Anna
The cops never helped when we needed them to. All they would do is take notes and tell us that they would tell us if anything “came up”, which, of course, nothing ever did.
When Rachel and I were in foster care, we had to call the police so many times for domestic issues that every cop that came to our door knew our names. We were regulars with the police station, and it wasn’t a good feeling. Rachel went to school with some kids whose dads were cops, and she was teased mercilessly.
Inviting a Russian mafia boss to my house is probably the least intelligent decision I’ve ever made, and that includes charging into a trap house to find my sister without a weapon or a plan. I feel weak for even considering him as an option; do I really not have anyone else that I can rely on? The realization dawns on me, and a pointed hollowness grows in my chest.
I have nobody else to turn to for help.
When he arrives, I see him pull up to my house in a glossy green Lamborghini, and I roll my eyes. He’ll be lucky if there are even pieces of that car left once we’re done here. Showing off with a car that ends up getting scrapped by locals is a pretty bad look for him.
I try to appear disinterested as he approaches the house, pretending to play on my phone as he walks up to me so that I don’t stare straight at him like I want to. His eyes are a piercing grey-blue, totally impossible to miss. I noticed them the second he entered the room the first time I saw him. I’d never seen anything like it.
“You were here when all this happened?” he asks, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting it. Everything seems to slow down a little when I watch him smoke, from his half-lidded eyes to the way he holds the cigar so delicately with a hand that has killed.
I break myself from my trance. “Um, I was at least here for the window breaking, not sure about the tires. Either way, it freaked me the fuck out,” I say, trying to conceal exactly how scared I still am. Clearly, I can’t brush it off, or he might not help me. But I also can’t let him see me be vulnerable like that.
“Suspiciously close to when I killed Alexei,” he says, looking around the parking lot from the front of the house. “It could’ve been his brother. I have no idea how he would know to find you, but knowing Alexei, it’s possible he’d been bragging to his brother about his plans for balancing your sister’s debt. Sick bastard. I should never have trusted him.” The slight growl in his tone sends a chill up my spine.
“It’s all happening so fast… just yesterday morning, I was telling myself how boring my life had become with all the work I’ve been doing. Damn it, now I’m kicking myself for thinking that way at all,” I reply.
He laughs a bit, which irritates me until I catch a glimpse of his slight smile lines, which melt me all over again.
“Is that funny?” I ask, deflecting from my own obvious, growing attraction to this person who has put my life in jeopardy.
“You know what is funny? I don’t even know your name. I wouldn’t even know what to save your number as in my phone,” he says.
“You never asked, and I didn’t have a lot of time to tell you between trying to rescue my sister from you and calling to scream at you for what happened to my house and my car,” I reply, the agitation in my voice palpable.
“So what is it?” he asks calmly, ignoring my annoyance. “My name is Anna,” I reply flatly.
“Anna. That’s such a classic name,” he says, smiling at me and leering out of the corner of his eye.
“It certainly is. Now, what are we doing here? You wanted to come here, so now what?” I ask expectantly. He clearly has the means to at least help with the expenses. It’s the least he could do.
He shrugs. “Well, I don’t mean any offense by this, but you guys can’t just up and go wherever you want. Your finances are pretty constrained, right?” he asks, and I nod begrudgingly.
Money talk. It’s embarrassing, but it’s what I wanted.
“Okay, so since this might technically be my fault for killing Alexei, I can offer you this: how about you and your sister come stay with me for a while, at least until you get back on your feet?”
The color drains from my face. “Where would we stay? You’ve got space for two extra women in your house?” I ask, trying to pick apart his offer.
“I have enough space for ten extra girls, don’t ask how I know that,” he says, taking a puff of his cigar and blowing a smoke ring toward my face.
I scoff, and I can feel my face getting hotter and redder as I wave the smoke away from me. Is this jealousy? Am I just embarrassed about my situation? Whatever it is, I know I don’t like the way he makes me feel.
“I don’t even know your name,” I say, as though that would change a damn thing.
“Luka,” he offers. “And I really think you should take me up on my offer. It’s for your own good.”
I cross my arms, studying his large, imposing figure for a moment before caving in to his proposal. “Fine, but it’s only because we have nowhere else to go, and this is your fault. Thanks for at least taking responsibility for that,” I say sarcastically.
He doesn’t seem moved by my sarcasm and assumes his obnoxious cool- guy persona. “Okay, then go get some of your stuff to bring over right away, and then I can send some guys to collect the rest of your things. There’s more than enough space, and you and Rachel will have separate rooms.”
Rachel and I have had separate rooms since we moved into our own place, but our bedrooms are pretty damn close together, and it would be nice to feel like I had a little more space. I’m sure Rachel would appreciate that too, and if Luka isn’t exaggerating, he has a pretty large house.
What is Rachel going to think about this, though? Wasn’t I just warning her about the dangers of getting wrapped up with the wrong sort of people? I’ll look like a hypocrite.
“Let me just go talk to Rachel,” I say to Luka, giving him a thin smile as I turn to go inside.
“No problem,” he purrs.
I shudder as I walk inside. Why does Luka make me feel so… weird? Is it just the fact that he’s deviously handsome, or is it just because he seems to have taken an interest in me?
That’s flattering but so very dangerous.
I head upstairs to collect Rachel and a few necessities, feeling a tinge of nervous energy filling me as I consider what exactly it is I’ve just agreed to. I’m taking myself and my younger sister into a stranger’s home to live for free with no strings attached.
If I had a mother who wasn’t addicted to meth, she would probably slap me across the face for even considering it. These kinds of situations are the ones that get women like me killed and featured on late-night TV shows about cautionary tales. Before today, I’d never even invited a stranger over to my house to have drinks. Am I really this desperate?
Ironically enough, all of the women at any of my jobs dream of opportunities like this, having some rich guy whisk them away from their monotonous, grueling day jobs where they can lie in bed all day, drinking wine and watching TV about people with eating disorders.
I always scoffed at them, convinced that they were wishing away their youth for a delusion that would never happen in the real world. The men I know won’t even pay for both meals on a date. How the hell could these totally average, sometimes emphatically stupid women expect to land someone who would take care of their every need for nothing in return?
Well, that’s me now, and I hate it.
I arrive at Rachel’s room to find her out of the shower and back in her bed. “Rachel, I know this is going to sound insane, but we’re in danger, and we might have a place to stay until we can find somewhere else,” I blurt, eager to get us out of here after the brick incident.
“What are you talking about?” she asks, frowning but not looking up at me as she scrolls through her phone. “I thought you were going to work?”
I sigh, realizing that I’m going to have to tell her the whole story before she’s even remotely convinced to leave her bedroom. “While you were in the shower, someone slashed my tires and threw a goddamn brick through the living room window.”
She finally looks up from her phone, her eyes wide with interest. “What?”
“You were in the shower, so I didn’t want to bother you, but I did call that bozo, Luka. You know, the one who shot that asshole creep last night?”
She recoils. “Anna, you didn’t.”
I grit my teeth, trying to force a smile. “I did, and he’s downstairs waiting for us.”
“What the fuck, Anna?” she replies, tossing her phone down. “Weren’t you just super pissed at me for even talking to those guys? Now you want us to pack up and move into their leader? That basically makes him the worst one, you know.”
I cringe. I know she’s right, but if Alexei’s brother really does know where we live, I’m sure we’re not safe here anymore. I don’t see another way out of this mess.
“I know it’s a really weird situation, but we have to adapt until we’re able to fend for ourselves again. Someone is angry at us, and they know where we live. We can figure everything else out as we go,” I explain, trying my best to present the situation as an opportunity to find safety rather than to get sold into human trafficking.
Rachel scoffs. “Look, I know this is all my fault, but I don’t want to move again,” she says flatly. “I feel like we just settled in here.”
“Uh, I don’t want to move either, but someone threw a fucking brick through our window this morning. That was just a warning. I’m not willing to take any chances,” I reply, pushing my most authoritative voice. I figure if I make enough good points with confidence, I won’t have to force her to leave.
Silence settles between us, but that’s how I know I’ve won her over. If she really didn’t want to go, she’d have kicked me out of her room already.
“Okay, fine,” she finally says. “But if he lives far from here, I’m going to have to find a new job,” she replies.
“Great! Pack some stuff, and let’s go. We’re going to bring a backpack each, and then later today Luka is going to send some other people to get the rest of it,” I reply. I realize about halfway through my statement how absurd it sounds.
She laughs coldly as she gets off the bed. “You know he’s probably going to kill us, right? I mean, you think he’s really going to take care of us? Out of the goodness of his heart? Don’t be an idiot, Anna.”
I bury my face in my hands in frustration momentarily. I want to scream. She has to know that I’m trying my best for her. Why won’t she trust me?
“Just get your stuff together. If Luka wanted us dead, I’m pretty sure he could’ve made that happen already,” I grumble.
She shrugs, already opening her drawers to pick out clean clothes.
We separate, and I gather a backpack of clothes and other small items. This bag of clothes could be the last thing I own if Luka decides to let his men ransack our house, even though we have nothing of value. The whole situation makes me sick to my stomach. My life was so normal just twenty- four hours ago.
When we meet downstairs, Luka has come inside and is waiting impatiently in the kitchen doorway, scrolling through his phone and texting somebody aggressively. I wonder if he’s the kind of person who gets into heated arguments with people online. He certainly has the disposition for it.
“I’m parked out front,” he says, nodding in the general direction of the front door without looking up at me.
I already know that, but I don’t respond. I saw him pull up to the house in his unnecessarily flashy vehicle. He must enjoy showing off.
Rachel looks over to me, making a skeptical face as Luka finally pockets his phone.
I know, Rachel, but it’s the only option we have, I think to myself. I hope she understands that.
We follow him outside, and I swear I can hear Rachel’s brain break as soon as she sees the obnoxious green apple sports car. She’s never been anywhere near a car that nice, especially not a car that costs more than any house we’ve lived in.
“We’re going to ride in that?” she asks apprehensively, and I would laugh if not for the fact that I know she’s being totally serious. Rachel and I have been so poor for our whole lives that there’s a certain degree of shame that we feel indulging in anything that isn’t solely for survival.
“Yeah, of course. There might be some shit in the back. Just move it to the side,” Luka says to Rachel as she slowly opens the back door and peers inside.
I climb into the passenger side, noting how sleek and luxurious the interior of the car is. I almost feel inherently dirty just sitting on the seat. Either the car is brand new, or Luka is meticulous about keeping the damn thing in perfect condition. I can’t say I blame him.
I glance back at Rachel, who is tucked away in the back with her bag on her lap, clutching it close to her as if it will shield her from any threat.
“You mind if I smoke?” Luka asks, already lighting up a new cigar.
“If you must,” I reply, knowing damn well I’m not in any place to argue with the man.
“Hold tight,” he says, taking a couple puffs of his cigar before peeling out of the parking lot and plastering us all to our leather seats.
Once we’ve been driving for about fifteen minutes, I notice that we’re approaching the more upscale side of the city, a place that I’ve never been for longer than five. I know some of Rachel’s friends are wealthy, but even they don’t live on the north side where the gated communities and yogurt shops are. They just happen to have four-bedroom houses and cars less than five years old.
“Where exactly are we going? And don’t start with ‘it’s a surprise’ or something like that,” I say defensively.
“We’re going to my house. You’ll like it, I promise,” he replies, smiling. He doesn’t seem anxious or irritable, which I would expect from someone about to murder two women. His response puts me at ease despite giving no more information than I’d had previously.