Page 10

MIA

We pull up under a lone neon sign in the middle of nowhere.

I have no idea how long we’ve been driving. How long it’s taken me to come back to myself.

Even now, I’m not sure I’m fully here.

Not when part of me is still there , crushed to the chapel’s floor, Yulian’s cologne in my nostrils and the roar of gunfire in my ears.

Yulian. He’s opening the door now, climbing out and reaching in with his hand. This time, there’s no trace of forced gallantry.

“Come. We’re here.”

His hand is warm, strong. Real. I accept it, let it anchor me to the here and now.

When I’m outside, I take a deep breath of cool night air. That, too, helps ground me. We’re far from the city, somewhere green still exists outside of concrete squares, somewhere without lights.

If you squint, you can even see a handful of stars.

But it still doesn’t tell me where “here” is.

“Here meaning…?”

“A twenty-four-hour diner,” he explains. “They won’t ask questions. You can clean up in the bathroom, get changed.”

“Why would I need to…?” Finally, I glance down at my dress. My beautiful pale blue dress, now spattered with red. “Oh.”

I feel dizzy. Right on cue, Yulian’s hand finds my shoulder. I find myself leaning into the touch before I realize it’s supposed to steady me. Like, in case I’m about to faint.

“Does the sight of blood bother you?”

Suddenly, I feel the hysterical urge to laugh. “No, no. I’m a nurse. I—I’m used to it. It’s just…” My eyes travel down the stained silk. Just like that, the urge to laugh morphs into an urge to cry hysterically instead. “I ruined your dress.”

“Technically, it’s your dress.” Yulian’s lips quirk slightly. “You get to keep it, remember?”

That almost-smile—it makes me feel warm inside. Way warmer than I have any right to feel after a night like this.

“Right.”

“Though I’d advise getting it dry-cleaned.”

That manages to drag a small smile out of me, too. “That’s probably a good idea.”

With that, Yulian shepherds me into the diner. I’m surprised by how gentle his demeanor has turned. When he puts his hand on the small of my back now, I don’t even think of batting it away.

In the course of a few horrifying hours, he’s gone from pain in my ass, to downright rude, to emotionless, to savior I didn’t know I needed—and now, to comfort I didn’t know I was going to need to depend on.

It’s been a roller coaster, to say the least.

The diner is, as promised, empty. “Get changed,” Yulian says. “I’ll get us something.”

The authority in his tone propels me into motion. My feet, frozen until moments ago, start moving again on their own. Like they were waiting for him to tell me what to do.

I duck into the bathroom and disappear behind the sliding door.

I go through the motions without looking in the mirror. I don’t think I could take it—seeing the full extent of the damage.

Not because of the dress, but because of what it means.

All the people I didn’t get to save.

Some nurse I am.

I hold no delusions, though. Those gunshots were professional work. Straight to the head. I couldn’t have saved anyone, not even if I’d sprung right into action.

And yet, the images of those bodies dropping in the night… that will haunt me as long as I live.

But I’ve seen my fair share of horrors, too. I’ve seen people die. It comes with the territory of being an E.R. nurse—not knowing when death will strike.

Maybe that’s why I’m back to myself so soon: death is no stranger to me.

And neither is Brad.

Brad. When we rushed out of the chapel, I saw him crouched under the pulpit, taking cover in the safest spot of all.

For one second, our eyes met.

I knew, then, that he’d survive.

There’s no doubt in my mind even now. Brad is alive. Untouched, unscathed—and coming for me.

He knows my name now. He knows I’m in New York. How long will it take him to find out the rest?

Where I work? Where I live?

How long will it take him to find out about Eli?

My son. Our son. The son I spent the last four and a half years hiding from him.

A familiar sensation grips me: the urge to bolt. To hurl us into my beaten-up Honda and drive across state lines. Just me, Eli, and the open road.

But bolting isn’t an option. Not this time. When I left home over five years ago, I had a clean slate. I didn’t have loans, or debts, or problems with the law.

That’s all changed now.

I lean over the sink and force myself to breathe. In, out, repeat—like I teach my patients. Finally, my eyes meet their reflection in the mirror.

I look like a mess. My makeup’s all ruined, blotting around my eyes in dark, looming circles. I can see red smears on my skin that have nothing to do with lipstick.

I scrub until it goes raw.

Calm down, Mia. Breathe. I try to fish out my therapist’s mantra, but somehow, it’s not her words that come to mind.

It’s Yulian’s.

It’s over now. You’re safe.

I don’t know why, but I believe him.

Slowly, the tremors ease. My heart stops racing. When I glance at myself in the mirror again, I almost look like I did when I left home.

All thanks to him.

He saved me. The realization hits like ice water: Yulian Lozhkin, the ruthless CEO-slash-criminal mastermind, saved me.

He shielded me with his body, protected me with his life, and made sure I’d be safe.

And he protected me from Brad, too, before all that.

But he’s a killer, that nagging inner voice reminds me. You heard him in the car. He was having a freaking corpse melted.

Yeah. He was. But somehow, right now, I can’t find it in me to care.

No one ever helped me when I needed it. Not the cops, not the neighbors, not anyone.

The system that was supposed to keep me safe? It failed me, over and over again.

So, if the devil gives a shit? That’s who I’m sticking with.

My mind made up, I finally emerge from the bathroom.

I find Yulian at a corner booth. “Sorry. I made you wait.”

“Not at all.” He slides a cup my way. “Coffee’s still warm.”

Gratitude wells inside me. He ordered me coffee. He didn’t have to, but he did.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I take a long sip. The coffee burns on the way down, grounding me. Warmth starts spreading through my body again, slowly bringing me back to life.

I end up downing the whole thing in one go.

Yulian’s eyebrows rise. “Rough night?”

Somehow, I find myself laughing. “Not the roughest I’ve had,” I offer. “You should try manning the E.R. triage desk on the Fourth of July. If that doesn’t take away your faith in humanity…”

Yulian’s lips twist. He has a dimple, I realize—just a slight one under his right cheek. It makes this rare smile of his feel even more precious. “I’m afraid that dried up a long time ago.”

“Smart man.” I refill my mug from the pot at the center of the table. “Though I’ll say you haven’t lived until you’ve had to look someone in the eye and ask them how exactly they ‘ accidentally sat’ on their empty beer bottle.”

The dimple deepens. I find myself hypnotized by it—the only true physical indicator I have of how amused the Ice King really is.

“Sounds like tonight wasn’t even that eventful by your standards.”

I wish.

“Look, I… I’m sorry,” I whisper. “About how things went down.”

Yulian stares at me. “You’re… apologizing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I—” my voice catches. “What do you mean, why? I ruined your night. I made Brad make a scene. I…”

“Mia.” Yulian leans across the table. His piercing gray eyes hook me into place. “You didn’t do anything. You were just sitting there. So explain to me, kindly, why I should accept your apology.”

I bite my lip. I’m not used to this—being excused. “I guess I just… feel responsible.”

“But you’re not.”

“I’m not sure Brad would agree.”

He makes a show of looking around the vacant diner, then back at me. “Brad isn’t here.”

“Right.” I give a wry laugh. “Sorry. Old habits.”

Yulian watches me carefully. As if he’s caught between wanting to ask and wondering why he should.

I don’t blame him. He has no reason to care about me. To him, I’m a stranger. A girl he hired for a job.

He saved my life tonight. That’s already enough.

“Brad…” He trails off. “He knew you.”

“It was a long time ago,” I murmur. “A lifetime, really. Guess I just… wasn’t expecting to run into him again in this one.”

“Mia—”

“It’s just like him, though. To get us shot at.” I force a laugh out of me. “Seriously, typical Brad. Always screwing with the wrong people.”

Yulian goes still. Suddenly, I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. After all, Yulian did take me to Brad’s wedding. Maybe they really are friends?

But no, that can’t be. The way Yulian snatched Brad’s wrist out of the air, keeping him from touching me…

That wasn’t a friendly gesture.

“The wrong people, huh?” Yulian echoes eventually. “Sounds like he keeps bad company.”

“The worst,” I assure him. “He always had a knack for hanging out with dangerous crowds. Guess he thought it’d make him dangerous by association.”

“Dangerous crowds,” Yulian muses. “More dangerous than me?”

I consider him. His commanding manner, his tattoos. His hot-and-cold flashes, never letting you understand if he cares or if he doesn’t. His expensive suit and cologne, the kind no clean money can buy.

His stormy eyes, filled with a thousand dark promises.

“I wouldn’t know,” I decide. “I haven’t seen how dangerous you are yet.”

Something passes through his eyes. Something close to amusement. “That’s for the best.”

It’s an odd close to the conversation. I feel like I’ve missed something—some crucial piece of it.

But then Yulian’s rising, leaving a few bills on the table for us, and I know the moment is over.

So I follow him out and back to the car.

“Mia.” A warm hand shakes me awake. “We’re here.”

I startle back to life. “What…?”

“We’re at your place.”

I plaster myself to the window. The sky’s much lighter now—too light. Over the horizon, dawn has already broken.

“Shit.” I fumble with my bag. At some point, Yulian must’ve slipped my phone back inside, because I can see a thousand missed calls on it. “I have to go. I’m sorry, I?—”

“It’s alright,” Yulian says. “I said you’d be mine until the sun came up. It’s not your fault that it did.”

Despite my panic, that drags a laugh out of me. Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself blurting out, “Look, I know this is really weird, but would you maybe want to—I don’t know, get coffee or?—”

Then I turn and I see it.

A big, fat wad of cash.

“For your troubles,” Yulian says coldly. “And for your service.”

Service. Right. Of course.

What was I thinking? This was work. A job—nothing more. One that I didn’t even perform that well.

What exactly was I expecting? That he’d rescue me from my shitty life? That he’d come over to my shit-stained side of the world, when his side is made of luxury cars and fashion-magazine people?

I guess I was at least expecting that he wouldn’t look at me like I meant absolutely nothing to him.

Yulian sees me hesitate. “It’s all there,” he says, as if he thinks that’s the problem.

That, right there, is my answer.

I do mean absolutely nothing to him. I never will. I’m a tool he used for a job, and now that the job is over, I am irrelevant.

I take the cash from his hands. The motion must be too abrupt, because Yulian’s eyes squint just a fraction. “Mia?—”

“Thanks,” I mumble. “Guess I won’t be seeing you around, then.”

Something settles in his expression. Somehow, it feels like a door closing.

“Guess not.”

I get out of the car, slam the door, and slump back to my side of the world.

Shit stains and all.