Headhunter (With Me in Seattle Mafia 2)

“Something must have slipped through.” I unzip the liner and reach my hand in, feeling around. When I come up with a small, black flash drive, I scowl.

“Oh.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t want to.”

“I do not care what you want, Laryssa.” Father just flicks his wrist as if he’s batting at an annoying fly. “You’ll do as I say without question.”

I want to stomp my feet. I want to yell at him and tear my hair out in frustration. Why won’t he listen to me? Why is he so awful?

I’m so sick and tired of being his errand girl. Of going into scary places with mean people and men who like to cop a feel as I walk past them, just to drop off these stupid things.

How important can this be, anyway?

I turn and stomp away, pissed and hurt that my father can’t show me even an ounce of kindness.

Rather than take this where he wants me to, I reach into my tiny closet for Mommy’s suitcase and tuck it away inside. I don’t want to go to that place again.

It smells, and the men look at me in weird ways that make me feel dirty.

I’m not going.

Father won’t know. It’s not like he’ll ever find out that I didn’t take it.

I secure it back in the closet and then slip my feet into my shoes, making a hasty escape out of the dirty little house we live in. I’ll go down to the diner where they’re nice to me and let me eat all of the ice cream I want.

I shake my head and stare down at the flash drive in my hand.

“Shane!” I run out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where Shane’s just plating up our breakfast.

“You’re just in time.” He smiles as he glances up, but when he sees my face, the smile fades. “What’s wrong?”

“This.” I hold it up and stare at him in horror. “I think this could be something.”

“What kind of something, Ivie?”

I swallow hard and wish with all my might that we didn’t have to have the conversation about to come.

“I guess it’s time to talk,” I say.

“Okay. Am I about to lose my appetite?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” I set the flash drive on the counter, unable to hold it anymore. “My birth name is Laryssa Pavlov. My father worked with some kind of government intelligence agency in Bulgaria, and when I was very small, we moved to the US. I don’t remember being in Bulgaria. My mother died when I was four. My father raised me, so to speak.”

I sit and stare at the French toast and then decide…fuck it. I’m hungry. I’m going to eat. So, I start slathering it in butter and syrup and keep talking.

“I don’t honestly know what he was into. I was his minion. Not his daughter.” I take a bite of bread and sigh in happiness. “He made me run errands for him in New York. I had to deliver things, usually like that”—I point at the flash drive with my fork—“to men who were creepy and handsy.”

“Handsy?”

I look up at him. “They liked to look, and they liked to grope. And my father didn’t give a shit. Anyway, I was fifteen, and I hated him with every fiber of my being. I hated having to do his bidding. I didn’t know what he was into, but I knew it was illegal, and if I got caught, I could get into trouble. So, I told him, flat-out, that I wasn’t going to do it anymore.”

“And how did that go over?”

“Not well.” I shrug and take another bite. “He hit me. Threatened to pimp me out to the creepy dudes who liked to look. And then these guys came banging on the door and started to beat him up pretty bad.

“I’d already packed my bag, ready to run as soon as I had the chance. And what better opportunity than when he was getting the shit kicked out of him? So, I grabbed my suitcase, the one currently in your closet, and I ran. I never saw him again.”

His eyes narrow on me as he, too, eats his breakfast. “Where did you get that?” He points at the flash drive.

“I’d forgotten that I’d hidden it a couple of weeks before I ran away. He wanted me to deliver it to one of those places, and I was just so sick of it, Shane. It was awful. So, instead, I hid it away in my mom’s suitcase. I hid it in the interior lining, you know?”

He nods, and I keep going.

“I forgot about it. For all these years. Just now, after I finished unpacking, I heard the rattle and found it.”

“What’s on it?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

With our plates empty, Shane retrieves the drive and takes my hand.