The Cleaner (Chicago Bratva 7)

I manage a jerky nod.

A tear spills down her cheek. “I hate him,” she sobs.

I hold her and stroke the back of her head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve left you out of it. I never should have let this happen. I’m so sorry, Kateryna.”

“But she’s safe now? Tell me, Adrian. I deserve to know.”

I stroke my hands down her arms, and she presses her forehead to my chest. I don’t want to tell her any of it. Some is too horrible to even speak of. But I would give Kat anything she asked of me right now, so I speak across the rust in my throat. “She was grabbed in a parking lot and taken to America on a freight ship. She spent four months in the basement of your father’s sofa factory chained to a bed.”

“The one you burned down.”

“Yes.”

“H-how did she get free?”

“I followed the trail to Chicago. I got a job with the bratva and used their connections to track down the operation. There were eight girls down there when I found them.”

Kat’s tears wet my shirt. She sits back and wipes them with her fingers. “If I were you, I would want revenge, too.”

Funny, but my revenge–now that I’ve had a taste–feels so worthless now.

11

Kat

The wind is freezing, but I’m bundled in layers of blankets, huddled on the speedboat Adrian called the tender. The boat slices through the darkness, away from the freighter.

“What about the bodies?” I shout over the noise of the engine.

I know I’m in shock. I’m not clear on what my next five minutes look like, let alone my next days, but I do know I don’t want Adrian to go to prison.

I don’t want to go to jail, either, for that matter.

“I took care of it,” Adrian says.

He cuts the engine before we reach the shore, so we coast in quietly. He helps me out of the blankets and onto the wooden dock, then tosses his duffel bag up. I’m wearing his leather jacket, like I did the first night we met. It smells of his clean, woodsy scent, and I don’t want to ever take it off.

I could easily run. I’d have a head start and could probably lose him. But I don’t want to leave Adrian now. I can’t leave him.

Whatever happens, I have to see it through.

I watch as he wipes the steering wheel and surfaces on the boat down, cleaning it of our fingerprints. Then he climbs out without tying the boat, leaving it to drift off.

A huge explosion out on the water from the direction we came makes me gasp. I don’t have to look at the satisfied gleam in Adrian’s eye to know he was responsible. The evidence is now gone. His tracks covered.

“Let’s find a hotel.” He picks up the duffel bag.

I drag my gaze away from the fire on the water and nod. I let him lead. “Where are we?”

“Antwerp, Belgium. How’s your Dutch?”

“Sorry, not a word.”

“Me neither.” He keeps one hand on my back as he pulls out his phone and checks the map app, then orders us a ride on Uber. Fifteen minutes later, we’re safe and warm in the back of a car. Adrian rummages in his duffel, which he refused to put in the trunk of the car, and hands me my purse.

It’s a simple gesture. Sort of worthless, since he said he already destroyed my phone, but it is comforting to me to have my own belongings in my possession. I pull out my lip gloss and rub it on my lips.

We pull up in front of the Radisson Blu Astrid, and I giggle a little. “Is this where we’re staying?”

“Da.” He throws open the door, climbs out and holds his hand out for me to come his way. I follow instead of going out my own door because I like the attention. I like the care he’s taking with me. And also because Adrian is a guy worth following.

I don’t know whether his plans have changed, but I’m still holding out hope this can come out right.

Somehow.

When we get to the front desk of the hotel, Adrian presents them with a Russian passport and a fake name and pays with a matching credit card. “I’d like the best room available, please,” he tells the clerk.

“Absolutely, sir.” The guy’s gaze slides to me and my soiled school-girl outfit. The braids. The platform heels. Adrian’s jacket.

The guy thinks I’m a sex worker. I mean, who can blame him? It’s five in the morning, and I’m dressed like a stripper who’s been living on the street.

My stomach churns. What was fun for the rave has turned into something sick and disgusting now that I know about my dad and his business. About Adrian’s sister and the other women.

Adrian draws me tightly against his side, claiming me like a treasured bride. He kisses my head as if to show we’re a couple, not a business encounter.