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One
RIDLEY
FOUR AND A HALF YEARS LATER
My boot slams against the door by the knob, and I watch as it blows inward. Bodies line the floor. A family. Men, women, children. They are bloody, beaten, and the women have been raped. I hold my stomach back as the smell of sex, sweat, and feces hits my nose. These people were tortured before they were killed. Behind my balaclava, a flush of sweat coats my skin. Hearing a grunt, I swing my gun to the side. The scene I entered on stopped me from doing a proper room sweep. A mistake like that could cost me my life. I see a man dressed in all black like me rutting into a body. The woman he’s on top of stares back at me in pain and fear before her eyes glass over, and I know she’s gone. I’m about to scream when I recognize her. I thought I had saved her. A blade slams into my gut, and I look up into the face of my enemy.
Roger, the man I had let into my body, has betrayed me. He found her, and now she’s dead.
I scream and fight until I feel a warm body against mine. The wiry fur and the whimper bring me back from the darkness. The nightmare fades away, and I open my eyes to the sunrise. I don’t have curtains on the windows yet. I have one-way bulletproof glass installed but no other window treatments.
Rolling into my dog’s body, I wrap my arms around him. “Thank you, buddy.” I scratch his ears like he likes. “Murtaugh, you’re the man. But we are getting too old for this shit.” I quote the line from the movie he’s named after. He and his brother are trained to protect, but Murtaugh has the more intensive training to aid and help me with my PTSD.
I roll from the bed away from him and stand up. Groaning, I stretch my body. Muscles line it, making me look less feminine, but I don’t care. I can kill someone a hundred different ways now. I’ve taken the training the military gave me and expanded on it. I’m more of the deadly weapon they created today than back when I ran ops.
Moving toward the shower, I don’t turn on any lights so I won’t see myself in the mirror. I can’t stand to look at myself anymore. I’ve been working with a therapist for years. She’s made several suggestions, but none of them have worked.
I’m broken.
The warm water sluices off my body, and I quickly wash up, making sure my thick, shoulder-length dark mahogany hair is clean. I grab a towel off the warming bar and wrap it around myself before I finally flick on the lights.
Babushka, my grandmother, always said moisturizer was a girl’s best friend. So I apply some with sunblock on my face before I pull my hair back into a tight bun low on my head. I’ve worn this style for years. I can’t stop myself from it. Looking into the mirror, I really take myself in. For the first time in more years than I can remember, my hair is its normal color. My face had to be reconstructed after the attack, but I see myself in the mirror.
I’m Ridley again.
All of the years I was in the military, I used an alias. The government kind of frowns down on a mafia printsessa serving in the military, and I was the head of the Vegas Bratva’s daughter at the time. My brother Andrei is in charge now, and our papa went back to Latvia to run the family from there.
I haven’t had anything to do with the “family” in years. I walked away from all of that. The only contact I have is with my babushka. Oh, and my brothers every once in a while. Mostly Grayson since he’s not a part of the family business. He owns his own casino in Vegas. Andrei, meanwhile, is as merciless as our father. That doesn’t mean I love him less. It just means I don’t want to be a pawn in his world. That’s all a printsessa is to the family. A means to a good marriage. But that’s not me. I’ve fought against that every chance I could.
My eyes focus on my body. I see the scars on my shoulders and clavicle. I look at the trailing edge of scars over my breasts. Memories brought up by the nightmare start to come back to me, and I shudder.
Murtaugh whimpers from the doorway, breaking the chain of my thoughts. I turn away from the mirror. He knew I was getting into my head.
“Good boy.” I pat his head as I move to the walk-in closet.
This room is wasted on me. I have only one pair of high heels on the rack. One lone little black dress hangs among tactical cargo pants, jeans, and workout leggings. I dress quickly in my normal gear. The black cargo pants go over the sexy thong. Okay, so I have a bit of a girlish side. I love sexy bras and panties. The lingerie makes me feel a little bit feminine.
But they are black. No other colors. Always black.
I finish dressing in a black compression long-sleeved top and then grab a heavy hooded pullover. I move through my bedroom and step out into the hallway. I look over at her door and see it’s still closed, letting me know she’s asleep. Today we have an appointment with the university to get her set up. She wanted to transfer here when she found out I was moving to Eastport. I wanted to tell her no, but I couldn’t. She was right, I’ve spent the last few years keeping her away from me. I know I’ll be the catalyst for them to find her. I’ve already proven that in Chicago.
Stopping at the breakfast bar, I write a quick note to let her know I have a coffee date with Ryan. He’s been my closest friend for years now. He saved my life that day when he killed off Angeline. He then listed me under another name until I finally gave him my real one.
At the doorway, I grab a pair of black composite toe tactical boots and a vest. That’s another thing that has changed. I’m always prepared for an attack. My bulletproof vest is always on. I fasten the Velcro into place and then slip the hoodie over my head and grab my wallet.
I look down at Murtaugh and order him to protect. He walks to her door and lies down, doing his job. He usually accompanies me, but I don’t know this place where Ryan wants to meet. I take the stairs down to the main floor of the warehouse. At one of the numerous panels throughout the building, I disarm the alarm as I grab a set of keys for a truck. It snowed here last night, so this would be the safest vehicle.
Eastport isn’t a huge city like Chicago, New York, or Boston, but it’s on the cusp of becoming a bigger metropolis. It’s still got the small town feel and only one major hospital and the university on the outskirts. But as more business move in and around, it will grow. I park a block down from the coffee shop as an alert goes off on my phone. I pull it out and see that she’s awake and let Murtaugh out for me. I completely forgot. I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached. I’m a type A personality, but I also need my lists and routines. Ryan says the head injury caused some of my issues with memory and concentration.
I open the door to the coffee shop and step inside as someone rushes out. They brush against me and I recoil. I hate being touched except by a few people. I move to the counter and place my order for a large black coffee. I’m not a froufrou drink kind of girl. I make my way to Ryan’s table. I clocked him as soon as I stepped inside.
“Hey, girl.” He stands and moves in for a hug. I pull back, and he nods in understanding. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”
“How is she doing?”
A couple of nights ago I saved the woman he loves from being kidnapped. She was taken from a restaurant while under the protection of my men. I was close by and followed behind, getting to her before it became a serious situation.
“She’s good. Shaken up and scared but good. She’s pregnant. I’m going to be a father.” He smiles, but then it fades as he reaches for my hand. I hold mine firm on the table and don’t cringe back as I see the pity cross his face. “I’m sorry.”
