Raze
Page 20
Nothing happened for several seconds, before one of his rough hands let go of the jar and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a tattered piece of paper. He held it out for me to take. I reached out for the scrap. When my finger brushed his warm finger, a current like a bolt of electricity shot through my body. I almost leapt back at the sensation. He must have felt it too as no sooner had our fingers touched than he pulled his hand back and tucked it into his pocket.
With trembling hands, I unfolded the crinkled paper and my eyes saw a number: ten thousand.
My eyes locked on the man whose full lips were pursed.
“Ten grand?” I whispered, yet he said nothing. “Ten grand?” I said louder, betraying my disbelief. “What do you need that kind of money for?”
His free hand clenched slowly into a fist and the split skin began to seep with droplets of blood. I was gripped by fear as I watched the droplets fall to the sun-parched ground.
“Revenge,” he snarled.
I startled at the severity of his tone, at his rough voice, his voice that caused sparks to ignite deep in my stomach.
“Revenge?” I whispered in confusion, fighting to keep the nerves from my voice.
His clenched hand slackened and once again resumed its place on the jar.
“Revenge… revenge on the man who lied.”
I slowly stood, not knowing what to do, not knowing whether it was right to fund his… revenge. I wanted to push him for more, but he was back to being a statue. I looked down at the money in the jar. He had about fifty dollars, if that. He was never going to raise that kind of money out here on the streets.
It was hopeless. What he was doing was hopeless.
I ran my hand through my hair and almost laughed. What the hell was I doing? And was I seriously contemplating giving him ten grand? For revenge? Up to now, the very thought should have sent me running for the hills, but I was a princess of the Bratva, the only daughter of the Pakhan. Revenge put food on my family’s table; it ensured we all lived to see another day. Revenge was my family’s M.O., my family’s legacy.
And ten grand was nothing to Kirill Volkov’s family.
I could get this amount tonight from the safe at the gym. No one but me knew the cash was there. Hell, no one would miss it. It was the gym’s Christmas donation to the church. But I was in two minds. It was charity and it was earmarked for the church; however, I was now pretty convinced that giving the money to a single man hell bent on revenge, though not the Lord’s original idea of alms, was charity enough. This mysterious man had saved my life. He killed my attacker to save my life.
It was blood money, payment for a sin against the flesh. What was ten thousand dollars compared to that?
Crouching down, I placed the piece of paper on top of his jar and promised, “I’ll be back later tonight.”
Turning on my heel, I jogged back to the truck and, from my cell, called Serge to pick me up. Ten minutes later, he arrived and I made my excuses to Father Kruschev.
I jumped in the backseat of the car and Serge turned his body to face me, worry etched on his face. “Miss. Kisa, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”
Shaking my head, I asked, “Serge, I need a favor. Please, can you take me to the gym, then back here?” I looked up at him through my lashes, the guilt of this request playing heavy on my heart. “But don’t tell Papa or Alik.”
Serge stared at me and his gray eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you in trouble, Miss?”
I shook my head.
“Is this going against something you were ordered not to do?” Serge pushed further.
“No,” I whispered. “It’s something I want to do for someone… something to pay back a debt. But Alik wouldn’t be happy. He’d think I would have betrayed his orders.”
Serge blew out a long breath but, dropping his head, turned around and buckled his seatbelt. “I hope you’re not lying to me, Miss Volkova,” he said, and I exhaled a pent-up breath.
“I’m not, Serge. I swear.”
Serge gave a curt nod and silently pulled out onto the street. A while later, we arrived at the gym. Serge guarded me as I slipped inside and ran to my office. I quickly opened the safe hidden in the wall, pulled out the cash and, stuffed it into my purse.
After locking my office door, Serge looked at me with suspicion in his eyes, but I brushed past him without saying a word. Dutifully, he followed me outside into the car.
In another twenty minutes, we pulled back in front of the street where the food truck had stopped, only this time everywhere was deserted. The church truck was gone for the night and most of the homeless were asleep under their blankets.
I went to open the door, clutching my purse, when Serge opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Serge? What are you doing?” I asked in panic.
Serge folded his old but still beefy arms over his chest, his black suit looking too tight. “Miss Volkova, I might have agreed to escort you to the gym and back here, even though it wasn’t on Mr. Volkov’s or Alik’s approved list, but there is no way I’m letting you walk around these streets alone at this time of night.”
I stepped forward, a pleading look upon my face. “Please, Serge. I need to give a homeless man here some money and I must do it alone.”
Serge shook his head in exasperation and stormed forward, gently gripping my bicep in his hand. “Kisa, what the hell is going on?”
I dropped my eyes. “I… I…” I blew out a sharp breath and met Serge’s eyes. “Serge, I was attacked last night while doing the church’s work. I was in an alley, alone, where I was told not to go, handing out a care package to one of the regulars, when some guy tried to steal my purse and put a blade to my throat. He… he was going to kill me.”
With trembling hands, I unfolded the crinkled paper and my eyes saw a number: ten thousand.
My eyes locked on the man whose full lips were pursed.
“Ten grand?” I whispered, yet he said nothing. “Ten grand?” I said louder, betraying my disbelief. “What do you need that kind of money for?”
His free hand clenched slowly into a fist and the split skin began to seep with droplets of blood. I was gripped by fear as I watched the droplets fall to the sun-parched ground.
“Revenge,” he snarled.
I startled at the severity of his tone, at his rough voice, his voice that caused sparks to ignite deep in my stomach.
“Revenge?” I whispered in confusion, fighting to keep the nerves from my voice.
His clenched hand slackened and once again resumed its place on the jar.
“Revenge… revenge on the man who lied.”
I slowly stood, not knowing what to do, not knowing whether it was right to fund his… revenge. I wanted to push him for more, but he was back to being a statue. I looked down at the money in the jar. He had about fifty dollars, if that. He was never going to raise that kind of money out here on the streets.
It was hopeless. What he was doing was hopeless.
I ran my hand through my hair and almost laughed. What the hell was I doing? And was I seriously contemplating giving him ten grand? For revenge? Up to now, the very thought should have sent me running for the hills, but I was a princess of the Bratva, the only daughter of the Pakhan. Revenge put food on my family’s table; it ensured we all lived to see another day. Revenge was my family’s M.O., my family’s legacy.
And ten grand was nothing to Kirill Volkov’s family.
I could get this amount tonight from the safe at the gym. No one but me knew the cash was there. Hell, no one would miss it. It was the gym’s Christmas donation to the church. But I was in two minds. It was charity and it was earmarked for the church; however, I was now pretty convinced that giving the money to a single man hell bent on revenge, though not the Lord’s original idea of alms, was charity enough. This mysterious man had saved my life. He killed my attacker to save my life.
It was blood money, payment for a sin against the flesh. What was ten thousand dollars compared to that?
Crouching down, I placed the piece of paper on top of his jar and promised, “I’ll be back later tonight.”
Turning on my heel, I jogged back to the truck and, from my cell, called Serge to pick me up. Ten minutes later, he arrived and I made my excuses to Father Kruschev.
I jumped in the backseat of the car and Serge turned his body to face me, worry etched on his face. “Miss. Kisa, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”
Shaking my head, I asked, “Serge, I need a favor. Please, can you take me to the gym, then back here?” I looked up at him through my lashes, the guilt of this request playing heavy on my heart. “But don’t tell Papa or Alik.”
Serge stared at me and his gray eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you in trouble, Miss?”
I shook my head.
“Is this going against something you were ordered not to do?” Serge pushed further.
“No,” I whispered. “It’s something I want to do for someone… something to pay back a debt. But Alik wouldn’t be happy. He’d think I would have betrayed his orders.”
Serge blew out a long breath but, dropping his head, turned around and buckled his seatbelt. “I hope you’re not lying to me, Miss Volkova,” he said, and I exhaled a pent-up breath.
“I’m not, Serge. I swear.”
Serge gave a curt nod and silently pulled out onto the street. A while later, we arrived at the gym. Serge guarded me as I slipped inside and ran to my office. I quickly opened the safe hidden in the wall, pulled out the cash and, stuffed it into my purse.
After locking my office door, Serge looked at me with suspicion in his eyes, but I brushed past him without saying a word. Dutifully, he followed me outside into the car.
In another twenty minutes, we pulled back in front of the street where the food truck had stopped, only this time everywhere was deserted. The church truck was gone for the night and most of the homeless were asleep under their blankets.
I went to open the door, clutching my purse, when Serge opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Serge? What are you doing?” I asked in panic.
Serge folded his old but still beefy arms over his chest, his black suit looking too tight. “Miss Volkova, I might have agreed to escort you to the gym and back here, even though it wasn’t on Mr. Volkov’s or Alik’s approved list, but there is no way I’m letting you walk around these streets alone at this time of night.”
I stepped forward, a pleading look upon my face. “Please, Serge. I need to give a homeless man here some money and I must do it alone.”
Serge shook his head in exasperation and stormed forward, gently gripping my bicep in his hand. “Kisa, what the hell is going on?”
I dropped my eyes. “I… I…” I blew out a sharp breath and met Serge’s eyes. “Serge, I was attacked last night while doing the church’s work. I was in an alley, alone, where I was told not to go, handing out a care package to one of the regulars, when some guy tried to steal my purse and put a blade to my throat. He… he was going to kill me.”
