The man watching us tips a head in her direction, like he’s giving me permission to do what needs to be done. Like I said, cocky fucker.
A quick glance at Lena and I see just how fast she’s fading. I take the most direct route to her, hoisting myself up and over the bar, ignoring the glasses that get knocked down in the process.
Lena doesn’t push me away like I expect. Instead, she leans against my chest, my body between her and the retreating Russian, and lets me rub her back as she catches her breath. This whole thing has shaken us both up.
“I’m getting you the fuck out of here,” I tell her.
“Fine.” Her answer is so faint I have to lean down to hear her. “But you’re taking me home.”
Always so defiant.
“I’ll take you home,” I agree, intentionally omitting whose home we’re going to.
I turn to help her out from behind the bar and find Johnny striding toward us. TheArkhangelis gone. There’s no point tracking him; now that he’s delivered his message he’ll vanish back to whatever hell he came from.
My second-in-command and I share a look. There’s no denying it—this clusterfuck is just getting started.
9
LENA
“Oh my God.” Tears burn the back of my eyes, hot and humiliating. I blink them away.
There’s only so many times in one day I can show weakness to the man stalking me.
Though, if I’m being honest, I’m glad I’m not on my own right now. Even if my relentless shadow is an overbearing, tyrannical giant.
Rem wasn’t going to bring me home, but I insisted. I think I was in shock after being manhandled by that Russian guy. One minute I was doing my job, pretending to care about the ridiculously rich patrons who come to the symphony performances, pouring drinks, smiling, and being the utterly forgettable waitress behind the bar. The next, I was being manhandled by yet another enormous bully while Rem and the man in question lobbed verbal threats over my head.
After the Russian guy slammed my side against the bar, I had to use all my focus to stay upright and keep from throwing up the granola bar I wolfed down at the start of my shift. I didn’t have the capacity to track what Rem and the Russian were saying, let alone figure out the subtext.
By the time the symphony performance started I was so lightheaded I just wanted to go home, I didn’t really care how I got here. Apparently,myhome wasn’t what Rem had in mind when he and Johnny hurried me into the car. It quickly became obvious that we were heading in the opposite direction of my place. I told them to turn around. They said no. I said they couldn’t ignore the demands of a bleeding woman, especially when Rem is at least partially responsible for said bleeding.
Johnny was driving. Rem was in the backseat with me. I saw them exchange an intense look in the rearview mirror, Johnny only pulling a U-turn after a brisk nod from his boss.
They didn’t want to take me here. Now I have to wonder if this is why. Wonder if they knew what was waiting.
Behind me, Rem curses but I can’t tear my eyes away from the total destruction of my apartment.
Bullets didn’t do this. People did.
My sofa cushions have been slashed open, the stuffing strewn on the floor. Lamps knocked over, bulbs broken. Books ripped down from their shelves. Kitchen drawers ripped off their runners, contents dumped all over the cracked linoleum floor.
My bedroom is just as bad. Worse, even. Whoever did this went through my underwear drawer and threw my bras and underwear all over the floor. I pick up a pair of white undies and feel the tears threaten to return. There’s a muddy footprint stamped into the thin fabric.
“Who would do this?” I whisper, stepping over a pile of shredded sweaters and returning to the main living space. I can’t bring myself to see if my favorite fuzzy yellow one is amongst the wreckage.
“You really don’t know?” Rem watches me pick my way through my tiny apartment, his gaze a physical weight on my face. “You’ve been shot at, threatened at your place of work, and now your apartment has been destroyed, all in the span oftwenty-four hours. You must’ve really pissed someone off, Lena. You really want me to believe you have no idea who?”
Glass crunches beneath my foot. I bend down, retrieving a broken picture frame.
The photo inside is of me with the Haywoods, taken ten years ago.
Something about that broken photo breaks me and I lash out at the closest target, jabbing the wrecked frame in Rem’s direction. “You forgot my aunt dying and her house burning down. Oh, and being held hostage overnight by strangers,” I shout at him, voice shaking. “I amveryaware of how horrific the past day has been. It’s happened tome, asshole. And, no! I have no idea what the hell is happening or why my entire life is falling apart like this. What did I do wrong?” I scream, waving my arms, ignoring the ever-growing pain in my side. “What could I possibly have done to make someone what medead? Huh?”
I’m in front of Rem, slamming my fists into his chest, photo forgotten on the ground. “Maybe it’s you! You showed up at the same time everything fell apart. The fire, getting shot, that crazy Russian—it all started when you appeared. This is all your fault.”
I’m sobbing now, pride be damned. Pounding my fists against the heavy wall of his chest and absolutely losing it. “You knew my place was destroyed. You and Johnny knew, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t want to bring me here.”
