“Don’t do that to me,” I whisper, hurt still lacing my voice.
He pulls away, worried eyes studying my face.
“I don’t want an intermediary between us,” I explain because he obviously isn’t sure what I’m talking about.
He goes still, almost like I shocked him. Like he wasn’t aware of the way he just faded into the background the moment his friends arrived. He nods and bends his head to give me one soft kiss—a press of his lips to mine.
I don’t want him to leave. It’s crazy how much I don’t want him to leave. Even though I know this thing can’t go anywhere. I know exploring it will only lead to pain and the eventual end. Still, I cling to him. Wrap my arms around his back and press my body up against his in a hug.
“Get better soon,” I say, my voice rusty. It’s a stupid thing to say. It doesn’t encompass one-fifth of what I want to say to him. “Will you be at my show?”
Jesus.
Now I just sound clingy.
He freezes again, which tells me he doesn’t think he will be, but then he gives a single nod.
Hmm. I don’t quite believe him.
But there’s someone after him. Maybe he has to go into hiding now.
Fuck—maybe I’ll never see him again.
I catch his sleeve as he turns. “Oleg—”
He swivels back, that alarmed expression in place.
“Will you be? Really?”
He draws in a slow breath then nods.
I exhale.
“Be careful,” I say because now I feel guilty for asking him to come to my show when he’s obviously in danger.
He nods and catches my hand, squeezing it.
I still don’t want him to go. But his friends shift position in the hallway, and I notice the bulge of a handgun in Pavel’s jacket pocket, and I remember that I don’t belong in his world. Which means he can’t stay in mine.
“Bye,” I say quickly, turning away to pretend I’m cool. Because I am. I’ve had a lot of weird experiences in my short life. I’m in a band, and many of my friends do a lot of drugs. This will become another crazy story. Or maybe I’ll actually write the songs that have been eluding me for a while now.
Why, then, does it feel like such a loss when Oleg walks out my door?
Chapter 4
Oleg
I climb in the back of Maxim’s Tesla.
“Give him your phone,” Maxim barks and Pavel.
Pavel hands me his phone, and Maxim hands his to Pavel as he puts the car in drive and pulls out.
“Who was it?” Maxim demands.
My head throbs, and I still feel raw and rough from upsetting Story back there. Fuck. I definitely didn’t mean to offend her by having Maxim give her money. I just expected him to do and say the right things because I can’t say them myself. I wanted to take care of her. And I’m sure she could use the money. I did the math in my head. She can’t bring in more than eight hundred a week giving guitar lessons. So it’s not terrible money, but it’s not like she’s rich or anything. And Maxim is. He was smooth as fuck, too—saying all the right things, and it still pissed her off.
She didn’t want him talking for me.
I’m still rocked to the core by that. Like torn down the center of the chest, heart exposed where it beats. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life.
And I still don’t know what I’m going to tell Ravil and the guys about this. I want to ignore Maxim, but I know that’s not going to fly, so I type in the details in Russian.
Three guys. Spoke Russian. I fought them and got away. I don’t tell him that they wanted me alive.
That I know why.
Pavel reads my brief text out loud for Maxim. For me, it’s not brief. It’s about the longest I usually get with any communique.
“It’s the three guys Dima tracked into the country.” Maxim smacks the dash. “Call Dima and tell him to text the photos to my phone.”
I remember now that Maxim had Dima set up tracking software to flag any persons of interest from all incoming Russian flights because he feared someone from the Moscow bratva would try to kill Sasha for her millions. If those meatheads who tried to capture me Saturday came over recently, Dima would’ve noted it. They weren’t bratva, but they still might’ve raised flags.
Pavel makes the call, and a few moments later Ravil’s phone buzzes with the incoming texts. I open them, then nod at Pavel. Maxim catches it in the rearview mirror.
“Fuck!” Maxim explodes. “I knew they were trouble. Did they ask anything? Say anything?”
I shake my throbbing head. My pulse races. Maxim believes this is about Sasha. I shouldn’t let him. I should come clean about my past.
But then, I should’ve done that two years ago when Ravil brought me into the fold. I can’t do it now without them all feeling my betrayal.