51

Maria
I look past Mikhail’s head, and Mercy has positioned herself out of his line of sight. She holds a small pink smartphone to her ear, making sure I notice it, and then she walks off to the bathroom.
“I have to pee,” I blurt out.
Mikhail eyes me oddly as if I’m unwell. He nods as if I need his permission to go. I get up slowly, carefully making my way to the dim hallway that leads to the bathrooms. My knees threaten to buckle, but I make it inside the ladies’ room.
Oh God, why aren’t I running out of here screaming?
“What. The. Fuck,” Mercy whispers as she pulls me inside. “Do you have any idea who that is?”
I nod. “I already told you …”
She cuts me off. “Why did you bring him here? Y’know what? Never mind. Take this.”
Mercy tries to hand me the phone, but I don’t take it. Right now, getting caught is more frightening than anything else. I’ve seen how Mikhail handles a knife.
“I can’t …” I whisper.
“Michael is freaking the fuck out all over the effing town,” Mercy pants and paces in the cramped bathroom. There are only two stalls. “What the fuck is happening, Maria?”
The tears well up in my eyes, and my lower lip trembles as I break down.
“Maria, take the fucking phone!” She shoves the phone into my hands. “And call your dad.”
When I don’t, Mercy becomes frantic, and her speech speeds up.
“Maria, you can’t be with him!” Mercy grips my shoulders. “Do you have any idea what he’s capable of doing?”
Oh, I have a pretty fucking good idea.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” She paces, biting her nails. “I’ll figure something out. Stall him. Order a lot of food until …”
Her panic causes me to feel the same way, and suddenly, I feel tears welling up. I don’t know what to do, but I know that I can’t call my dad.
I can’t risk knowing that everything Mikhail has claimed about my dad is the truth.
Suddenly, Mercy freezes in place and stares at the closed door. She quickly weaves past me across the cracked tiles into a stall. I hear some fumbling, but before I can check on her, the hallway door into the bathroom swings open. Mikhail stands in the doorway, his mouth set in a tight line as he storms in. He checks each stall, banging the doors open.
But Mercy has disappeared.
Inside the stall she ran into is a door. It looks like a narrow closet for supplies. Mikhail tries the doorknob, but it’s locked. He yanks at it with force, but the door won’t budge. Mikhail slams the door to the stall shut, looking like hell personified.
And then he sees it.
The phone Mercy tried to give me is sitting on the sink. We both stare at it. I can’t take my eyes off it. Inhaling hard, I have to make a choice.
And that choice is to run. Quickly, I move away from Mikhail, but before I can reach the bathroom door-it opens.
Mercy glares at Mikhail, and disgust broadcasts loudly on her face. She takes the phone off the sink and slips it into her jeans pocket.
“Sir, men aren’t allowed in the ladies’ bathroom,” she says to him. “If you want to do that thing, you’re going to have to go somewhere else. I’m not judging, but this is a family restaurant.”
I gawk at Mercy, who manages to keep a straight face, then glance at Mikhail.
He’s smiling, but the look in his green eyes is anything but amused. I’ve seen that look before, when I was hanging onto his hand and begging him not to let go.
“Whose family?” he asks calmly. “Yours?”
Mercy takes a step back, holding the door wide open, and gestures toward the hallway with a flick of her hand. Mikhail steps out first, and as I pass Mercy, she touches the phone to my hand, but I don’t dare take it.
I know he’ll find it.
We sit at our table, and the bartender walks over, carrying two bottles of Killian’s Irish Red. He places them on the table and pulls a bottle opener from his back pocket. He opens both bottles and leaves them in the center of the table.
Mikhail reaches out, places one bottle in front of me, and takes a sip from the other.
I don’t get it, but I think the man is proving a point.
“Name is Vince,” he says. “I’ll be waiting on you tonight.”
We’re the only people seated at a table. Everyone else is at the bar. And no one looks like they’re eating or drinking.
“We’re a family restaurant.” Vince clears his throat. “We treat everyone here like family. And we expect no trouble because we don’t give it.”
“I’m a family man, Vince.” Mikhail lifts his bottle toward Vince in a toast. “I just want a nice, quiet evening. Don’t give me any trouble, and I won’t cause any.”
Vince nods. “We have the best burgers in town. They come with fries or slaw. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.” He returns to the bar and stands beside Mercy, who stares at the widescreen, watching a soccer game but occasionally throwing a glance my way.
I don’t dare look at the bar as I study the menu, reading each word as if it’s an instruction manual on how to survive the evening. I order a plate of fries, and Mikhail orders a hamburger. When the food comes, I pick at my fries, but he actually eats his burger. He seems to enjoy it, and eventually, the room relaxes as people start laughing out loud, playing songs on the jukebox, and cheering the game on the screen.
Everybody seems to be doing okay except me. But something tells me that everyone here is pretending to be something other than what they really are.
Half an hour later, Vince leaves the check on the table as he buses our plates. “You folks have a good night. If you liked the food, be sure to leave a review on Yelp. I’m sure our boss would love it.”
Mercy calls out from the bar, “Drinks on the house. I insist.”
“You do have the best burgers in town.” Mikhail ignores her and drops his card on the table. “Not a lot of places left in the city that still serve them bloody and rare anymore. Consider this a gift to the owner.”
She takes the card and announces to the room, “Drinks on the house for the next hour.”
Mikhail holds the door for me and nods at Mercy. She gives him a big smile, but her eyes are wide with fear.
When I step into the passenger side of the car, he reaches over to buckle the seat belt. He pulls the belt forward until it locks, and then retracts it until the rough material presses hard against my neck, choking me slightly in the seat as he locks me in place.