Russian Tattoos Obsession (28 page)
Read Russian Tattoos Obsession Online
Authors: Kat Shehata
Spring Break Bound
It was dark when Kiki and I left for the airport early in the morning. I had a rush of paranoia when a black Cadillac got off the exit ramp behind us. I took a deep breath and talked myself out of a panic attack as Kiki parked the Mustang in the long-term parking lot. We rolled our suitcases over to a covered hut and waited for the airport shuttle to pick us up.
When the bus screeched to a halt and the door opened, a big dude with a buzz cut and a guy as wide as a dumpster with a deep scar on his cheek came out to help us with our luggage. They were wearing gloves—at the end of March. Kiki thanked them, but neither one of them said a word.
Oh, God.
They looked like they’d just stepped off the prison yard. They had to be Russian. Why else wouldn’t they talk to us? They didn’t want us to detect their accents, and they’re wearing gloves to hide their tats—or to avoid leaving fingerprints.
My hands began to shake.
“Are you all right?” Kiki asked. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t speak. I had to warn her. This was all my fault. Kiki put her arm around me and rubbed my back, attempting to rub out the crazy.
The buzz-cut guy eyed me like a drooling predator ready to eat me alive. “Sorry, miss. I know it’s freezing in here. Crazy Cincinnati weather, huh?” No Russian accent. I was wrong. The guy held up his gloved hands to back his story. His innocent, Cincinnati-cold gloved hands. “I hope it’s warmer where you’re going.”
“Oh, yes. We’re spring break bound. In a few short hours, we’ll be in our bikinis basking in the sun,” Kiki replied.
I inhaled a deep breath and let out a chuckle. I was a paranoid disaster, that was all. Clearly, I was so ready to say goodbye to Cincinnati and move on to paradise where I could stop checking over my shoulder in search of the Russian Boogey Man.
I glanced out the window and noticed the driver passed an old couple waiting in a little hut for a ride. The bus was empty except for us. Buzz Cut grinned, as if he knew what I was thinking. The bus left the long-term parking area en route to the international airport terminal, which was a couple miles away from where we’d parked.
As Kiki rambled on about what outfits we should wear on our first night, the bus turned down a secluded side road and screeched to a stop. Buzz Cut got up, and then the driver cruised over and stood next to him. Instead of facing the door, they towered over us.
“Is there a problem?” Kiki asked, looking out the window. “This isn’t the airport.”
Scar Face smiled at Kiki and then turned to me. “
Nyet
.”
I grabbed Kiki’s arm and tried to fling her out the door. Scar Face intercepted and smothered Kiki with his big body. She kicked and screamed, and he dragged her to the rear of the vehicle. I lunged forward to try to fight him off, but Buzz Cut tackled me in the aisle. I screamed in vain for them to let Kiki go. Scar Face held a rag over her face. My dear friend stopped fighting and fell limp in his arms. “Don’t hurt her. She doesn’t know anything.”
The goon injected a needle into her arm.
“No!”
While I was pinned on the ground, the door to the van opened, and Boris climbed on board.
Oh, God.
Buzz Cut held my wrists behind my back and yanked me to my feet. I slumped forward. He wrapped his arms around my waist and forced me down on his lap. Boris sat next to me and twisted the cap off a bottle of vodka.
“Please let Kiki go. I’ll do anything you say. Don’t hurt her.”
Buzz Cut covered my mouth with his gloved hand.
Boris lifted a small plastic bottle out of his pocket, tapped a couple of pills into his hand, then dropped them into the vodka bottle. “Like old times.” My assailant pushed down on my chin to spread my lips apart while Boris lifted the bottle to my mouth.
I shook my head, stomped down on the goon’s foot, and tried to struggle out of his grasp. In retaliation, he squeezed his arms around my ribcage so tightly, I felt like my body was being crushed inside a trash compactor.
“You never learn, do you, weasel?” Boris said something in Russian to Scar Face, and he responded by dropping my best friend to the ground, and as she lay unconscious with her arms outstretched on the dirty floor, he drew his leg back ready to kick her in the stomach.
“No!” I cried. “Boris, please.”
Boris held up his hand to stop the guy. “Thirsty now?”
Live to fight another day.
I drank.
“One more sip, dear.”
“Why are you doing this? We’re even.” My vision blurred.
“You’ve caused some trouble for us back home.”
“I never told a soul what happened.” My words came out slurred.
“I know, dear.
Trouble
has come looking for you.” He unfolded a sheet of notebook paper. “The boss would like to cash in his wager now.” He turned it around and showed me the picture I’d drawn of a winged heart with an arrow through it with the word
forever
scribbled across the center.
“Never make a bet you’re not willing to lose.”
I fought to stay conscious.
“And remember the bet you won? Use of the private jet to anywhere in the world. A Russian never goes back on a deal. Boss would like to fly you to his home for an extended vacation.”
My head tipped to the side. The bottle went back between my lips. Vodka swished in my mouth.
“There’s a war going on at home. Our rivals have put a bounty on
your
head to get to the boss. If they capture you, they’ll force Vladimir to surrender—his life in exchange for yours. In order to protect the
pakhan
, I have to protect
you
.”
My body went limp. The last thing I remember before everything went black was Boris’s taunting words.
“Living in our world is not so bad.”
The goons bound my wrists and ankles.
“Our family is anxious to meet you.”
A blindfold covered my eyes.
“Forever is a long time,
lapsha
.”
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful beyond measure to my family for supporting me on my writer’s journey. I thank my husband for believing in me and for encouraging me to do what I love, my son for checking my car and technology facts and serving as “tech support” when my computer misbehaved, my girls for schooling me on social media and college life, and my dad for helping with my firearm facts.
I would also like to thank my mom for her eternal optimism. In the years it has taken me to write this book, she has commiserated with me through the rejections, supported me when I stood my creative ground, and celebrated the many milestones along the way. I’m a talker; she’s a listener. Our relationship is perfect.
My dear friend Karin was the first person to read
Russian Tattoos
. She encouraged me not to back down from the story I wanted to tell, and I am thankful she has been in my corner from the start. I also thank Team Limitless for believing in my work, Teresa and Deborah for editing early drafts and helping me improve my craft, and Mario for checking my tennis facts and lingo.
Finally, I would like to send virtual fist-bumps and high-fives to every single person who has read this book. There are millions of titles out there, and I am beyond grateful and humbled that you chose to read my book.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
She is also an avid tennis player and spends her free time playing matches in a recreational league in Cincinnati, Ohio. She holds a bachelor’s degree in theatre from Wilmington College, a professional writing certificate from the University of Cincinnati, and a master’s degree in creative writing from Spalding University.
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