Zel: Markovic MMA

  Feeling the stares of the other women waiting with us, I pinched her arm. “Ky!”

  “Sorry,” she apologized quickly. She looked embarrassed as she insisted, “You know I was just teasing.”

  “I do.” I glanced at the elegantly dressed blonde sitting across from us. Her perfectly painted lips were pulled into a taut thin line. Her jewelry glinted under the artfully placed lights. I couldn’t help but stare at her handbag. Black Clemence leather. Gold hardware. The iconic shape and structure of the Birkin bag called to me, but it was a dream I would never attain. Even on the second-hand market, a pre-owned Birkin in good shape demanded a twenty-thousand-dollar price tag.

  The elegant blonde caught me staring at her handbag and shot me a cold look. After Kylee’s teasing outburst, I could only imagine what she thought of me. Money-grubber came to mind. Even worse words circled around in my head. Sugar baby was the nicest of them—and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Another woman in the lobby sized me up in the same way. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t quite place her. She had beautiful red hair and striking blue eyes and classic fashion sense. She’d chosen a Chanel handbag and Jimmy Choos to complement her dove gray dress.

  Suddenly self-conscious, I touched my neck and prayed the fading bruises I had painstakingly covered with fine layers of concealer and foundation were still hidden. I had chosen one of my nicer outfits from my meager closet, but it hardly compared. I glanced at Kylee who thumbed through a fashion magazine and sipped her mimosa. She fit so easily in this world, even after spending the last seven years watching it from the outside.

  But me? Oh, I didn’t belong here. Not at all.

  “Shay?” A stylist with knockout curves approached me with an inviting smile. The bold coral jewelry she wore accented the black dress that hugged her thick hourglass figure. Even without her heels, she towered over me.

  “Hi.” I stood up and shook her hand.

  “I’m Nisha. I’ll be your stylist today.” She waved at Kylee. “Hey, hon! Julie will be out in a few minutes. She’s just tidying up her station.”

  “I’m in no rush.” Kylee sat back with a smile. “Take good care of my friend. She doesn’t indulge in beauty days very often.”

  “Well we’ll have to change that, won’t we?” Nisha linked her arm through mine. “Come on over to the consult area, sugar. Would you like another mimosa or maybe a bottle of water or some tea?”

  “I’m fine, but thank you.”

  “All right.” She led me to a chair and sat down across from me. “So what would you like to today?”

  “I think a trim,” I said, touching the ends of my hair. “Maybe some color?”

  “Do you color your hair often?”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t done it in almost two years.”

  “May I?” She asked for permission to touch my hair.

  “Sure.”

  She stood behind me and examined my strands. “You have such gorgeous hair. It’s very healthy. When you say you want some color, do you mean something very different or some subtle changes?”

  “Subtle.”

  “Are you familiar with balayage?”

  “Yes.”

  “So let me grab some color books and we’ll talk shades, okay?”

  We settled on soft caramel and toffee to complement my natural dark color. She combed her fingers through my hair as we discussed the upkeep and the haircut I wanted. It was clear from her consultation that she cared about my needs and satisfaction and wasn’t going to push a style or color on me that wasn’t right for my lifestyle. Feeling like I was in good hands, I finally relaxed.

  After slipping into a smock, I took a seat at the color bar. The redhead from the lobby sat in the chair at the other end of the curved bar, and Kylee popped into the chair next to me. Grinning, she said, “By the time we leave here today, I want my hair so ice white I look like a Targaryen.”

  I snickered at her Game of Thrones reference. She had been a lover of the books for years and had dragged me into the show practically kicking and screaming. Two episodes into the first season, I had been hooked. Ever since then, we had been sharing the cost of an HBO subscription and stalking fan sites for the latest updates and spoilers. “We’ll have to find you a Khal Drogo if you do that.”

  “Or maybe my Khal Drogo has already found me,” she muttered.

  “Wait. What?” I turned in my chair and leaned toward her. “What does that mean?”

  “It just means that it’s complicated.” She shot me a meaningful look. “Really complicated and really Albanian.”

  Sitting back in my chair, I had a flash of that night in the motel and the guy from Besian’s crew who had been so gentle with her. What was his name? James? Jim? Jet!

  I wanted to ask her if I was right, but this very public place was not appropriate for that conversation. I didn’t know how a relationship like that could work. Jet worked for the man who had basically ruined Kylee’s life. Dealing with Alexei’s history and his ties to a criminal enterprise were hard enough, but at least he was out of that life. Jet was still knee-deep in the Albanian mafia. His loyalties to his boss—to Besian—would always trump his loyalty to a girlfriend.

  A platinum blonde built like a pixie stopped by the color bar to offer refreshments. Kylee insisted that I have another mimosa. With a designated driver waiting outside, I didn’t put up too much of a protest. Soon, I happily sipped away at another glass while Nisha sectioned my hair and began applying color.

  Conversations swirled around me. For the first time in days, I felt the tension and stress that had been knotting up my neck and shoulders start to release. The champagne had a lot to do with it. Escaping from reality in this bubble of luxury and beauty helped.

  But I couldn’t shake the guilt that pricked at my conscience as I enjoyed an afternoon of pampering. My sister was out there somewhere, alone and afraid, while I sat here drinking champagne and gossiping. It wasn’t right. While I understood that helping Shannon was next to impossible now, a part of me wondered why the hell I wasn’t crawling the streets of the city looking for her.

  A shameful, horrible part of me knew why I hadn’t fought against Alexei’s decision to keep me safely tucked away at his house. Honestly? I was punishing my sister.

  It was an ugly thing to admit—but there it was. For so many months, the resentment and anger inside me had been building to levels that had threatened to choke me some days. I had grown tired of supporting us both financially, of cleaning up after her and of worrying night after night that she was going to be hurt or arrested when she was out with Ruben.

  Her bad decisions had nearly gotten me raped and killed. They’d put my best friend and the man I had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with in danger. I was just so sick and tired of it all.

  “You okay?” Kylee touched my foot with hers. “You look like you’re in La-La Land.”

  “Just thinking,” I said with a little smile.

  “About?”

  “Things,” I said, deliberately evasive.

  She let it go and returned her attention to her magazine. I leaned forward and reached into my purse to retrieve a small notebook I kept there and a pencil. While my color processed, I sketched out an idea I had for a gift I wanted to make Alexei. That wallet of his needed replacing.

  As I drew lines on the paper, I overheard the redhead talking to her stylist about her weekend plans. They sure sounded more interesting than mine. She was headed to Vegas this evening and apparently had plans to meet up with an old flame. I couldn’t imagine what man would have let a knockout like that walk out of his life. She seemed nice and funny and obviously had her act together considering the way she talked about her back-to-back appointments with her realty clients.

  Kylee tapped my foot when the redhead left the color bar. “What do you think?”

  “About?”

  “You. Me. Vegas.”

  It was an interesting thought. “I’m listeni
ng.”

  “I’d be willing to work some overtime for a girls-only getaway.” She smiled slyly. “You’d have to ask that Russian honey of yours for an advance on your allowance.”

  “Keep that up and I’ll go to Vegas alone with my Russian honey.”

  Kylee pouted dramatically as Nisha returned. She checked my foils and said, “Looks good. Let’s get you to the sink for a rinse and some toner.”

  I trailed Nisha to the wall of sinks along the far right side of the salon. The chair she directed me to was surprisingly comfortable. Eyes closed, I enjoyed the sensation of a warm shampoo and strong fingers massaging my scalp. After a good rinse, she applied the toner and left me to process for a few more minutes. I listened to the conversations around me and picked up on the redhead’s voice again.

  “He called me this morning—out of the blue—and told me he wanted to get together to talk about a piece of property in his portfolio. We’re meeting at his place in a few hours.”

  “Uh-huh,” her stylist said with a laugh. “Sounds to me like he’s looking for a reason to get you alone again.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you interested in rekindling things with him?”

  “I don’t know,” the redhead replied quietly. “We had a good thing when we were together, but he’s not a long-term commitment type. He knows how to make a woman feel good. I mean, that man did things to my body that still make me blush and ache!”

  The stylist laughed. “Oh, I remember those stories quite well.”

  “I’m ready to settle down, but I’m perfectly happy enjoying his company and no-strings attached sex until a better offer comes my way.”

  “All right, hon,” Nisha said as she approached me from the side. “Let’s get you rinsed.”

  A few minutes later, I sat in front of a mirror while Nisha combed out my freshly colored hair. We chatted while she snipped and texturized. It turned out that we had both lived in the same neighborhoods at different times. I had a feeling we had more in common than just crappy apartments and ramshackle houses.

  As she gave me the best blowout of my life, I noticed Nisha staring at the barely visible marks on my neck. The bruise on my cheek had been easier to hide and camouflage than the ones of my neck. It didn’t help that Alexei had made a habit of marking me with love bites. It was obvious by the taut line of her mouth what she thought. I hoped she wouldn’t say anything, but I wasn’t getting off that easy today.

  “Listen,” Nisha said as she walked me to the spa area of the salon for my remaining appointments, “I’m going to get in your business for a second. Please understand that I’m only doing it because I’ve been there.”

  We stopped in a quiet, private alcove, and I quickly said, “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said with a sad smile, “it’s exactly what I think. Believe me. I know the signs all too well. I spent most of my teenage years and my early twenties hiding bruises from my boyfriend-turned-husband. You do not have to stay with a man who hits you. I can help you. I know people who specialize in this kind of thing.”

  “They’re not from my partner,” I said calmly. “But thank you for offering to help me. That’s very kind of you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Those bruises came from a man. I know the span of a man’s fingertips when I see them.”

  “You’re right. They are.” Carefully, I explained, “My sister got into some trouble with some very dangerous people. I became collateral damage.”

  Her tense expression relaxed. “I know about that, too,” she said sadly. “My ex-husband used to run drugs and guns with Lalo Contreras. He screwed up a deal and I’m the one who paid for it.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” After my run-ins with Lalo, I could only imagine what horrible things he had done to Nisha. “I know what he can be like.”

  A look of understanding passed between us.

  “If you need some help, I know some people who can take care of that for you.”

  “It’s been handled,” I assured her.

  “If you need protection, it can be bought. My uncle is Nicky Jackson. I can tell by the look on your face that you know what that means.”

  “I don’t need to buy it. Alexei already has.”

  “Alexei?” Her eyebrows arched with surprise. “Wait. Do you mean Alexei Sarnov? The Russian with all the dealerships and trucking companies?”

  “Yes.”

  Nisha glanced back at the salon. “Your relationship is kind of new?”

  “Yes. Why?” Nisha bit her lower lip. I sensed she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if it was her place. Wondering what she knew, I asked, “What is it that you think I need to know?”

  “I think—”—she looped her arm through mine and patted my hand in a motherly gesture—“—that you need to be very careful with your heart, sugar. You need a plan. You need to know how to get in and how to get out of a relationship with a man like that. Take advantage of whatever perks he offers you—jewelry, cars, money. You hoard it. Put it away some place safe. Someday, you’ll need it to start the next chapter of your life. Enjoy him while you have him, but keep one foot out the door. You’ll be glad you were prepared when the Cinderella story comes to an end, sweetheart.”

  Dazed by her advice, I didn’t know what to say as she handed me off to the aesthetician. I managed a smile for her but inside I was a mess. Nisha didn’t strike me as the type of woman to give advice like that just to be cruel. So what did she know about Alexei that I didn’t?

  As I endured the uncomfortable sting of having my eyebrows tidied up, I felt the worst churning in my stomach. How many of Alexei’s girlfriends had come to this salon? Was I going to be the newest bit of gossip among the stylists? Would I become known as Alexei’s hot new thing?

  Stop, I thought insistently. Just stop.

  There was no doubt in my mind that Alexei cared deeply for me. Our relationship was different than all the others. Wasn’t it?

  “Why don’t you take a look in the mirror?” Emily suggested after she finished plucking a few strays. “You have a very nice natural brow shape so I just cleaned them up for you.”

  Shaken from my troubled thoughts, I hopped off the table and walked over to the full-length mirror attached to the adjacent wall. I checked out her work and smiled. “They look great.”

  “I’m glad you like them. Would like to add on any other waxing services?”

  “Not today.” The last thing I wanted was some stranger I hardly knew getting up close and personal with my lady parts.

  “Would you like me to make a note about a return appointment? I usually see my eyebrow clients on a three to four week schedule.”

  I considered my normal plucking routine. “We should probably aim for three weeks.”

  “Okay. I’ll make a note, and Billie or one of the other front desk girls will get you scheduled.” She gestured to the door. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your manicure and pedicure appointment.”

  The quiet, relaxing hallway lined with rooms used by aestheticians and massage therapists led to a bright and open space where clients were pampered used by the nail technicians. Large potted palms filled the corners of the room and gauzy drapes gave the wall of pedicure chairs a luxury cabana feel.

  Unlike the usual black pedicure chairs I was used to at the nail salons I had always visited, the chairs here were a creamy leather and had adjustable tabletops and shelves along each side for holding purses and shoes. Instead of black plastic foot baths, these chairs were attached to mosaic-tiled basins with gleaming faucets.

  Emily led me to the kaleidoscope shelves lined with nail polish bottles and then wished me a good day before grabbing her next client from the spa waiting area. There were so many colors I wasn’t sure where to start.

  “Try a plum shade,” a woman suggested from behind me. “It’s a hot color for the fall.”

  Turning toward the sound of her voice, I discovered a dark-haired woman close to
my age seated in a pedicure chair soaking her feet. She had one hand resting on a very prominent baby bump while the other held a home décor magazine. Diamonds glinted on her hands and ears as she added, “You should try the shellac.” She flashed her paint-stained fingertips at me. “It’s good for girls like us who work with our hands.”

  Bewildered, I asked, “How do you know I work with my hands?”

  Her mouth slanted with amusement. “We haven’t met, but we actually run in some of the same circles and have some of the same friends in common.”

  “Oh?”

  “Hadley, Kylee, Alexei,” she ticked off three names. “And, of course, my husband, Nikolai…” She held my gaze, and it was clear in that moment that she knew everything. “He speaks very highly of you.”

  Of course. I recognized her finally. Black hair. Blue eyes. Pigment-stained fingers. Vivian Valero.

  Well. Kalasnikov now.

  She was right. We did have friends in common. Kylee and Hadley had known each other when they were younger. Hadley had become one of her loyal customers, buying four or five of Kylee’s designs every year. She also carried one of my tote bags and a hobo-style handbag. A few times, she had asked me to visit her art center to teach leather working classes.

  With a gentle smile, Vivian touched the seat next to her. “Pick out your color and come sit next to me.”

  Like her husband, Vivian was not the kind of person I could refuse. “All right.”

  Taking her advice, I chose a deep plum shade with a hint of sparkle. Mandy, the nail technician assigned to me, seemed to approve the choice. She guided me to the chair next to Vivian. She offered me another mimosa but I turned it down in favor of a cup of tea.

  “That’s a beautiful bag. Is that one of your designs?” Vivian gestured to my handbag sitting on the shelf of the chair.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve actually been looking for something similar to that for a diaper bag. I want a leather tote but with more structure, you know? And with pockets and compartments.”

  “I made a bag similar to that a few months ago.” I reached into my purse for my phone and started scrolling through the photos in my Dropbox app. When I found the right one, I showed it to her. “Something like this?”