Unknown men spilled out onto the deck, dressed in black, large, andso many.I pressed myself into the back of the seat, my legs devoid of all feeling.
“What the fuck?” Xavier exclaimed, pronouncing my exact thoughts. “Who the fuck—”
It was so fast and so…quiet. One of the intruders pointed a handgun right into Xavier’s forehead, shutting him up for good.
Well, holy shit.
I sat there quietly, scrunched up into myself, afraid to move, tobreathe, to make a damn sound. Trembling, I waited for my turn to be manhandled, but no one threw a glance my way.
Except an older man who ascended the steps last. With a phone in hand, he looked to me, and then back to the phone, and to me again.
"D-zhayd, right?"
I blinked at him, desperately trying to process the sounds he made. “Yes?” He nodded, looking at me over his sunglasses. “Your name Dzhayd?”
My name. He asked for my name.
I nodded quickly, petrified of keeping this man waiting. “Goot,” he responded and looked around, as if enjoying the day.
And the daywasbeautiful. It was sunny and the warm wind caressed my skin, in complete oblivion to the horror unfolding in my life.
Unlike all the others, the older man wasn’t wearing black. His Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal a thick gold chain with a big ornate cross buried in his white chest hair. He sported a buzz cut, all his hair gray, and he moved slowly, leisurely, like he was on vacation. Or maybe in retirement.
The older man motioned to one of the men standing around, and they walked over to Xavier. "So zen you are K-sa-vee-yehr. Very goot. Let's start."
Start? Start fucking what?!
I was in the middle of a nightmare; I was sure of it. Something always happened on the deck of this wretched yacht!
One of the armed killers passed the older man a chair and he took a seat right in front of Xavier, leaning on one knee to get closer to the man I hated.
"My name Vova. Is short for Vladimir," he introduced himself politely, speaking with an incredibly thick accent. "You know, many people sink dat Vlad is short for Vladimir but no, iz Vova. Vlad short for Vladislav, like him." Vova jutted his chin out to a man leaning on a barstool behind Xavier.
Vladimir…that sounded Russian. And that could mean only one thing—Alex sent him.
"I hear, zat you—" out of nowhere, a silver gun appeared in Vova's hand, and he shoved the barrel right into Xavier's chest, "—are not nice to young voomen. Iz dat true?" Vova asked curiously.
Xavier snapped his head to me, as if I’d have an explanation, but I sat there motionless, now very interested to know what Vova had to say.
“Hm?” Vova prompted, and Xavier shook his head quickly, like that was a preposterous accusation. What a little bitch.
"Nah, come on, don't lie. I know. You see, Ksaveeyehr, zat's not fair.” Vova cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. “You vanna fight? You pick on people your size. Not young voomen. Zat is bad. You know vat else iz bad?” Vova asked, and I listened to his speech with bated breath. “Me. I'm bad person. I kill. Zat's my job. I kill and zen, no one can find ze body but even I, very bad man, never touch voomen."
My mind was in freefall, but not from fear this time. Fromsatisfaction.
"Here is deal,” Vova continued, seeing as Xavier sat there like he swallowed his own tongue. “You touch Dzhayd—you die. Iz very easy. Very simple."
Easy. Simple. That seemed to be Alex’s vibe too.
Vova tucked his silver handgun under his belt on his lower back and withdrew something from his pocket—a pack of cigarettes. He lit up and took a drag, momentarily turning tome and motioning with his chin, inviting me to look toward the shore.
I twisted my head, looking for something,anything,and I saw it—sawhim.
Alex.
He stood in the same spot where I met Xavier, his arms crossed, looking out at our departing yacht, but as soon as he spotted me, he lifted his arms and curved his hands into a symbol of a heart.
God, I almost died.
