Chapter 7
Tiana’s tears soakedKeisha’s sleeve as she knelt beside the cot, comforting the teenager.She brushed Tiana’s tangled braids, her fingers trembling.Metallic taste crept up her throat...not now.She forced her voice steady for the girl.
“They won’t find us here,” she whispered.“I promise.”
Tiana’s face was puffy, eyes swollen.The raid’s mark showed in her tight shoulders, hitched breaths.Fifteen, carrying fear no kid should know.
“You can’t promise that.”Tiana wiped her nose, eyes darting to the boarded window.“I saw his face.That guy with the neck tattoo.He stared right at me.”
Keisha’s stomach clenched.Mikalai’s ink, a brand.She’d glimpsed him in the chaos, enough to confirm.Fatigue crashed, levetiracetam dragging her limbs, thoughts sticky.“I shouldn’t have taken you to the center,” she said, as she shifted, knees aching on concrete.“It’s my fault.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”Tiana’s voice cracked, defiance sparking.
Boots scuffed behind them.Sergei, silent since leading them through alleys to this hideout above his parlor.His knuckles, split and bloodied from Mikalai’s men, lingered in her mind, clashing with the artist who’d inked her scars.She couldn’t face him yet, his violence too raw.
Her arm twitched, a precursor spiking her pulse.She pressed her palm to the cot, willing it away.“I need water,” Tiana murmured.
“Water yes, phone no.”Keisha smoothed her forehead.“No tracking risk.”
“But Jalisa—”
“Jalisa knows you’re with me.”A half-truth.Jalisa was still in the hospital undergoing concussion protocol.“I’ll get the water.”
Standing tilted the room.Keisha gripped the cot, Sergei’s eyes tracking her.The narrow space shrank with his presence, shoulders blocking the exit.“In the crate,” he said, voice low, breaking silence.
Keisha grabbed a bottle, hand shaking, spilling drops on her jeans.Her tremor worsened, but rest wasn’t an option with Tiana on the cot.“Drink,” she said, handing it to Tiana, who took it with both hands.
Sergei shifted, floor creaking.“They won’t look here tonight.”
“You sure?”Keisha met his gaze, sharp with distrust.
His gray eyes held steady.“Mikalai’ll regroup.More men first.”
His calm certainty...knowing their moves...prickled her skin.He’d been one of them, not small.Tiana’s breathing slowed, exhaustion winning.
“When’d you last take your meds?”Sergei asked, eyeing her trembling fingers.
Her chest tightened.He’d noticed things when he watched too close.“I’m okay, Sergei, drop it.”
“You’re not okay, Keisha.”His voice edged, low.“If you seize—”
“I won’t.”She glanced at Tiana, drifting off.“Not in front of her.”
Sergei stepped closer.“You’re protecting her.I get it.Who’s protecting you?”
The question burned.Her independence, built over a decade, wavered.Her arm jerked, fatigue crushing.Her audit, her stubbornness, had endangered Tiana.“She needs the cot,” Keisha said, brushing Tiana’s hair.Tear tracks glistened on the girl’s cheeks.
“There’s enough room for both of you,” Sergei said, softer, almost gentle.
Keisha eyed the narrow cot, Tiana’s curled form.Sleep tempted, dangerous with tremors promising worse.“I’ll watch her for a while,” she said, sinking against the wall, strength fraying but familiar.
Sergei leaned on the doorframe, eyes never leaving her.Silence fell, Tiana’s breaths steady.Something shifted—not trust, but recognition.Bound by Tiana, by danger.Her tremor worsened, fingers clasped tight, hiding weakness.
Keisha stood, arms crossed to hide the shake.Sergei’s violence—calculated, brutal—demanded answers.“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”she asked, voice low for Tiana.
His jaw tightened.“Does it matter?They’d have taken her.”
“Tiana,” she corrected.“Yes, it matters.I need to know who I’m trusting with her life.”
