Up to Me (12 page)

“Um, no.  But I do have something I’d like to run by you.”

“Is it about dildo selection?  Because those things can be tricky if you’ve never bought one before.”

I sigh.  “No, it’s not about dildos.  Do you always wake up this way?”

“Of course!  Why wouldn’t I? This is how I go to sleep. It just makes sense that I’d wake up this way.  Awesome doesn’t take a break, Liv.  And it never sleeps.”

I grin at that.  “And neither does humility, evidently.”

“Hey, I just tell it like it is.”

“Then turn your brutal honesty this way for a minute.”

“Okay.  Wha’cha got?”

I would never want to lie to Ginger, so I carefully avoid mentioning anything that might inspire her curiosity, especially about the whole twin thing.  That could get ugly pretty fast.

I give her the short version (or should I say shortER version) of the phone conversation between Cash and me.  When I tell her what he said, her only response is really nothing more than a noise, but it still alarms me.

“Ahhh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?  ‘Ahhh’.”

“Nothing.  Not really. To me, it sounds like he was wussing out just as much as you did.  It’s not an outright declaration, but it’s very provocative.”

“Provocative?”

“Yes, provocative.  As in to provoke.  You know I’m a student of both provoking and being provoked, so I
know.
”

“So I shouldn’t take it as him telling me he loves me?”

“Just to be safe, I wouldn’t.  Besides, you don’t want him telling you in that kind of situation anyway.  It makes it sound like he’s just reflecting your sentiment.  Surely a guy that hot can be a little more original.”

“Oh he’s original all right.”

“Damn you!  Don’t tease me like that unless you’re bringing one of those bits of candy to my house right this minute.”

“That would be difficult on a number of levels.”

“Difficult?  Difficult is breaking and entering.  But for a piece of dick like that, I’d break so
he
could enter.  I’d commit a felony and two misdemeanors for an hour with something like that.”

“Just one felony?  I think you’re gonna have to up your game a little for these guys, Ginger.”

A loud, dramatic sigh.  “Fine.  Three felonies, no misdemeanors, but that’s my final offer.”

“Sold!”

We both laugh, but then Ginger sobers.  “Seriously though, Liv, if you love him, I say take the risk, but I want you to be sure.  He could tear your heart into a thousand tiny pieces if you let him.”

“I know.”

“But if he’s the one, it would be worth it to try.”

“I know that, too.  And I think he is.”

“And you should warn him that if he hurts you, I will scissor kick him in the nuts.  Tell him, okay? You tell him that.  Because I mean it.  I’ll go all kinds of Bruce Lee on his tasty ass.”

“I hope you won’t have any reason to.”

“Me, too, babe.  Me, too.”

“Well, it’s—”

A knock on my window startles me and cuts off my next thought.  My heart leaps into my throat for a second until what I’m looking at really sinks in.  It’s just a student.  A young-looking guy wearing a Yankees ball cap and a white t-shirt with his back pack slung over one shoulder.  He’s smiling shyly so I roll down my window to see what he wants.

“Can I help—”

Before I can even finish the sentence, a smelly rag is held tight over my nose and mouth.  I struggle, but it makes no difference.  Within seconds, the face in front of me swims sickeningly right before the world goes dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO- Cash

I’m standing in the parking lot of an old abandoned warehouse in the hell-if-I’d-be-caught-here-after-dark part of Atlanta.  My instructions were to come alone to this address after I retrieved the ledgers from the bank.  So I did. 

Earlier, I made a show of leaving my apartment and going to a bank that I’m familiar with across town.  I went back to where the safe deposit boxes are located.  The anteroom isn’t visible from the rest of the bank, so I knew I could pull off my ruse from there. 

There was a young, too-eager guy manning the desk outside that room.  I talked to him about the rates for renting the boxes and how secure they are, shit like that to waste some time.  I have no doubt they sent someone to follow me, so I was making it look good.  I left the bank after about fifteen minutes, still carrying the bag I walked in with.  When I got in the car, I slipped the fake ledgers into it, just in case someone got the wise idea of hijacking me on the way.  But they didn’t, which encourages me that they really might be willing to play ball. 

Now, as I wait for…whatever to happen, my mind is on the empty ledgers in the car.  Nash has the real ones.  He’s parked on the motorcycle behind an old generator a couple hundred feet away, watching. 

I’ve been here for six minutes and haven’t seen a soul.  There’s one rusty door to the right of the big hangar style doors of the warehouse, but I haven’t checked it.  I’m not going into that building.  They’re bat-shit crazy if they think I’m dumb enough to do that.  They can bring Marissa out to me.

I hear the crunch of gravel behind me and I turn to see a white painter’s van driving toward me. 

Good God, could they be any more cliché?

It rolls to a stop near the building and a fat, balding guy in a track suit gets out of the driver’s side. 

Apparently, the answer is yes, they
can
be more cliché.

His back is to me, but I have no doubt that under the jacket of his black leisure suit is a wife beater tank top and at least one gold chain around his neck.  Evidently, the classic mobster look is no longer reserved for followers of
The Godfather
or
Goodfellas
.

I watch him walk across the gravel lot toward me.  “Do you have the books?” he asks when he stops in front of me.  His Russian accent is thick. 
Do you have zee books? 
It would be no surprise to anyone who knows organized crime that he’s
Bratva
.  Russian mafia.

“I’m sure you know I do.”

Up close, I can see how this guy differs from movie mobsters.  It’s not his face.  It’s scarred, but not too grotesquely.  It’s not his size.  His heft is intimidating, but not overly much since I’m the same height and obviously in much better shape.  It’s not his words.  They’re direct and innocuous enough. 

No, it’s his eyes that make my palms sweat.  They’re cold and dead.  If I ever had to describe to someone what the eyes of a killer look like, I’d describe these.  Not the color or the shape, but what they say.  They say he doesn’t mind doing his job and that he probably never has.  They’re the eyes of someone who’s never had a soul, someone who was probably born into this world doing horrible things to innocent people inside his head until he was old enough to do it in reality. 

I pray to God these eyes never touch Olivia.  Not even from a distance.

“Give them to me and I give you the girl.”

“Let me see her first. I’m not giving you anything until I know she’s okay.”

Those eyes watch me for the longest ten seconds of my life before he speaks.  Without fully taking his gaze off me, he turns his head and yells something in Russian.  Seconds later, one of the van doors slides open and Marissa is pushed out of the van.  Her hands and ankles are bound, as is her mouth, and she’s blindfolded. She falls lifelessly to the ground, landing on her side.  I hear her moan of pain and see her draw her legs up toward her chest as if in pain.  Around the gag and blindfold, I can see that her face is bruised, as is her shoulder, which is bared by the camisole she’s wearing.  It looks like the top to some pajamas I’ve seen her wear before.  I hope it is and that they haven’t done anything worse to her than just bruise her.  Whether or not I really like Marissa or respect her as a person, I wouldn’t wish what has happened to her—and certainly nothing worse—on my worst enemy.

“Now, give me books.”

“Have them put her in my car.”

“Show me books first.”

I had sort of figured it might go like this, so I feel prepared when I turn and walk to the car, retrieving the blank ledgers.  I leave the driver’s side door open, which will hopefully save me valuable seconds if I need to get away quickly.  I walk the books back to the big guy, stopping short of where I stood before.  The more distance between us, the better.

I hold up the books briefly then drop them back to my side.  “Now, have them put her in my car.”

The guy smiles the most chilling smile I’ve ever seen.  It makes me wonder if I’m somehow playing right into his hands.  I don’t know how I could be, but I’m smart enough to know that underestimating people like this is a fatal error. 

So I don’t.  I do my best
not
to underestimate him.

He calls behind him again, to whoever is in the van.  “Duffy, put her in car.”

I watch a smaller, more American-looking version of the guy in front of me step out of the van, scoop Marissa up, throw her roughly over his shoulder and carry her to the BMW.  He opens the back passenger door and flings her onto the back seat.  Through the still-open driver’s side, I can hear her muffled sobs. I don’t know if they’re sobs of pain or relief.

“Now, give me books,” he repeats, like I’m an obstinate child he’s running out of patience with.

My heart tries to hammer its way past my ribs as I hand him the blank ledgers.  As I suspected, he flips through them.  When he raises his cold eyes to me, if possible, they’re even colder. 

“I thought you’d be smarter than this.  Your father, not so smart.  Look what happened to him.”  He pauses meaningfully.  “And to his family.”

Fire races along my veins at his reference to my mother and her horrific death.  “Things are going to be different this time.  You’re going to let us leave here with the books and you’re going to assure me, on behalf of you and your boss and all your shitbag associates, that no one will ever come near me, my family or my friends again.  Because if you do, the books will be the least of your worries.”

“What makes you think I do that?”

“Because we have video.  Very damning video of the trigger man at the dock that day seven years ago.  A man that can be directly linked to Slava.”  Slava is the leader of the
Bratva
cell in the South.  “Now I can promise you that, as long as everyone I’ve ever known or met remains safe, this video will never see the light of day.  But if—”

The cell phone in my pocket rings.  My heart skips a beat.  There’s a problem.  A big one.  Everyone was clear on when to use this number—only if something has gone terribly wrong.

My stomach squeezes into a tight knot.

Olivia.

“Hold that thought.  This must be my contact for getting you a preview of the video.”

It’s a bluff. Only Nash has seen the video and it’s only on his phone, not mine.  He made a copy onto a flash drive, but it’s not with him.  It’s in a safe place, according to him.  But it buys me a couple of minutes, which I apparently need.

“What is it?” I answer.

“They took Olivia.”  Gavin’s words and the steel in his voice make my chest feel tight.

Holy shit, they’ve got her! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!

It’s arguably my worst fear to date.  And it’s happening.  Right now.

“Where?” I ask, mindful of the enforcer standing not too far from me.

“I followed them to a small brick house in Macon.  Looks like a hide out.”

“Are you…prepared?”

“Mate, I’m
always
prepared.”

“I’ll call you back.”

My thoughts are racing through ways to get us out of this.  Giving them another bargaining chip—the ultimate bargaining chip, as far as I’m concerned—was never part of the plan. 

Outwardly casual, I smile at the big guy, turning just enough so that I can keep the smaller guy, Duffy, in my peripheral vision.

“Change of plans.  I’ll give you the books for the girl, but I’m holding on to the video as insurance.”

“I don’t think so.  I don’t believe you have video.”

He takes a slow step toward me, one meant to be intimidating. And it is.  I won’t lie.

I take one step back.

“You’ll get a preview of the video when you get the books, but the new deal is that you let us go and we can arrange another meeting for the video trade.”

“Another trade? For what?”

“I know you took her.”  Even saying the words makes me furious—at them, at myself, at my father.  My pulse pounds in my ears and my hands shake with the desire to tear into this guy.

His upper lip twitches.

“Give me books
and
video or she’s dead.”

“No deal. It’s my way or you’ll never get what you want.”

“No, it’s my way or she dies.”  He takes another step toward me, only this one isn’t slow.  It’s aggressive. I’ve made him angry.  “And, just for the aggravation, I’ll make it slow.  I might even let some of these boys have fun with her before I kill her.”

A blinding combination of fear and rage drops down over me. I can’t think past the vision his words conjures and the fury and panic it inspires.

Before I can give the wisdom of it a second thought, my fist is flying through the air toward the big
Bratva
.  It connects with his steely jaw and I hear a crunch.  Whether his jaw or my hand, I can’t be sure.  I’m numb to any pain that I might otherwise be feeling.

He’s so taken off guard by someone willing to actually touch him, he stumbles back two steps, giving me a momentary advantage.  And I jump on it.

I come across with my left elbow, smashing it into his face as hard as I can.  I push my position and keep pounding away at him—left, right, left, right, fist, fist, elbow, fist.

I barely hear the sound of the motorcycle approaching and I barely feel the arm that wraps around my neck from behind and starts to squeeze.  It’s only when my air is cut off that I pause in my assault on the Russian.  Duffy has me in a pretty tight choke hold. 

Before I can throw him off, the big Russian plants one fist in my stomach, doubling me over.  His knee meets my cheekbone next, knocking me to one side as light explodes behind my eye.

Blood is buzzing in my ears as I struggle to catch my breath.  I’m gasping, staring at the ground, and I see the Russian’s wing tips retreat one step.  My head is getting fuzzy from lack of oxygen and the only thing I can think of is that no one wears wing tips with a track suit. 

My vision starts to blur when I hear the sound of a gun slide being drawn back to jack a round into the chamber. It’s an ominous sound, but Nash’s voice is even more so.

“Let him go or I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”

I know both of these guys have guns.  My attack on the big one and the subsequent involvement of the little one served as the perfect distraction for Nash to move in and get the upper hand. 

The grip around my neck eases enough that I can catch my breath. I inhale and straighten, expanding my lungs and gulping in air.  After two deep breaths, my vision clears and I see the Russian glaring at me.  His eyes aren’t cold anymore.  They’re furious.  And deadly.

“You boys, you make big mistake,” the big one says, wiping blood from his dripping nose and mouth with the back of his hand.  Then, never taking his eyes off mine, he spits at my feet.  “We don’t bargain.”

“That’s funny because I was under the impression you brought me here today to bargain.”

“I brought you here today to kill you,” he says, deadpan.

“Not much of a negotiator, are you?”

“With one phone call, she’ll be dead.  Also, if I don’t call with instructions within the hour, she’ll be dead.  No matter what you do, she’ll be dead.”  My heart freezes inside my chest at the prospect.  “Unless you give me what I want.”

“You just said you don’t bargain.”

The Russian’s sneer is nothing short of evil.  “No matter. If you leave here today, I’ll find you tomorrow.  And her.  And him,” he says, tipping his head at Nash behind me.  “You can’t run far enough.”

“I’d run that by your boss before you make any rash decisions.  There’s more than one copy of the video.  Something happens to anyone I know and it goes straight to the police, along with some really helpful tips about the trigger man.  And his associates.”

A muscle in the Russian’s jaw ticks as he listens to me.  I can hear the heavy breathing of the little one, Duffy at my back.  Nash is behind us somewhere.  The Russian’s eyes have flickered over to him a time or two.  I wonder if he knows who he is, if he recognizes my supposedly dead brother behind the facial hair.

“I still don’t believe you.  I think I kill you all and take my chances.”