Two
HollisMcCrae
When I brought my daughter to Pete’s Pastries, a diner down the street from our apartment, I only intended to spend a bit of time with my new friend, Petal. She works there, and I already decided the afternoon we met that she would be my bestie. The decision was made in the blink of an eye while I watched a snotty bank clerk treat Petal like garbage. It reminded me of being in her same situation not too many years ago. People, even the ones I thought I could count on, turned their backs on me when I needed help the most.
Today, I wanted to show off my daughter, Dru, the light of my life. Too many people are weirded out by the fact I have a child, but Petal had seemed interested and not at all judgy about the fact I’m barely twenty and have a four-year-old kid. She’d been amazed and impressed I’d made it out of the gutter my piece of shit parents threw me into when I turned up pregnant at fifteen. A lot of times, people, especially other women, get really judgey if they find out how I make my money, but Petal had just rolled with it when I told her about being a bop—acamgirl who makes money being internet spank bank material for faceless dudes behind computer screens.
Butnow, Petal’s sprawled out over Dru, hiding my baby girl from the terrifying men who just walked into the dining room and started screaming about it being a robbery.
“Flower, what are you doing? I’m squished!” Dru’s tiny voice, muffled under Petal, squeaks angrily. She’s only four. Barely more than a baby. My baby, and she doesn’t even know Petal well enough to have her name right yet.
Still, my new friend threw herself over my daughter, the light of my life, without hesitation when I jumped into action. The instant I heard the drugged out duo start issuing threats, I was in motion to get between them and my baby. Fear and adrenaline spike through me as the electrified cables shoot from the police-grade taser I know I’m not legally allowed to carry but keep with me all the time, anyway. And this right here is exactly why.
These fucksticks were waving around guns and screaming right beside us. Right beside my baby? Absolutely not. Abso-fucking-lutely not. Of all the asinine places to rob, these scrotum heads thought a diner was the move? A diner where I brought my precious girl? No, sir. Not today.
Now hemorrhoid-face one is screaming for a different reason. He’s flat on his back with taser wires sending just shy of lethal jolts of power into his body. Number two looks as if he’s an instant from number two-ing his pants as he stares in confusion at his buddy’s convulsing body.
“Hush now, Dru-bee Doo. There are bad men here,” I say calmly, projecting the patented ‘mom-in-an-oh-shit-moment’ tone that comes from years of handling crises on my own. I throw in the nickname in an effort to convey calm through the storm around us.
I want my daughter to have the most magical childhood possible, but I also want her to be safe. And that means teaching her all men are bad until they prove otherwise. As she grows, she’ll learn the nuance to that, but for now, she trusts me when I tell her a man is unsafe. Which these asswipes most definitely are.
“I’m quiet mouse,” she whispers back, her baby voice more shout than whisper, but thankfully still muffled beneath Petal. After all, the second robber is still waving around a small black handgun. I can’t neutralize both men, and my eyes scan the nearly empty diner to see if there’s any help on the way.
The quick report of a large caliber handgun, much sharper than the tinny pops the thief’s gunwould make, hits my ears a millisecond before the light gray of his t-shirt blooms red. A louder boom blasts through the room an instant later, and a second splash of red blossoms just below his shoulder. A red mist hangs in the air, even after the guy’s body hits the floor. Gorge rises in my throat, shock and fear the only thing keeping me from puking all over myself.
Terror for Dru’s safety threatens to turn my knees to mush. I look around the room, clocking where the new danger is coming from. An old guy in an apron and a hairnet holds a shotgun and stares over my shoulder. I turn as much as I can without losing sight of the man my taser’s still got its barbed probes lodged in. Two men stand just inside the doorway. One of them lowers a handgun that looks as big as my head, his eyes trained Petal as if she’s the only person in the room who exists.
“Relax, Champ. You won this round.” The second man, a bookend almost to the first, smirks at where I’m still standing over the man attached to my taser. Like the one staring at Petal, this guy is tall and broad, with a dark beard and shoulders for days. Where the man focused on my friend who’s still coveringmy daughter looks ferociously deadly, this one looks like a violent bookworm.
Even the tattoos, peeking from the rolled-up sleeves of the white button down beneath his suspenders, can’t vanquish the nerd vibe he gives. Which says a lot, considering he’s got a gun every bit as big as the other guy’s dangling loosely from his left hand.
“Who the fuck are you?” My mouth runs before my brain can engage. And sure enough?—
“Mommy, that’s cussing!” Dru scolds. Instead of frustrating me, her high-pitched voice with its indignant reprimand helps to settle my nerves. She’s not screaming in terror, which means she hasn’t seen any of the gore surrounding us. She’s too young to realize the loud report of the guns going off means danger.
Violent Bookworm makes his way to her, sidestepping the mess of dead guy already pooling on the linoleum.
“I’ve got this. You two take the girls and get out of here before cops show up.” Petal’s boss seems to know the men who saved us, and it occurs to me everyone is way too blasé about the mayhem going on here.
Whatever. I know how to stay in my lane. None of this has anything to do with me or the life I’ve built for my daughter. I just need to wait for my chance to take us right the fuck out of this chaos. Preferably in a way that makes it clear I’m part of the ‘saw nothing, say nothing’ crew.
Chapter
Three
Feliks
She’s magnificent, a warrior poised over the conquered piece of shit at her feet. He writhes in pain, so focused on his own situation he hasn’t registered the death of his colleague in crime. Her attention splits between me and the little girl under Sin’s obsession.
I’ve never been attracted to a woman with a child. Never felt any compulsion to spend my limited free time vying for the attention of a child’s mother. I have a busy life maintaining the finances of the largest criminal enterprise the west coast has ever not known about. And when I have a moment to indulge in pleasures of the flesh, the last thing I’ve ever wanted was to cater to someone else’s schedule.
So this immediate draw to Petal’s friend and her kid is unexpected and novel. But, like everything else I’ve learned to roll with asobshchakfor Anatoly Balakin,pakhanof this country’s biggest Bratva organization, I take this in stride.
“Give her to me,” I direct Petal, carefully untangling the little one from my friend’s woman in a way that ensures I don’t touch said woman. The last thing this situation needs is Zinovy losing his shit because I laid a finger on his obsession.
The tiny creature, a girl judging by the bright bows in her long curly hair, wraps herself trustingly around me. My hand is so large it cradles the entire back of her head as I press it against my shoulder to block the sight of carnage around her.
A moment after the child is nestled in my arms, Sin sweeps past me to snatch his woman from the booth where she’d been sheltering the girl. Taking the old man at his word, he strides for the door without another look at any of us. His focus is solely on the woman he carries, and after weeks of teasing him for his fixation, I’m starting to understand. This shit hits like a cartel’s blindside sucker punch.
