Run (Run Duet #1) (5 page)

She rolled her gorgeous pale green eyes and shook her long, wheat blonde hair. “That man is nothing but trouble. He’s hot with a big dick and not much else goin’ for him unless you
prefer
the criminal types. For God’s sake, you have a degree in pharmacology and he sells the illegal kind—that’s all you two have in common. By the way . . . was that intentional? Your degree?”

“No, of course not. I don’t have that kind of degree—it’s to work with a pharmaceutical company—I can’t work at your local drug store.”

“But you know a shit load about legal drugs now, don’t you?”

“Fortunately, yes, and illegal drugs as well. The major pharmaceutical companies are just waiting for the major governments in most western countries to eventually make heroin and cocaine legal the way they have marijuana. They already have the abilities to make both drugs in major quantities and sell it to the public.”

“What about meth?” Nieve wondered after she sipped from her spiked punch.

“Methamphetamines are already a pharmaceutical product. It’s not that hard for them to change it into a drug that people would want to get high off. It’s similar to Oxycontin. People who abuse the drug don’t usually swallow the pill. They crush it up and either snort it or inject it. The companies know this but they make more money on Oxy than a lot of drug barons make in a week. That’s why they don’t stop the doctors from giving out prescriptions.” I poured vodka in a cup and added enough punch to change the color.

“So, basically, you’re gonna be doin’ the same shit that your dream lover is doin’?”

“You can’t say that,” I replied as I witnessed Jerri hangin’ all over Shaw like a cheap suit before a guy approached that obviously not an invited guest. For one, he was dressed like an undercover cop. I’d serviced enough of them in the strip club I worked at to know them. They had a certain walk to them and this one had cop written all over him.

Shaw listened to what he said before he followed him out of the party.

“ . . . best thing you can do is forget about that loser and find another hot guy. It’s not like this party isn’t crawling with them,” Nieve said but I’d only picked up part of the conversation.

“I’ll be right back,” I replied and followed Shaw the undercover cop out of the front door.

There were people from the party loitering about in front as well so I didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. I finished my drink, tossed the plastic cup into a trashcan threatening to overflow and watched as the undercover cop walked Shaw over to a brand new, black Dodge Charger. He handed him the keys while they continued to talk but I couldn’t hear a word they were saying.

It confirmed Shaw’s story. Only Povikov would gift his son with a brand new car the same day he got out of prison. Shaw was loyal first and foremost. He would have spent twenty years in prison rather than rat on who he was dealing for when he got caught. Obviously, Povikov had plenty of cops in his pocket if he had one deliver Shaw’s new surprise.

I couldn’t get closer than I already was but Shaw’s eyes found mine and he looked pissed. He finished up the conversation with the undercover cop before he strode my way. I looked toward the cop who still stood there. Obviously what they were discussing was far from being finished.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” he hissed at me.

Shaw smelled fresh, like Irish Spring, and I noticed his hair was slightly wet. Obviously he’d taken a shower after plowing Jerri a time or three.

“No, what the fuck are you doin’?” I questioned back in sheer anger. “You just got outta prison—you like it so much, you’re tryin’ to wind up back in it?”

He grabbed my arm and pushed me further onto the lawn. “It isn’t what it looks like—”

“I know an undercover cop when I see one and that one looks like he’s on Povikov’s payroll. What’s in the car? Drugs you have to sell? Weapons? What exactly? Why would you go back?”

“Because it’s all I know how to do!” Shaw exclaimed louder than he intended. “Listen, Liv, you got your fancy college degree now. You can go where ever you want. Just promise it’ll be as far as fuck away from me. You think I came out just to bring you down to my level? Nah—I’d fuckin’ die first before you’re reduced to where I am now.”

The undercover cop whistled for Shaw to come over, and I followed him although I’d been given strict instructions not to. I noticed the nine-millimeter he had against his back, half-tucked in his jeans. He didn’t trust this guy anymore that I did.

“Who’s the fancy lookin’ cunt? She looks familiar.”

Shaw glared back at me with cold crystal blue eyes before he turned toward the cop. “Just some bitch that I like to fuck every now and then—”

“You ever been to Povikov’s strip club? The classy one, not the one for crack whores and heroin addicts?” I interrupted.

“Yeah. You dance under Shevonne—don’t you?”

As stupid as it was, yes, I danced under my given name albeit with the English pronunciation and a made-up spelling. “Yep, That’s me.”

“Well, with you being one of Povikov’s premiere dancers, I don’t think I have to be on the lookout for anyone.”

The cop laughed, showing nicotine stained teeth and a less than handsome mug. He turned toward Shaw again. “There’s two kilos of cocaine. You know what to do with that. When you’re done dealing with the Irishman, you bring the money directly to Povikov. He said he wants to decide your cut now that you’re out and will be hurtin’ . . .”

“Hurtin’ for what?” Shaw looked at me and I looked at him but both our expressions came too late.

Several undercover cop cars pulled up to the party happening inside and opened fire with automatic weapons. The noise was so deafening, Shaw pulled me toward him and sprinted us behind the Dodge Charger to take cover.

The noise seemed to last forever as the once modest Shaughnessy house was sprayed with bullets. The cops stepped out of the vehicles, discarded cartridges and loaded new ones.

The undercover cop we were with had a Sig MPX pointed at both Shaw and I as he spoke into his throwaway phone. “Yeah—no one left alive. That’s what Povikov demanded.”

“
NO!
” Shaw screamed but it was me who kept him back because they would shoot him too if he advanced.

My heart shattered in way I knew it’d be a—for my mother, Mrs. Shaughnessy who had always been like a second mother, Ness, Nieve, and all the other friends I lost but my heart also hardened at that moment. If Povikov could do this so easily without batting an eyelash then neither Shaw nor I were safe. Fuck the fact that Shaw was his son, all Povikov cared about was the all mighty dollar, and not even family got in the way of that.

As the noise stopped, the sound of screeching tires leaving the scene quickly, and Shaw, wrapped in my arms materialized, I took in the scene. We were expendable too if Povikov wanted but he seemed to have an affinity, a likeness for Shaw, so that could definitely buy us some time.

I wasn’t dressed my sexiest in a pair of short jean shorts and a cutoff pink tank top that displayed my flat stomach but I could work it when I had to. One didn’t dance in a strip club for four years and not learn how to ooze sex appeal.

Another cop joined the undercover cop. Money was exchanged but that was as far as they got. I grabbed Shaw’s weapon and walked over to them. They both stared at me like I was lost.

“What? You want your take,
little
girl? We received a bonus for you not being in the house.”

I’d learned a lot around being around the Povikovs. Nathalia Povikova seemed to like me for some oddball reason though she was as sociopathic as the rest of her family. She taught me weapons—firearms—took me to shoot at gun ranges. I might have come off innocent but with her training, I was an expert shot.

“How much?” I questioned without a shred of remorse—Nathalia had also taught me to hide my emotions as a woman—God bless her at this moment.

“Listen, Povikov paid us fifty thousand each—”

He never finished that sentence as I shot him in the head and quickly ended the other undercover cop. They were supposed to leave together since there was only one undercover police car left.

Blood and carnage was everywhere but I couldn’t let that deter me. I grabbed the money off them, some bills floating away with the light breeze but most of them, I managed to get Shaw’s Charger trunk open and dump them inside. There was a duffel bag with money already in it—I estimated fifty thousand but I could have been off. I dumped the cash inside the bag, zipped it, and closed the trunk.

In the distance I could hear sirens.

“Fuck,” I muttered before I strode over and glanced at a distraught Shaw. “Come on. We gotta get the fuck outta here—”

“No, Liv. I won’t do that to you!”

I’d seen him break down before—maybe once or twice but it was different when you realized you had no family left except for a sociopath father who’d murdered everyone you loved.

“You can’t save me, all right?” I held his face in my hands. “I just blew away two police officers and there is gun powder all over my hands. I can’t act myself out of this situation, Shaw, you understand? Get in the car.”

He slid inside the passenger seat like a zombie before he handed me the keys. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

I started the car, gunned the engine and listened to it purr. This was a new car all right with no plates yet and perfect for our getaway vehicle.

“You want the truth?” I questioned him softly.

Shaw stared at me with bloodshot eyes and semi-dried tears on his cheeks. “Yeah, Liv, I want the fucking truth.

I raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow before I whispered, “We run.”

F
or several moments, I was blown away.

This wasn’t my Liv who had taken over like a pro, and got us the fuck outta dodge before the cops even got there. Hell, she didn’t even shed a tear while I was over on the cracked sidewalk sobbing like a little bitch while she was just shooting.

Who the fuck was this woman, and when did she become stronger than me? It would be an issue because I was alpha male all the way, and I’d feel like a pussy if my woman turned out she was mentally tougher than me.

I didn’t even know where she planned to go until she looked at me. “We have to get rid of our phones as soon as possible and get burner phones. You know—those that are off the grid. I know this guy in Brooklyn that can do it for us but after that, we need to get the fuck away from the east coast as soon as possible.”

“And go where?” I said in a voice that didn’t sound like my own.

“I’m a Callahan, Shaw.” She looked at me as she got on I-90 West and began to accelerate until she was driving between seventy and eighty miles an hour. “We have to get out of the country to get out of this shit—at least for a while. But before we do that, we need new identities and there’s a guy I know that can get them for us. He’s in the Lucifer’s Saints.”

“What? You mean one of the most dangerous biker gangs outside of the Hells Angels? Are you crazy?”

“Not certifiable.” She smiled at me before she looked at the road again. “Listen, Bronaugh Cox is my aunt—my dad’s sister. She never really claimed him because he couldn’t keep himself out of trouble but he is her wee brother. I’m her niece. She wouldn’t turn us away. Just shut your goddamn mouth about being connected to a Russian Bratva, and we’ll be fine.”

“Why is that?”

“One of the club member’s brother used to be part of the Koslakov Bratva, and one of my cousin’s is married into the Kitaev Bratva. It didn’t go down too well but let’s just say they have connections with other Russian Bratva families.”

“Kitaev is Povikov’s cousin twice removed but the guy is dead—his son is running the organization now.”

“Well, Erik cut all ties with his father’s closest allies. Povikov might try to contact him but the problem is he’s not gonna get any information. We need to get to Northern Nevada before we go to Mexico and if I’m correct, Kitaev operates out of L.A. We can get to Mexico through Arizona—we don’t have to use the California pipeline.”

“We do if you wanna go to Baja California. It’s the least violent part.”

I listened to Liv’s breathing for a moment. “Let’s just worry about the phones and then we’ll figure the rest out. It’s a three-hour trip and some change so let me think. You, on the other hand, need some rest. When’s the last time you got a decent amount of sleep?”

“Before Walpole but . . .” The tears came though I felt like a complete pussy about crying. “What about everyone we lost? Your mother, my mother, Ness, our friends . . .”

“We don’t know that they’re all dead, Shaw.” She sped up and breathed heavily. “Listen, I’m trying to save our asses because that asshole, Carter, and Povikov are gonna be after us. They might try to hit our families if they aren’t dead but they want us. We have the drugs and the money. I’m running on fumes right now plus I’m high and drunk. Let me get to Brooklyn and we can get rid of our phones. Can you just . . . give me till Brooklyn? I can’t think about deaths right now or I won’t make it.”

I could hear it in her voice that she and I were on the same wavelengths. She hadn’t forgotten anything. We were both running on adrenaline at the moment and we needed to get out of dodge.

Povikov was an animal but he was also my biological father. He probably wanted me to be punished for stealing his drugs. Carter still thought I was a Shaughnessy so he might give me a reprieve for being Irish. We didn’t know exactly what anyone would do with us but we knew they would want their drugs and money back. If we could get away with not spending too much of their money then we might be okay.

My mind was all over the place but there was one thought that repeated in my mind. I’d do anything to protect Liv. She’d been the strong one and right now she was carrying me but it wouldn’t be like this forever, not if we had to do a cross-country trip.

Ironically, I didn’t even think about the dead cops. We’d get rid of the gun in Brooklyn—throw it over the bridge. Neither Liv nor I could be tied to that. Dead men couldn’t talk. We didn’t plan to rob any banks to draw attention to ourselves so we really only had to worry about the gangsters; they didn’t call the FBI, DEA, ATF, or attempt help that would involve government agencies. However, they did have a national network so it was mostly dodging their guys everywhere we went.

Could we do that?

Luck only lasted so long, and eventually, everyone’s ran out.

Liv and I being Irish or not.

“S
haw, wake up. We’re here.”

My eyes immediately opened and I looked over at Liv. She’d parked in front of a gorgeous brownstone, obviously in the gentrified area of Brooklyn.

I cleared the sleep from my eyes. “Who lives here?”

“Family,” she replied non-committedly. “Mom’s side—not my dad’s.”

We both got out of the car and she locked it before we both walked on the sidewalk and up the stairs to the door. She knocked on the door. It was literally moments before a wild-haired dude with bright gray eyes, strong masculine features, and a tanned complexion answered the door.

“Shit, Liv, give a nigga some notice when you’re comin’ by.”

“Fuck off, Tyrone. Where’s the fun in that?” We walked inside and she quickly said, “This is Shaw. Shaw, this is Tyrone Divjak, my cousin.”

“Divjak—what kind of last name is that?”

“My moms converted to Islam—married a Bosnian, yo. They met at the mosque. I don’t practice myself but you do know that Liv and I have a French Creole grandmother on our maternal side, right? Aunt Callie is lighter than my mom and could pass for white so that’s pretty much what she did. She moved away and claimed her Irish side. My moms didn’t have it so easy—she had to claim both sides but both Liv and I got white dads.” Tyrone explained after he closed the door behind them.

“The hair gives it away,” I said, attempting a joke.

“This shit?” Tyrone took off his wig and threw it on the sofa. He revealed close cut, silky brown hair. “Gotta represent when I deal with the brothas, ya know? Some don’t want deal with a white guy—don’t matter if I got a nice year round tan, no one believes I’m a quarter black.”

“Tyrone, who the fuck is that?” a foreign accented voice asked as a pretty blonde walked out from one of the back rooms with a distinct Eastern European look.

“Just Liv and Shaw, babe. This is Anica Lukić, my fiancée.”

“Wait—you’re not Bosnian.” Liv approached her and looked Anica up and down. “This bitch Croatian?”

“Serbian, actually. Not all of us were bad you know. I immigrated to America to get away from all that ethnic shit. I love Tyrone—I don’t give a shit if he is half Bosnian.”

Shaw whistled. “And a big deal in Northern Ireland was if a Catholic and a Protestant married each other. No ethnic exchange involved.”

“It was religion too—the war,” Anica said as she lit a cigarette and sat on the sofa. “Albanians and Bosnians are Muslim, Croatians are Roman Catholic and Serbians, well, we have our own church—we’re Eastern Orthodox Christians. Not that any of that shit matters. It was easy to pick out an Albanian because most of them are pretty swarthy looking but not so much Bosnians . . . they looked like Croatians and us.

“Our cowardly men had to make them pull their pants down to see if they were circumcised. That’s what happened during that fucking war. I was born during the war but holding me responsible for what my piece of shit father did makes as much sense as blaming a kid born Tutsi during the conflict in Rwanda or a German born during the war. We didn’t commit the atrocities—we just have to live with the shameful aftermath though. That’s why I left.”

Tyrone glanced at his cousin, whose features had softened. “I love Anica, Liv. I don’t judge you—don’t judge me.”

“Speaking of judgment,” she began, “we need burner phones. Two of them. Samsung Notes are ideal but if you have the new iPhones then we’ll take ‘em.”

“You got some cash for this transaction?” Anica questioned as she exhaled cigarette smoke.

“Wouldn’t be here if we didn’t,” I interrupted.

Her sky blue eyes glared at me. “As long as this shit doesn’t get back to Tyrone and I. We don’t want to know why you need them. We’ll take your cash, throw in some New York plates for your new car outside that’ll check out and you be on your way by the morning.” She paused and dragged from her cigarette. “We live a quiet life despite our illegal activities. We aren’t on anyone’s radar and it helps that when we do run into people who’re prejudiced, Tyrone can pass for anything. If he puts on that wig, he could be mixed, Puerto Rican, Dominican, whatever. Without, most people think he is Greek, Italian, hell even Eastern European. I can be a silly white girl with a great American accent or I can pass for Russian, Ukrainian, Estonian or Polish. We don’t have trouble, and we sure as hell don’t want any either.

“We’ve only had trouble once. This Bosnian who was in the war recognized him as one of their own, and he was with me. The guy was ready to kick his ass and spit in my face for being a Serbian slut but the bar we were at eighty-sixed him. It was the first time I was scared for us to come home. I kept looking over my shoulder for that man with sad green eyes who looked like he’d been through hell and back.”

“I’d never involve Tyrone if it meant trouble for you two, Anica. He’s my blood—maybe some of the little bit I have left. If I thought our activities could get either one of you killed then I would have used someone else.” Liv’s eyes never left Anica’s.

We both knew it wasn’t Tyrone we needed to convince but his suspicious girlfriend.

Anica finally laughed. “I’ll make you two some New York licenses as well. They won’t hold up to real scrutiny but both of you are gonna have to change your look.” Her blue eyes looked my way. “How attached are you to that hair, lover?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Good because I’m gonna be working on your girlfriend’s hair. Just cut his, Tyrone. Make it like yours.” Anica glanced at Liv. “Do you mind becoming a redhead? I’d recommend dark auburn. I’d do something wild like purple or turquoise but you two need to blend in.”

“Hold up, you plan to do my hair?”