him.” I spin for the door and pause with my hand on the knob. “So you’re in love with Egor, then? But you must know he only approached you as a way in, Molly. As a way to arrange this rescue.”
She inhales sharply. “It’s complicated,” she whispers. “Surely you can understand complicated.”
I let out a dark laugh. “Oh, I’m not judging,” I say. “I’m just making sure you know. Does he feel the same way about you?”
“I can’t believe you’re asking me this now.”
“Just because the world is falling apart, Mols, it doesn’t mean you’re not my best friend.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I think he does. But like I said, it’s complicated.” She pauses. “Please stay, Jamie. Don’t go out there.”
But I can’t not go out there, not when my mind is full of vivid scenes of Andrei being executed without being able to defend himself.
Garret turns at the entrance, his face tight. “You should listen to her,” he says.
“You were eavesdropping.” He doesn’t deny it. “Stay close to me, Garret, okay?”
He nods. “And Jamie? I—I have something to …”
“Yes?” I demand irritably when he trails off. I’m sick of people stumbling over their secret confessions today. There’s too much at stake to hesitate.
“Nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing. It can wait.”
“Okay.”
I walk quickly down the hallway, returning to the party. Glancing around the room, I see that Declan is standing with Jerry two photos over from where Andrei is being ogled by eight or nine people. I’m struck by how similar this is to the scenes I read about in history books as a teenager, particularly one from Ancient Rome: nobles all crowding around chained-up gladiators, tittering, terrified and fascinated at the same time.
I feel sick at what I’m going to have to do. Flirting with Declan is the only way I’ll get close enough to slip the key ring from his inside pocket. I try to remember which one it’s in, but I’m not sure.
I strut over, smiling like the ditzy redhead he has always taken me for.
“Hey, Declan,” I beam.
This is the part where he should think, Now what the hell is she up to? One minute she hates me. And now this?
But he’s drunk, coked-up, and arrogant. His eyes are pinwheeling in his head and his fingers are twitching manically. So, instead, he spins on me. “Well, looks like somebody’s finally in a good mood, eh? Quite the exhibition you’ve got going on here, ain’t it?”
“You like it?” I murmur. I put my hand on his arm. The urge to vomit is real. “I’m not sure it’s any good. I’m not sure anybody’s having a good time.”
“What!” he yells, so loudly that several people turn to look at us. I can’t bear to check if Andrei is one of them. I don’t want him to see me like this. “You’re joking, right? It’s a smash hit!”
He smiles at me, his flinty eyes bright. I can tell he thinks this is the rekindling of something. I remember how it felt, having him abuse me, having him take what he wanted without asking. I resist the very strong desire to hurt him.
I smile.
I say, “Oh, you’re too kind! But do you really think so?”
25
Andrei
They’ve gagged me. So I can’t roar at
Jamie to get the hell out of here.
I’m glad when I see her and Garret leave with Molly, thinking maybe they’re going to steer clear of the exhibition room now. But then she returns.
Fuck.
I know that something violent is going to happen. Clearly, Egor has somehow arranged for these servers to be Russian men. Or men we have hired. It’s in the way they move. When you have lived all your life in a world of violence, you notice these things.
The subtle twitching of a hand. The tensed fists when there is no reason for it. A killer’s narrowed, searching eyes.
I even spot a tattoo on one man’s wrist, just for a moment before he hides it with his sleeve. The tattoo is in Russian.
Maybe the Irish would notice if they were looking closer. But they’re too busy enjoying this show. Cormac has pulled out all the stops, inviting curs from all corners of the Irish Family. Even Timofey is here, my onetime second, smiling like a fool. He has not yet come over to this side of the room, though. Coward.
Now, I watch as Jamie banters with Declan. Even if part of me knows it’s all for show, rage grips me.
“Oh, you’re too kind! But do you really think so?” she gushes.
“Of course!” Declan grins. “You’ve gotta give yourself credit, Jamie.” He leans forward. He puts his hand on the small of her back.
She doesn’t move it.
My whole body is shaking. I tug at the chains. But they just make rattling noises, solid. I can’t break free.
Then I see Jamie’s hand sliding into his suit as she laughs at some comment. Skillfully, she takes the key ring, all without Declan seeing.
I would be surprised, except that Jamie is constantly surprising me. Why shouldn’t she be as good a pick-pocketer as she is at other things? In spite of everything, I have to smile faintly at everything that is unique about her.
In some twisted way, we’re meant to be. It shouldn’t work.
But I love her. She’s carrying my child. The idea of her being killed in front of me causes more pain than I knew I was capable of.
