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Avery
I should have stayed home.When Cathy called at an inappropriately early hour to ask if I’d take her shift, I should have said no. But I didn’t. So instead of spending the day studying for my anatomy test tomorrow, I’m slinging beer and microwaved pretzels.
Loud cheers from the baseball game on the televisions that Kevin had installed last month drown the nearly empty lounge. I’m not going to make enough tips today to cover my bus ride home with this piddly crowd.
“Avery, wipe down those tables over there.” Kevin, the owner of the hole-in-the-wall bar I work at, brings me a damp towel and gestures toward the far corner.
“Sure, Kevin.” I grab the towel. With this lame crowd in here, all of seven people, he doesn’t even need me. But instead of letting me go home early, he’s going to give me bullshit things to do. My base pay is next to nothing, so without healthy tips, my day is wasted here. And it would be better spent memorizing the bones of the skeletal system for tomorrow’s test.
I finish wiping down all of the tables in the place when the door opens. Sunlight pours in from outside, and four men—large men—walk in. I bring the towel back to the bar, sliding it along the counter. They survey the room, and one of their gazes lands on me. My feet glue themselves to the floor. Fuck, he oozes danger and sex.
He’s the only one not wearing a button-down shirt. While the others are dressed like they’re going to a business meeting, he’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket.
And he’s headed straight for me.
“Got her.” He sounds like he’s laying a claim, like he’s just called dibs.
I take a protective step back, but before I fully understand his meaning, he has me scooped up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” Fight mode fully activates. He only has me by one arm firmly around my middle; I should be able to get out of this, but he’s built like a hundred-year-old oak tree. I scratch him, but he doesn’t do anything except carry me to the back room of the bar.
“You’ll stay back here with me for a minute,” he says in a thick Russian accent.
The second my feet touch the floor, I lunge for the swinging door he brought me through. He’s quick for such a big guy and snatches me right back up.
“Don’t fight me, Pchelka. Stay back here where it’s safe.”
“Safe?” I shove away from him when he puts me down once more. He has his back to the door, ready to defend it from my invasion. “Why wouldn’t I be safe out there?”
“My friends need to have a conversation with someone. It’s best you stay here. Where I can be sure you’re safe.”
“How am I safe back here with you?” I grab hold of a broom and poke the handle at him. “Let me leave.”
His left eyebrow arches sharply. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Kevin is out there.” I jerk the broom handle at him again.
“He will be fine.”
Voices rise on the other side of the door.
“What’s happening?” I move up to my toes, hoping to catch a glimpse through the scratched glass window of the door.
“Nothing that concerns you. I told you; my friends need to have a conversation.” He folds his arms over his chest. The man is nothing more than a statue of muscle. The sleeves of his leather jacket hug his arms tight in this position. There are tattoos on his hands, Cyrillic lettering on each finger. It would be smart not to provoke him.
And yet, I thrust the broom handle forward, aiming straight at his crotch. If I miss, I’ll probably hit his leg, or maybe his stomach.
With lightening reflexes, he grabs the broom before it touches him, yanking it from my grasp. His jaw clenches, and he flicks the broom aside where it crashes into the counter, knocking over a tray of glasses.
“That was a bad thing to do, Pchelka. You could have hurt me.” He takes a deliberate step toward me, looking like a hunter on the prowl.
I shuffle back and move around the table. He follows, and as soon as there’s an opening, I run for the door. Then a painful bellow escapes from the bar.
“Stay back here!” he demands, but I’m already out the door. Kevin huddles behind the bar, staying clear of the mess happening on the other side.
“What the fuck?”
Mario Bellittini’s hand is pinned to the bar with a knife. The men surrounding him look up at me, their dark expressions reek of violence and death. It’s the shock of the scene that makes me not even hear leather jacket man approach me.
