Lev (Shot Callers 1)

Lidiya took the doll, hugging it around the neck. “Eena.”

I shook my head. “No, angel pie,” I corrected. “Annabel.”

“Eena,” she muttered as she walked the doll over to meet her kin, Ivy Gail.

Mirella chuckled. “I don’t believe it. She’s had other Cabbage Patch dolls. She never took to them. Only to Ivy.”

I smiled at the woman. “Now she has Annabel.”

Mirella shook her head lightly. “No,” she observed. “Now she has Mina.”

And that was how little Mina came to be.

Lev would come down on occasion and thoughtlessly interrupt my time with his daughter, often times sneaking in lunch or snacks with us.

A nice man with a pockmarked face and glasses who the guys called Pox came down every day that week to check on me. When I asked if he was a doctor, everyone seemed to avoid the question.

He told me it didn’t look as if there would be any lasting effects from being drugged. I was glad to hear it, not that I was worried. I took Lev by the uninjured hand and sat him down, forcing Pox to look at his finger. Lev tried to argue, but I wasn’t hearing it.

Everyone seemed stunned that Lev was allowing the man to look over him, including Sasha. But he sat in silence with my hand on his shoulder and let the doc splint and buddy tape his fingers, leaving me satisfied.

I asked for a moment of privacy with the doctor and, reluctantly, Lev watched me walk him to his car. As soon as we were out of hearing distance, I cleared my throat. “I want to thank you for checking me over that night.”

He smiled lightly. “You’re welcome. But I have a feeling you didn’t call me out here to thank me.”

“No.” I chuckled nervously. “I guess I didn’t.”

He spotted my discomfort and tried to soothe it. “Mina, whatever you tell me will be kept in confidence. Lev could beat the shit out of me and I’d never tell.”

I chuckled for real then. “Sounds like something he’d do.”

His smile fell. “Mina, when Jeremiah…” He cut himself off and spoke quietly, “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” I gasped, placing a hand to my chest. “Not in that way, no. But that’s sort of what this is about actually.” I scratched at my arm, embarrassed. “I haven’t had my period in months.”

He leaned back against his car. “Any possibility that you could be pregnant?”

“No,” I muttered. “But what if Jeremiah did hurt me? Could I have gotten pregnant?”

Pox made a hmmm sound. “Well, I’m guessing you stopped menstruating, because you were emaciated quite a while. But sometimes, on the rare occasion, women who haven’t been spotting at all can get pregnant, so although I’m not inclined to give a definite yes, I wouldn’t give a definite no either.”

It was enough beating around the bush. “I’m not on birth control.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “That’s what this is about.” He stood. “There are a handful of options. However, if you’re a little scatterbrained or work nights at a gentleman’s club and would forget to take the pill,” he winked at me, “I’d recommend an implant. There’s one—a small bar—that’s injected into the arm after it’s been numbed, and it’s good for around three years. It’s extremely popular amongst young women.” At my hopeful look, he shook his head. “I would not recommend getting that until you’ve had a chance to gain some more weight.”

I immediately argued, “I’ve already gained ten pounds!”

Well, almost. Nine-point-three pounds, to be precise.

He smiled kindly. “I’d like to see you add another ten to that.” At my glare, he caved, “Six more, at the very least.”

He handed me his card and told me to call when I was ready. I took the business card eagerly, stuffing it into my bra.

Later that week, I was undressing for the shower when Lev walked in on me.

At the look of shock on his face, I doubted it was deliberate. I didn’t judge the slack look on his face. I was shocked too. Being caught in nothing more than your plain white panties did that to you.

I opened my mouth to yell, “Get out!” but only a squeak came forth. When his cool brown eyes roamed my body, I lifted my arms to cover my bare breasts, having momentarily forgotten about the dark red hickeys all over them.

I was embarrassed. My cheeks flamed. My boobs were tiny. I looked like a young boy, rather than a young woman.

I would never—not ever—be one of those women who were comfortable in their bodies. I always had self-confidence issues. They had not improved with age.

He spoke then, and it was deathly quiet. “He did hurt you.” It sounded like an accusation. Aimed at me.

Reached for the towel, I draped it over myself. “It’s nothing.” I didn’t sound convincing.

He reached up with both hands, closed his eyes, and ran his hands over his face, slipping back up to massage his temples.