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“If that’s what really happened, Kir, that both crashes were intentional, who do you think is behind it? Who do you think hired him?” I ask.
He presses his lips together. “Let’s lay this out. What we do and don’t know. Niko’s car, being driven by Stacey, blew up when she was hit by the truck. We thought the truck was just incidental, but it seems like it was planned, used as a sort of detonator.”
“Okay. Someone planted a bomb, and used a hired gun, a big rig driver, to fake an accident and make the thing explode,” Niko says.
Kir is pacing so hard now he’s making me dizzy, which is not good. This is the sort of shit that brings on my migraines. I close my eyes and listen.
“Right. The driver claimed Stacey went through a red light, but Evie was chasing the car, running after it, and saw it waiting at the light when the truck hit it. Stacey was never in the intersection, so the driver had to swerve toward her. He hit her so hard no one could tell whether she was in the intersection or not. Evie insists Stacey never went through a light, red or otherwise. The truck just slammed into her, and then the driver lied about it. They hadn’t counted on a witness like Evie. She saw the whole thing.”
Holy fuck. “Can we get video of the intersection? Any cameras in the area?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’ve already checked that out. I suspect they chose that intersectionbecausethere are no cameras.”
“So you’re saying your accident with Clara” —I can’t remember the last time I said the woman’s name out loud— “played out the same? Some guy T-boned you, possibly on purpose? Was there a bomb in your car, do you think?”
I know this is hard for Kir to talk about. In fact, I’m surprised he is able to.
“I don’t know. At the time, I never thought to look. The car was towed to the wrecking yard. I never saw it again. But if there had been one, it failed to detonate. The truck crashing into us accomplished the one thing it was probably never meant to—killing Clara instead of me.”
I open my eyes again to see he’s taken a seat and is holding his head in his hands. Poor bastard.
“Okay. So who’s behind it?” I ask.
“That’s the million-dollar question. I assume it’s Dimitri. Could it have been he who caused mine, all those years ago?” Kir says.
It doesn’t seem likely, but nothing surprises me anymore.
“Or…” Niko says, “maybe Dimitri isn’t behind Stacey’s crash. Maybe we need to widen our focus?”
Kir gets to his feet again, clearly tortured, and gazes out the window to our south lawn. “Look at her out there. It’s like she’s training for the Olympics or something.”
Niko and I join him at the window to watch Charleigh with her trainer.
That’s one of the problems with the business we’re in. You never know who’s coming for you.
* * *
CHAPTERSIX
Vadik
We would have preferred to use our own resources to keep Charleigh safe, rather than have her trained to defend herself. I wish no situation would ever arise where she had to take up for herself, where she was on her own without us to take care of our her the way we should. But the reality is, this shit does happen, it has happened, and it could very well happen again.
What really killed me is that the first time we suggested training, she jumped all over the idea, insisting she start right away, as if she knew we couldn’t keep her safe and that she really was on her own in the world. That stung. And now, every day she relives the brutal treatment she suffered at the hands of Dimitri and his men. She might be getting stronger physically, but emotionally, she’s so drawn into herself I’m afraid we may have lost her.
The only time I see a little light in her eyes is when her sister comes in the room. But I know she’s putting on a show for Evie.
She’s just dead on the inside.
The question is, can we bring her back to life?
I’m lying if I don’t admit this haunts me. I never realized someone else’s pain could become my own, maybe aside from my brothers, and yet here we are. To survive, I’ve thrown myself into work like I always do. It’s my escape, it always has been, whenever the stress is getting too much to take.
Mama always said I was a workaholic. Papa said I was ambitious. But the truth falls somewhere in between the two. If you bury yourself in work, there are a lot of other things in life you don’t have to focus on, things you can avoid. Seems I’ve become quite the champ at that.
Granted, I’ve always been a hard worker. I wanted to make my parents proud, ensure the family name remains respected, and continue the work my father started as an immigrant in this country. It wasn’t easy for him, although he never complained. It seems the least I—and my brothers—can do is honor his legacy by keeping the businesses he started strong and successful.
With these self-imposed pressures, I’ve never had much time for anything other than work. No relationships, no hobbies—none of that bullshit.
