“What? No. I just got off work.”
“Where do you work?”
“At the library.”
I lift a brow at her. “You work at the library at night?”
She sighs and looks even more uncomfortable when she says, “I’m one of the night janitors.”
If she thinks I’m going to laugh, she’s got another thing coming. I would never make someone feel bad about the kind of work they do. I know I hate it when people judge me for what I do. It may not be quite the same thing, but still.
I take out my phone and look at her. “What’s your name?”
“Evie Finch.”
I put her in my contacts along with her number when she gives it to me and then send her a quick text with nothing but the smiling emoji so she’ll have my number.
“Do you need me to get in touch with your dad about his truck?”
Her eyes widen and she takes a quick step closer before she thinks better of it and stops, hugging her arms tightly around her chest. “No, please don’t do that.”
I get that her dad won’t be too happy about this, but her reaction goes beyond that. She’s not just worried he’s going to be mad. All my gut instincts tell me he’s abusing her, and god does that piss me off.
Stepping around her, I take a look at the dent on the front bumper and snap a quick photo of it before sending it off to a mechanic who’s helped the Bratva out in the past, asking him how long it would take to fix this. His response is immediate, and when I see that it’ll take less than an hour, I put my phone away and turn back to Evie.
“Follow me. I have a friend who can fix that for you.”
“But,” she starts to say, and then stops as her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
“Don’t worry about the cost. He owes me a favor.” It’s sort of true. The first part is anyway. I’ll pay to fix the truck, but I’m not going to tell her that.
When she’s still standing there, debating what to do, I say, “Get in the truck, Evie, and follow me.” I smile and add, “Try not to hit me this time.”
Her mouth drops open before I give a soft laugh and get back in my car. I wait until she’s ready before pulling out of the parking lot. Keeping a close eye on her so I don’t lose her in traffic, I lead her to the garage on the other side of the city. My oldest brother, Vasily, runs the northern part, and my other brother, Volodya, runs the southern. As the youngest, I get the middle, smaller section, but I’m more than happy with the arrangement. My area may not be as big, but it’s the busiest and includes all of downtown. I thought maybe I’d get homesick for Moscow when I first came here, but I’ve grown to love this city, and it already feels like home, especially with my older brothers now married and with kids. No way in hell would I ever move away from my nephews. Family is everything. At least it is for me. I’m guessing Evie could do without hers.
When I hit the next red light, I watch her through my rearview mirror. She’s holding up a hand, trying to block the morning sun from her eyes as much as possible, and nervously tapping the fingers of her other hand on the steering wheel. I give her a little wave and then laugh at the very awkward return one she gives me. Smooth is not a word I’d use to describe Evie. I find it oddly refreshing. Once the light turns green, she follows me to Mac’s garage, parking the big truck in front of the open stall.
“Morning, Mr. Medvedev,” Mac shouts, waving at me with a hand that’s already stained with grease.
Jogging over to us, he wipes his hands on an already dirty rag and then throws it over his shoulder. Evie gets out of the truck while Mac squats down in front of it, studying the dent.
“Still think you can have it done within the hour?” I ask him.
He nods his blond head at me, running his fingers over the bumper. “Yeah, this will be easy to fix.” Looking over at my car, he raises a brow at me. “What about yours?”
“You can take a look at mine next if you’ve got the time today.”
“I always make time for the Medvedev brothers,” he says, and my eyes shoot to Evie, gauging her reaction, but either she’s the world’s best actress, or the name doesn’t mean anything to her. Interesting. Very few people in this area aren’t aware of our Bratva, at the very least the Medvedev name gets mentioned because we own so many damn clubs—strip clubs, nightclubs, a few restaurants, and even a women’s shelter that Vasily’s wife runs. Evie has evidently never heard of us, which makes me wonder even more about her. The library she works at is right across the street from Inferno, one of our most popular clubs, and I wonder if it’s possible that she’s never even been inside. She definitely looks the right age to be spending her weekends hitting the clubs, but if she were, then she’d know my last name.
“I’ll go ahead and get started then.” Mac stands back up and comes over, holding his hand out for the keys. Evie drops them in his palm and then takes a step back, hugging her arms across her stomach and worrying that bottom lip again. She pushes her glasses up her nose when they start to slip, a movement that seems as much from habit as from necessity, and then turns her eyes to mine, briefly meeting my gaze before looking away.
Mac drives the truck into the stall while I point across the street. “Want a cup of coffee while we wait?”
She looks over at the small café and fidgets with the end of her sleeves, pulling them lower so they cover half her hands. “Sure, I guess.” Then she looks at the truck and adds, “I need to get my wallet from the truck.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”
“You’ve already done too much,” she argues.
