SASHA NEEDED A doctor—and a shrink—not necessarily in that order. In addition to her visible wounds, Sergeant Wilkens, Breaker, and this whole fucked up situation had done a number on her psyche. As she spoke about the shit she was going through, I paid attention to all the things she didn’t come right out and say.
She was trying to be strong. She covered up the hardest parts with a mix of vague descriptions and humor. Her eyes softened every time she brought up the missing girls. Her lips thinned and her jaw tensed at the mention of the drugs Breaker had given her. She seemed like a good person who legitimately cared about others and wanted to make the world a better place. I listened for hidden motives or inconsistencies, but everything sounded like it was on the up and up. Still, I knew better than to take anyone at their word. So, as she showered, I grabbed the ID out of her wallet, hopped online, and ran a background check on her. By the time she hollered for me to turn the water off, I was confident that either Sasha Petrov was everything she claimed to be, or she was even better at covering her tracks than I was. Since nothing about her screamed cyber genius, I chose to believe the former.
After I turned off the water and she toweled off, I grabbed a bottle of peroxide and started disinfecting her wounds. She winced as the cut on her leg bubbled. Pulling the bottle away, I waited until she took a deep breath and nodded for me to continue. To distract her from the pain, I struck up a conversation.
“Who’s the addict in your family?” I asked.
She gave me a confused look. “I never said there was an addict.”
“Maybe not with your words, but you said it.” Only an idiot could have missed her body language.
“My mom. After my dad’s death, she… she made some shitty choices. She died a few years ago trying to get out of the lifestyle.”
“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t imagine losing Mama, especially not to something so preventable. My knowledge of the drug world was limited. As far as I knew, ecstasy and molly didn’t cause a physical dependency like heroin or cocaine, but I didn’t know enough about hereditary addiction to understand the risk Sasha was facing. “Is any of the shit Breaker gave you habit forming?”
She shrugged. “There’s no telling what he gave me for sure. While I was on it, my body was hyper-sensitive, and my mind was floaty. The withdraws were like PMS on steroids. The real danger of drugs like X and molly comes from the shit people cut it with and how it’s processed. You never really know what’s in there and what the effects will be. After a week straight of use, my nerves feel frayed, my attention span is shot all to hell, and the anxiety and sadness are real. I don’t think it’s addictive, though, because I have no desire to take anything ever again.”
“That’s why you turned down the Vicodin?”
She nodded. “I don’t mess around with any of it. Well… I didn’t. When I had a choice.”
“You were between a rock and a hard place.” And now I understood just how important to her that mission had been. She’d risked everything: her body, her mind, her sanity, and Breaker had been all too willing to accept her sacrifice.
“I’m still gonna get those girls out of there,” Sasha replied.
I didn’t see how, but I nodded.
“I mean it. I know you think I’m crazy, but I won’t let him win.”
She desperately needed a reality check, so I gave her one. “Look at yourself. He already won.”
“Just the round. I’ll take the battle.”
God she was stubborn. And fiery. And the idea of her getting back into the ring with that fuckface made me want to lock her ass up so she couldn’t do anything stupid. “How? You planning to put on another sexy dress and go let him fuck with your head some more? Didn’t work so well the first time.”
Her jaw tensed. “Mistakes were made, but I’ve learned from them.”
“Not enough to come up with a game plan for a win.”
“I’m working on that.”
She was getting irritated with me, so I let the matter drop as I carried her back into the office and helped her dress in one of my wife beaters and a pair of gym shorts. We had to wrap the string of her borrowed shorts around her waist twice to keep them up. The wife beater was about three sizes too large, but the material still managed to cling to her round, perky breasts and showcase her sexy hourglass figure. God, the woman was gorgeous, and I felt like a pervert for checking her out after all she’d been through. I mean, one of her eyes was swollen shut, for fuck’s sake.
I’d been willing to let our discussion go, but apparently Sasha had more to say. “You think you’re so damn smart? What would you do in my position?” she asked.
I thought about it for a minute before answering, “I’d beat him at his own game.”
“You’d drug him, fuck with his head, and have your girlfriend beat him up?”
“No, I’m better than him. I could do it without drugs or a girlfriend. I’d tap into his life, make random purchases on his credit cards, fuck with his credit score, hack into his cell phone and send tiny dick picks to all his contacts. I’d break into his house and move his furniture around, maybe plant a couple of cameras. I’d drive him crazy until I caught him doing something he shouldn’t be doing like fuckin’ around with someone’s girl or talkin’ shit about one of his brothers. People like Breaker think they’re untouchable, so they make stupid mistakes. I just need to catch him in one, send it to the right person, and bam, they’ll take care of my asshole problem for me.”
Breaker thoughthecould play mind games? Please. The shit he’d pulled on Sasha was child’s play. I could have that motherfucker looking over his shoulder in no time. He’d work himself into a panic, wondering when and how I’d strike next, so goddamn terrified he had to wear an adult diaper to keep from shitting himself.
Then I’d destroy him.
“I don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed,” Sasha replied. I could almost see the wheels spinning through her head as she thought through my suggestions. “But that would all take time… probably weeks, and it still doesn’t accomplish my main goal. As much as I’d love to take Breaker down, this isn’t about him. I need to get those girls out of there before he moves them. Or worse.”
“By yourself, without cops or hospitals,” I added.
