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“... A... A man gave it to me,” is all I manage.
The greaseball doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer. “My name’s Semyon,” he says reaching out his long, thin hand to me. I don’t take it. That only makes him chuckle. He reaches down and forcefully takes my hand, giving it a big exaggerated shake. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the chaos that’s engulfed this city over the past few months, but I’m proud to say that me and my crew have spilled the most blood out of anyone.” His hand squeezes around mine and I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. His skin is cold and clammy. “Not impressed? I’m just telling you so that you know one more body means nothing to me. Even if that body is as pretty as yours.” His reptilian eyes scan my body and his blue-ish tongue flicks across his thin lips.
His skeevy gaze is enough to cause a wave of terrified adrenaline to burst through my body. Even with the sudden surge of strength, though, I’m barely able to escape Semyon’s grip when I rip my hand away from his.
“A fighter,” he smirks, half-biting his lip. “I should have known.” A subtle head nod to both his goons is enough to have them each grab one of my arms. I struggle with all my might, but it’s no use. Even with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I have no hope. It doesn’t take long before I’m forced to go limp.
“What was this mysterious man’s name?” Semyon asks, turning his back to me and studying the bracelet once more.
I’m completely at his mercy, but for some reason, I don’t want to say Ronan’s name, and it’s not because I still hate him so much. A defiant fire grows in me as I realize that I want to protect the man who’s abandoned me. Why!?
I’d sigh if I wasn’t so busy sneering. The truth is, Ronan’s been occupying a place in my heart ever since that cold night. I miss him more than I rue him, and I hate myself for it. What kind of self-respecting woman still cares for a man who abandoned her so flippantly?
Maybe it wasn’t his choice...
I’ve been fighting a civil war of my own over that man. There are craters in my mind from trying to forget him, but it’s been impossible. What would giving Ronan’s name to these goons mean to him? What would it mean to me?
Semyon turns around and puckers his lips. Slowly, I feel the very forceful hands of the two goons holding me start to twist my arms backwards. I cry out in shocked pain.
Semyon raises his eyebrows and the two goons stop twisting my arms. “I just want a name,” he assures me.
This time, I sigh. I can’t fight this any longer. There’s a little life counting on me to protect it. “... Ronan,” I whisper.
A wide, tight-lipped, evil grin slowly emerges across Semyon’s face. “Good girl,” he hisses, softly patting me on the cheek. I flinch at the coldness of his fingers. “I knew it was you.”
His two goons let go of my arms and I fall to the floor in a huff.
“See how easy that was?” Semyon teases.
I hardly hear him. My vision is going blurry as I try to catch my breath on the floor. What the hell are these guys going to do to me?
I get my answer soon enough.
With my eyes still glued to the ground, I hear my floorboards creak under the weight of the three men. Their footsteps are heading back towards my front door. Semyon follows them, making sure to step over-top of me on his way out.
“We’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Nia,” I hear Semyon say, as my door opens and the goons step out into the hall. “Oh, and if I can offer you a bit of advice. Never give your banking information to a shady pawn shop clerk. Especially not a Russian one. And especially not after your boyfriend has killed the leader of the biggest Bratva on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.”
My door slams shut and silence fills the heavy air in my apartment. It takes me a second to process what just happened, but when it all hits me, I’m completely overwhelmed.
I break down in tears.
I cry and I cry in a huddled ball by my front door for what seems like an eternity until I can’t seem to cry anymore.
Completely drained, I barely have enough energy to sit upright. I lean against the inside of my door and stare up at my paint-chipped ceiling. I feel faint, like I’m drifting in and out of consciousness.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
I don’t have long to contemplate that question before I’m rattled awake by a knock at my door.
21
Ronan
The wind is warmer here than I remember.
Maybe it’s just because it’s summertime in the city, or maybe it’s because of what I’ve come for, but I suddenly don’t miss my little tropical hideaway spot so much anymore.
After all, how could it possibly compare to home?
