Mine to Keep Page 2

Voices sounded in the living room, but her heart pounded too hard for her to hear. A sickly sweat built along the back of her neck and her spine.

  God, she was sick of this crap. Her whole damned life she’d done her best to stay in the shadows and out of the messes her family created. Why they couldn’t just have normal jobs, pay taxes and lead calm lives like everyone else was beyond her. Everything had to be a party. A scheme, or the next great con.

  The voices grew louder, her dad’s gruff take-no-shit tone volleying back and forth with another one she didn’t recognize.

  A second later, something cracked. A heavy thud against wood followed by scuffling and grunts. The clatter of the metal screen door against its frame.

  Then quiet.

  Painfully terrifying quiet.

  But she kept her promise and waited.

  And waited.

  Her legs trembled with the need to move, and her forearms where she clutched her backpack tight ached.

  Where the hell were they? She had to have been in the cramped space at least thirty minutes. Maybe more. It sure as shit felt like more. If whoever it was was gone, why didn’t they give her the all-clear?

  What if they can’t come get you?

  All too easily, the grunts and scuffles she’d heard replayed in her head.

  If you think Bonnie’s gonna have enough to bail you out with Pauley, you’re out of your mind.

  No way.

  Pauley and his goons weren’t the types to bust heads. More like B-grade loan sharks who annoyed you into paying outstanding debts.

  Unless Pauley was out of options and was tired of her dad’s crap. Yeah, Kevin might be able to hold his own with someone out to rough him up, but Dad didn’t have a prayer of sticking up for himself.

  One thing was for sure—someone was going to have to stick their neck out and figure out what to do next. Per usual, no one else was showing up for the job.

  With a deep inhale and a slow exhalation, she eased her backpack out of the way and felt for the release latch in the dark. The cold metal was a welcome brush against her fingertips, but the tiny click that came as she slid it aside felt gunshot loud.

  She paused and listened, the air from her father’s bedroom swooshing through the tiny crack she’d created and gently stirring whips of hair against her face and neck.

  But other than that—nothing. No movement. No voices. Just an absolute void of activity.

  She nudged the door just wide enough to slip free and ducked beneath her father’s clothes. One painstaking step after the other, she rounded the unmade bed to the open bedroom door. A peek down the hallway showed absolutely nothing but the tan shag carpet that should’ve been replaced five years ago and a beam of overcast light from the side window Kevin had uncovered.

  Sticking close to the wall, she tiptoed forward, pausing at the two bedrooms along the way to glance inside. Her heart pounded and her lungs clamored for air as if she’d sprinted a mile. At the corner where the hallway opened up to the living room, she hesitated, closed her eyes and braced. Whatever was on the other side, she could handle. She’d had more than ample training dealing with crap like this her whole life. This was just another drop in the bucket.

  She pressed one hand to the wall and leaned forward...

  Nothing.

  Not a single soul.

  But the bills and junk mail that had littered the coffee table were all over the floor and her dad’s recliner was turned at an odd angle. The front door had been left open just a crack with only the screen door keeping the cool January air at bay.

  So, what? They just left her here? Forgot she was hiding in the closet?

  No, her family was crazy and unreliable as hell, but they weren’t so callous as to leave her behind. Not unless they were drunk, anyway. Which had been known to happen a time or two growing up when a special school event had clashed with a roaring party.

  With a sharp huff, she slid her backpack off her shoulder, sat it in front of the end table and went to shut the front door. The last thing she needed was someone else unexpected showing up while she tried to figure out what the heck was going on.

  She shoved the door flush with the jam—and froze.

  Was that blood?

  Reopening the door to let in the light, she shifted for a better look.

  It was blood. A decent-sized streak of it that carried across the door jam and was roughly the same height as her dad. A quick check outside showed two fat drops on the stoop as well.

  Her stomach lurched and a mangled cry lodged in her throat. She slammed the door shut once more, threw the bolt and scrambled well out of reach.

  This was bad.

  Very bad.

  Wiping her hands on her hips, she paced to the open side window, scanned the street outside and pulled the blind back down.

  Okay. She just needed to think things through. Figure out the right thing to do.

  “The cops,” she said to the empty room. “Everyone calls the cops.” She hustled for her phone in her backpack, pulled it out and fired up the screen.

  Um. Tiny problem, hot rod. This is your dad and Kevin we’re talking about. You call the cops and there’s no telling what trouble you’ll bring down on them.

  She stared at the phone a beat longer, punched the button to put it back to sleep and dropped into the spot she’d cleared out for herself on the sofa. Even if she did risk it and call the cops, they’d probably rope her into the mess as well—guilty until proven innocent and all that.

  Hell of a predicament when you couldn’t call the people who handled shit like this for a living. Talk about your damned if you do/damned if you don’t situations.

  Jaw clenched, she planted her elbows on her knees and glared down at the bag lying between her feet. Cops weren’t an option. Kevin’s buddies weren’t an option. Neither were her dad’s. The only people she knew outside her family’s friends were good law-abiding people who’d be scared to death to step foot in this neighborhood.

  She let out a slow, steady breath and forced the muscles in her shoulders and neck to relax. Between the open zipper of her backpack the corner of the laptop Cassie had given her peeked out, the brushed aluminum an almost space-aged touch compared to everything else in the room.

  Hold up.

  Maybe there was a non-law-abiding option.

  Not Cassie. She was as good and sweet as they came. But Cassie’s new man Kir and those badasses he ran with were rumored to be mobsters. Russian ones at that. Surely one of them would know what to do in a situation like this.

  Of course, she’d have to call Cassie to get one of them to help, and calling Cassie meant exposing the ugly side of her life. Not an ideal plan considering how far she’d gone to hide it from her new friend. Even if she dared to let Cassie see where she hailed from, didn’t calling on the mob always end with a debt being owed?

  She stood, paced to one side of the living room and back, all the while eyeballing the blood smeared on the ivory paint around the door. There had to be another option. Something that fell between bringing cops into the equation and making deals with mobsters.

  Stopping mid-path, she planted her hands on her hips and glared at the bloodstain. Really, the only other options were to walk away and leave her family to fate, or to venture out on her own and figure out what happened—neither of which were likely to generate results.

  She can’t leave. If they see her, she’s fucked.

  Right. Another problem if someone was watching the house.

  Her gaze slid back to the MacBook.

  Funny. The slick device Cassie had gifted her with after her man had hooked her up with a newer and more powerful one to further her photography work was probably the most valuable possession Bonnie owned.

  Including her broken down car.

  Cassie hadn’t asked for a single thing in return. Had jus
t said she liked hanging out with Bonnie and wanted to pass some goodness along to a friend.

  No strings.

  No agendas.

  Just a smile and a hug before she’d gone off to a photo shoot.

  Of all the people you know, she’s the least likely to judge.

  Part of her wanted to believe the thought. Part of her was too tainted by the two-faced people who’d marched in and out of her life.

  The fact of the matter was, the only family she had left was missing. And, from the looks of things, they hadn’t gone peaceably.

  She palmed her phone once more and fired up the screen.

  A knot lodged at the base of her throat, and her blood buzzed like she’d had nothing but caffeine for days. She scrolled to Cassie’s number and tried to ignore the way her thumb shook over the keypad. She hit the call button, lifted the phone to her ear and muttered to the room, “Swear to God, if my fucked-up family ruins the one good friendship I’ve got, I’m gonna kill ’em both myself.”

  Chapter Two

  Thick coats and scarfs? At only forty-five degrees?

  Roman shook his head, steered his Ford Raptor past the elegant historic homes on either side of him and chuckled at the two boys walking down his pakhan’s block. If they needed coats when it was this warm, they’d never make it in Mother Russia. Their January temperatures averaged highs in the mid-twenties at best. And the nights?

  Brutal.

  Stinging cold. Especially when paired with a bone chilling wind.

  He steered his truck into Sergei’s long drive only to find the men assigned as guards outside the restored estate equally bundled up, their hands buried deep in their pockets.

  Ah, well. Who was he to judge? If all the natives of New Orleans had to endure was a periodic kiss of winter, then so be it. They and their city had offered him a new life. A fresh start with a family he could be proud of. If they needed thicker layers to bide a short cold snap, then he’d buy every man in his crew a Russia-worthy parka.

  He put the gearshift in park, killed the engine and headed inside, sharing quick greetings and nods with the men stationed along the way. One step in the back door, the scent of whatever Olga was making for dinner hit him—rich spices with a bite that made him wish he could forgo the four hours of work ahead of him in exchange for a seat at his vor’s table. While the kitchen itself stood empty, voices sounded from the dining room beyond, the laughter that went with one of them unmistakably belonging to Sergei’s son, Emerson.

  Roman headed that direction, a warmth that had nothing to do with central heating spreading beneath his ribs with each step. His pakhan was truly a blessed man. His brother, Kir, as well. In the time since they’d laid roots in New Orleans, both of them had found exceptional women. Exceptional happiness. And while he knew better than to ever hope for the same himself, he took great satisfaction in watching his brothers from the sidelines. Sergei and Kir were good men. Wise men deserving of such blessings.

  Exiting the cozy dining alcove adjacent to the impressive kitchen, he strode into the formal living room. The silk curtains and plantation era furnishings gave a nod to days long past, but Sergei’s wife, Evette, and Kir’s new bride, Cassie, were all modern-day family as they bracketed Emerson at the table.

  He’d barely laid eyes on the lot of them when both women shrieked in unison and jumped back from whatever they were looking at.

  His first instinct was to reach for the gun stowed beneath his suit jacket, but he checked the instinct as soon as Emerson’s delighted cackling registered. “What is going on?”

  The abrupt question from an unexpected guest—particularly one of his size and in so gruff a tone—might have startled most people, but the trio merely noted his arrival and offered warm, welcoming smiles.

  “Roman! You missed it!” Emerson stood, pushed his chair back with his knees and waved Roman closer. “I’m making a volcano for my science project and it just exploded.”

  Halting behind Emerson and Evette, he peered over their heads.

  Indeed, there had been an eruption. One that had exploded from a muddy mound and reeked of soap and vinegar. “It looks very...messy.”

  Both women shot him wry looks, the likes of which expressed their humor at his lacking word choice.

  Emerson didn’t care. Just started wiping up the excess threatening to make its way off the thick cardboard base and onto the table’s gleaming surface. “Being messy is the best part.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Evette said, handing over a fresh wad of paper towels. “I’m pretty sure your daddy paid three fortunes for this table, and I’m not gonna be the one that tells him we have to have it refinished.”

  “Ha!” Cassie was already engaged and doing her part to contain the red lava oozing in all directions. “Like Sergei would care. He’d be more inclined to double down and see if he could make a volcano twice as big.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Emerson might be Sergei’s son through circumstance and subsequent adoption only, but one would never know it by the way he doted on the almost nine-year-old. “And why are you making a volcano, moy zaychik?”

  Emerson wrinkled his nose at the endearment. “I’m not a rabbit. And it’s my science project. I have to turn it in on Friday, but wanted to practice once before school.”

  Roman refused to debate the rabbit part. Anyone who’d seen how somber and serious the child had been when he’d first come into their life would not only agree, but also celebrate Emerson’s liveliness now. “An educational endeavor.” He nodded to Cassie and Evette and backed away. “I believe you’re correct. Sergei will demand a chance to demonstrate his support of higher learning.”

  “And there’s my reason for getting this cleaned up before he and Kir get home from Houston!” Evette grabbed the roll of paper towels and glanced at Roman. “Have you heard from them since they landed?”

  Roman nodded. “Just before they went into their meeting. Assuming negotiations stay on track, they should make their six o’clock fight with no issues.”

  From the side of the room, a cell phone rang, the muted sound coming from the purse perched on the elaborate buffet table.

  “Oh!” Cassie said, wiping her hands and hustling toward the buffet. “Maybe that’s Kir.”

  Roman hoped it was. While the concrete company merger between Sergei’s Louisiana holdings and the Texas company would mean more income for the family as a whole, keeping up with local ventures alone had Roman working double his normal hours. If he wanted to have time to visit St. Patrick’s before dark, he’d need to get a move on. He looked to Evette and lowered his voice so as not to interrupt Cassie’s conversation. “I’m dropping today’s receipts on Sergei’s desk. Do you need anything before I go?”

  Before she could answer, Cassie’s sharp voice cut across the room, drawing everyone’s attention. “Whoa-whoa-whoa.” She shook her head and stared at the floor. “Back up and say that again a little slower.”

  Instincts honed on the streets of Russia flared in an instant, a heightened prickling against his skin and muscles poised for action. Evette and Emerson ceased their cleaning and narrowed their attention on Cassie as well.

  It couldn’t be Kir on the phone. His long-time brother-in-arms was as calm and collected as they came. Particularly when speaking with his bride.

  The frown on Cassie’s face deepened. “You’re sure they’re gone?” Her eyes widened and her body got straight and stiff. “Are you okay?”

  Emerson looked to Evette.

  Evette looked to Roman. “What’s going on?”

  Roman didn’t know, but he was damned sure going to find out.

  “Okay. Okay. Hang on.” Cassie dug in her purse and pulled out a small notepad. “Give me the address again.” She pulled the lid off her pen and tossed it onto the buffet. “4738 Clouet Street?” A pause. “Okay, give me about twenty. I’ll be there as
fast as I can.”

  Oh, no she wouldn’t. Roman knew which parish Clouet Street was in and hell would freeze over before he let his brother’s bride anywhere near it.

  Cassie punched the end button on her screen, threw her phone in her purse and hung it on her shoulder, seemingly oblivious to her avid audience. “Hey, guys. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

  Roman was in her path before she could take three strides toward the kitchen. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She tried to go around him.

  He side-stepped and blocked her again.

  “Would you stop it!” she said. “I need to help a friend.”

  “Your friend lives in Desire. You’re not going anywhere near that neighborhood.”

  Cassie’s head snapped back. “Says who?”

  “Says me. And your husband. And your vor.”

  “Oh, boy,” Evette murmured. She cleared her throat and tapped Emerson on the shoulder. “Kiddo, how about you run upstairs and wash that clay off your hands. Momma needs a minute to talk sense into your aunt and uncle.”

  Emerson eyed Roman and Cassie with a mix of mirth and concern, but clearly wasn’t about to argue with his mother because he gave up his chair and headed toward the stairs, wiping his hands on a towel along the way. Just before he ducked out of sight, he paused and offered, “Don’t be too mad at him, Cassie. Uncle Kir wouldn’t like it if you went somewhere bad while he’s gone.”

  Uncle Kir wouldn’t like it if she even thought about going to Desire alone, whether he was in town or not.

  “Go,” Evette said with a wave of her hand. “And try not to get mud everywhere.” Not waiting for her son to hit the stairs, Evie faced Cassie. “Now, back everything up and tell me who this friend is.”

  “Not you, too,” Cassie said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Evie fired back. “Definitely me. Maybe once upon a time I’d have thumbed my nose at caution and gone wherever I wanted, but I learned firsthand how my ties to Sergei can be used against him. You’re in the same spot with Kir. That means you gotta think before you act.”

  “I have guards.”