ALSO BY ELLE CASEY
ROMANCE
The Bourbon Street Boys (4-book series)
By Degrees
Rebel Wheels (3-book series)
Just One Night (romantic serial)
Just One Week
Love in New York (3-book series)
Shine Not Burn (2-book series)
Desperate Measures
Mismatched
ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
All the Glory
Don’t Make Me Beautiful
Wrecked (2-book series)
PARANORMAL
Duality (2-book series)
Pocket Full of Sunshine (short story & screenplay)
CONTEMPORARY URBAN FANTASY
War of the Fae (10-book series)
Ten Things You Should Know About Dragons
(short story in The Dragon Chronicles)
My Vampire Summer
Aces High
DYSTOPIAN
Apocalypsis (4-book series)
SCIENCE FICTION
Drifters’ Alliance (3-book series)
Winner Takes All (short story prequel to Drifters’ Alliance in Dark Beyond the Stars Anthology)
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Elle Casey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance Publishing, Seattle
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ISBN-13: 9781477848715
ISBN-10: 1477848711
Cover design by Lisa Horton
To Sidney
I’m not sure who rescued whom, really, but I sure am glad we found each other.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Where are you going?” Pavel asks me, looking up from the couch in his warehouse office. I’ve known this man for six years and worked as his employee for five, but does that stop me from being scared to death at the sound of his voice? Hell, no.
I hike my purse up higher on my shoulder. “Just going to see the doctor.” I rub my hand over my massively bloated belly. My indigestion has been getting worse every day; I swear to God, sometimes it feels like I’m going to explode. The stress of living a double life is slowly killing me. Even my ankles are puffy.
“What doctor?”
“Uhhh . . .” I have no immediate answer for him because I’m lying through my teeth. I don’t have a doctor’s appointment, even though I could probably use one. I finished another bottle of Tums at my desk this morning. The empty container sits next to the computer, its large, antacid-dusted interior reminding me that I’ve ingested about five pounds of what I suspect to be merely flavored chalk in just the last week.
“The one over on . . . Oak Street?” I hope there’s a medical office somewhere over there in case Pavel decides to check up on me.
“He is a good doctor?”
I can’t tell with his crazy-ass Russian accent and that lazy smile he’s got whether Pavel really gives a crap about the quality of my medical care or if he’s baiting me. One can never tell for sure with him. He catches people unawares all the time, and when that happens, watch out—time to call in the blood-splatter expert. After several misjudgments on my part and more bruises than I care to remember, I’ve learned my lesson. Pavel will never blindside me again. Now I always assume the worst, and if I’m wrong, I celebrate with a good, stress-relieving cry. There are always tears with Pavel, but sometimes they’re the good kind: the hell-yeah-I-didn’t-die-today kind.
“We’ll see.” I hesitate at the door, ignoring my instinct to run like hell. It’s never good to let him see fear, because he feeds on it. It excites him, not just mentally but sexually. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”
He purses his lips, staring at me for the longest time, slowly nodding. “Yeah. Get me a coffee. And get yourself something diet to drink. No sugar. You’re getting fat.”
My brain stops working for a second as I process this strange request tied up with an insult. Pavel doesn’t drink coffee. He drinks only Vitaminwater and vodka, being the quintessential Russian metrosexual gangster that he is. And since when does he talk about my weight? Never. He’s definitely baiting me. A chill runs through me. Does he know what I’ve done?
I have to play along and act dumb. I have no choice. He’s right about the fact that I’ve gained a few pounds, but that’s his fault for being a psychotic asshole who makes me stress-eat. My revenge is going to be so sweet. I’m going to eat a giant, jelly-glazed donut to celebrate it too, once I’ve put my plan into action. He’s got a lot of nerve calling me fat when his head is so big it can barely fit through the door.
“Okaaaay . . . What kind of coffee?” I ask. “From anywhere in particular?”
“No special kind. No special place. You decide. And make sure it is a good one.” His smile is sinister now.
My heart races. This is a test. He’s going to find a way to mess me up over this because he’s in one of his moods. What in the hell qualifies as a good coffee to an asshole like Pavel? I have no idea. And therein lies the trap.
“Yeah, sure, no problem. Can do.” I give him my biggest smile, which is secret code for One day I’m going to get you for this, you bastard.
He laughs. “You are a good girl, Tamika. I can trust you to take good care of me, yes?”
I walk through the door as I answer, bitterness boiling inside me. “Always, Pavel. Always.”
CHAPTER TWO
/> Get me a coffee . . . You’re getting fat . . . No sugar for you . . . Who in the hell does he think he is?” I’m mumbling in my car all the way back from the police station where nothing at all happened, since Detective Holloway wasn’t in and didn’t bother to tell anyone where he’d be. Jerk. His no-phone-call policy is a serious pain in the behind.
“Pavel can kiss my big butt. I’m not his slave. I’m not his servant. I keep his books, that’s it. And I do a damn good job of it too, thank you very much. But does that mean anything to him? No. He’s going to mess with my head just because he’s bored or he’s mad at someone else.” I am so sick and tired of being everyone’s whipping boy. Or whipping girl.
“Oh, shoot. Jesus, that hurts.” I rub my belly, the acid indigestion kicking up big-time. I forgot to buy more Tums. I need to go do that after I get his stupid coffee. I can’t believe I’m stressing so hard over a hot beverage. I’m a college graduate; buying coffee should not be such a challenge for someone like me.
“Okay, that’s enough of that negativity.” I grip the steering wheel as the latest intestinal cramp moves through my bowels, making me break out in the cold sweat of pain. “Time to be positive. Power of positive thinking, right? Hmm, what can I say that’s positive?” I wait for the traffic light to turn green as I mine my brain for something happy going on in my life. “Oh, I know!” I hold up my finger as the lightbulb goes on. I think the rest of it in my head instead of talking out loud to myself because who knows . . . maybe Pavel has had my car bugged. The one positive thing I have going on in my life right now is I got all of Pavel’s financials backed up onto the cloud and put that software program in there to code everything and cover my ass, so when Detective Holloway finally gets his butt back in to work, I’ll be getting the heck out of Pavel’s hellhole and starting my new life. Boom. Positivity engaged.
Once I work out my final deal with the police and get me some of that witness protection and a new identity, I will be outta here. Goodbye, New Orleans, and screw you for everything you never did for me. I’ll be on the road to my new life, and Pavel will be off to prison for the rest of his.
Booyah. Screw with me and see what happens, Pavel. Ha! I feel so empowered right now. I’m also terrified. I will soon be divulging all the secrets and accounting records of a high-level Russian Bratva member, “The Vor” as his lackeys like to call him—The Thief—which seems innocuous enough, but it means a whole lot more than stealing things, in Russian; it means stealing lives too. I know for a fact that Pavel has stolen more than ten of them because he likes to brag. He also likes to remind me how much power he has over my life. That’s what this stupid coffee is all about, probably.
The light turns green and my mind snaps back to my more immediate concern: Where am I going to get a “good” coffee, delicious enough to satisfy the Devil himself? I look left and right, and a flashing neon coffee mug catches my eye. I don’t know this area of town well, but I know a coffee shop when I see one, and all the tables outside of it are full of people. “Jackpot.”
I ignore the people honking behind me as I turn right. They’re just jealous of my slick driving maneuvers. So what if my tire scraped the side of the curb a little; nobody can shift through the gears as smoothly as I can. My little Toyota might be old, but it’s still a well-oiled machine. I’ve turned down Pavel’s offer of a new car at least five times. I don’t want to be beholden to him any more than I already am. Everything Pavel gives comes with strings. Besides, my car has almost zero electronics in it, which means Pavel can’t hack into any navigation systems to find me. He has way too much technology at his disposal. That’s also why I still use a flip phone.
A woman is waving at me from the sidewalk and frowning, yelling something rude, probably. Racial tensions have been high in the city lately, so maybe she’s one of those redneck rabble-rousers who judges people by their skin color. I ignore her, not wanting to make things worse than they already are. I’ll be leaving New Orleans soon, but it doesn’t mean I want the place to fall apart behind me.
I need to keep a low profile now that I’m so close to being free. The last thing I need is to get into an altercation with some random woman and get arrested. Pavel would watch me like a hawk after I made bail, and he’s already observant enough. Putting his data on the cloud was a life-threatening maneuver that had to have been touched by God himself to go as smoothly as it did. I don’t want to press my luck and ask the Big Man for any more favors. Just the thought of Pavel questioning me about why I got arrested and what I might have said to the cops gives me another intestinal cramp.
I grip the steering wheel hard and focus on the Lotta Java sign coming up on my right. Everybody’s looking at me, alerted by that woman who’s still yelling. I can’t hear a word she’s saying with my window up and the air-conditioning on, but I’m sure I don’t want to. Haters gonna hate. I’m going to ask some of those people sitting outside the coffee shop to recommend a good coffee drink for me to bring back to Pavel. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll actually like it enough to forget to come after me about whatever’s bugging him.
I frown as my stomach lurches again. Pain shoots through my entire bottom half. “Oh, shit,” I say, grabbing my belly. I look down for a second and watch as it actually moves . . . It’s like there’s an alien in there. Although I’ve felt plenty of them, I’ve never seen an actual gas bubble move through my belly before. Maybe it’s a tumor.
Suddenly there’s a loud boom at the front of my car. I slam on my brakes without thinking and look up, my heart racing. I see nothing at first, and then there’s this guy appearing out of nowhere from the street in front of my Toyota.
“What the hell!” he yells at me, his face beet red. He’s leaning on the hood of my car, and that’s when it hits me: Oh, shit. That man ran out in front of me! What kind of idiot does that?!
“Oh my god damn!” I pump my window down using its flywheel handle. “What’re you thinking, walking out into the middle of the road like that?” I yell at him. “Are you drunk or what?” I glance over at the Lotta Java, wondering why they’d serve Irish coffees so early in the morning. There has to be a law against that.
The man is glaring at me, obviously not that hurt since he’s standing there showing off his fine body. And he might be cute as all get-out with that face and those muscles of his, wearing those tight jeans, but that doesn’t make it okay for him to act like he’s got the right to be angry. He’s the dummy who walked out into the road and hit my car with his big old muscly body. My car is bright green and impossible to miss. Even little kids know to look both ways before crossing the street. He’s probably one of those insurance claim scammers, working the system to sue me and get a payday out of it.
“Lady, you just hit me!” He rests his hand on his thigh as he leans over, breathing hard and mumbling things that might be cuss words. And then a couple seconds later, he straightens and starts limping over to my window. He’s totally faking, I know he is.
“You’re crazy is what you are.” I scramble for my purse, panicked because he looks angry and I’m stuck in this car with stomach cramps that are about to kill me. I’m fearing a loss of bladder control more than the man’s temper at this point, though. The pressure down there is unbelievable. Screw the coffee. I’m going to the doctor’s office. Pavel can wait.
I roll my window down the rest of the way. This guy doesn’t scare me one bit. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with Russian mobsters, so this muscle-bound gym rat with his tight T-shirt and pointy boots is nothing. “You better stay back,” I warn, glaring at him.
He keeps limping my way.
“Don’t you come over here thinking you’re gonna manhandle me. I have Mace and I’m not afraid to use it.” I hold up a can of mosquito spray at him, the only thing toxic I happen to be carrying today. Hopefully he won’t know the difference.
He points at a black-and-white sign on the corner that I have to squint to see because it’s so far away. “This is a one-way street, lady,
and you’re going the wrong direction on it. You hit me! Practically ran me right over!” He hops on one leg. “You messed up my knee bad.”
Oh, damn. He’s right; it is a one-way street and there’re a bunch of cars coming toward me from the other direction. And he does look a little hurt. But damn, he just walked out in front of my car! I might’ve made a wrong turn, but he’s the dummy who walked out into the road without looking. It’s his fault he’s hurt, not mine. If Pavel catches wind of this, he’ll want to know what I was doing so close to the police station when I was supposed to be at the doctor’s. I need to get the hell out of here.
I twist my lips as my plan comes together. I can sell this. I’m a seriously good actress when I need to be. “Who do you think you are, calling me lady? Claiming I hit you? Are you for real? I didn’t hit you. You hit my car. Walked right into it. I’ve got witnesses, so don’t even try to play that game with me.” I glance at the crowd of people gathering on the curb. I believe I see supporters in there, some of them smiling. I raise my voice so everyone can hear me. My pulse pounds at my neck and my insides twist harder.
“You should be using a cane with a red tip on it if your eyesight’s so bad you can’t see a big old green car coming down the street right in front of you.” I sit up straighter and look out over my steering wheel, inspecting the hood of my car. “You probably damaged my bumper. Scratched the paint too.” I look at him with narrowed eyes. “But I’m going to let that slide today because I’m in a hurry.”