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“I’m so tired of that fucker’s shit,” I say. “He’s been digging himself a grave for a long time now, and this latest stunt has really shortened his life expectancy. I’m willing to bet he’s decamped to New Jersey, already building a little army to take us out before we can get him.”
I turn to Lily. “This is why we need to keep you safe, at least for now. Sergey will be coming after us, and that includes you.”
From the streetlights shining into the car, I can see her eyes filling with tears. “But… but I didn’t do anything. You know I didn’t. I… I just want to go home. Can’t I please go home?” she asks, the hands resting in her lap clenching and opening, then clenching again.
Damn, she’s a nice-looking woman. It occurs to me I might regret taking her along on our adventure. Could lead to trouble. Perhaps it would have been easier to just let Grisha take her out like everyone else at the party. Artem was usually the one who thinks with his dick, not me, and I have no doubt he’s surprised I invited along an unplanned-for guest.
Which means I’ll need to keep an eye on her. She’s pretty much my problem. The guys don’t even have to tell me that.
Which I’m okay with.
It’s something I look forward to.
* * *
CHAPTERFOUR
LILY
How?
It keeps repeating in my mind like a broken record.
How did I get into this predicament?
How did I happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?
How did these guys decide I should be saved rather than sacrificed?
And how will it all end?
Sergey, the gallery owner, did something to these guys. That much is easy to figure out. And these guys resolve issues by killing people. Lots of people. I figured that out too.
Pretty simple conclusions to draw.
But who are they? Who is Sergey? Does my boss know the kind of people these men are? Did she throw me to the wolves? Does she think so little of me, that everything about me is expendable?
I mean, I never expected us to be best friends, the boss and me. I am well aware that her Christmas present to me this year was a re-gifted scarf, one she probably forgot a client sent to her the previous Christmas. I didn’t forget, though. I was the one who opened the mail that day.
And all those people in the gallery. Dead, and on Christmas Eve of all nights. Do they have family at home waiting for them? Gifts under their trees? Plans to have friends over for a holiday dinner?
While the guys talk about Sergey, I wonder what the cops will do when they arrive, most likely only a few minutes after we left, by the sound of the sirens. Maybe they’ll be shocked like I was. Maybe not. Cops probably see stuff like that all the time.
Me, not so much. Except on TV.
And now here I am, sitting between two brothers. The Criminal Brothers, I’ll call them. Not to their faces, of course. No need to poke a bear. But that’s what they are, including their friend sitting up front.
Even if they are perfect specimens of male beauty. Even if every time one of them looks at me, my heart makes a little leap, and I don’t mean from the shock of seeing dead people all over the floor.
How can I find criminals attractive? That’s sick. Purely sick. Sure, I was admiring them all night, but that doesn’t mean I want to go home with them. Willingly or unwillingly. And here I am, getting a free ride to god knows where, like they’re doing me some kind of favor.
Saving my life,my ass.
Shame washes over me at the same time Valentin’s thigh presses against mine. In a typically clueless manspread, he leans on my leg until my knees press together, the tingling feeling at the apex of my thighs intensifying to where I have to swallow a gasp when we hit the bumps on the lousy New York City streets.
Sure, Christmas decorations like garlands and banners hang from the streetlamps, but they don’t erase the potholes and uneven pavement. And these signs of the holiday season, usually making me cheery and hopeful for a better new year, are suddenly naïve. Provincial. Silly. Did the person or people who hung them realize someone who’d witnessed mass murder was going to be looking at their handiwork and wishing it wasn’t there?
It's like they’re laughing in my face, that my holiday just went from merely crummy and uneventful to completely and totally fucked up.
