Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Vadik

I lift a paperweight from Papa’s desk, a gift my mother got him on one of their working vacations, a trip to Italy to meet with the brotherhood there. In the yellowed glass there is a replica of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It’s funny, that such a clichéd little thing brought him so much happiness.

I roll the cold glass in my hands and, for about the tenth time that day, wish the old bastard were still around.

“He’s throwing his daughter to the wolves,” I say, stating the obvious.

Kir nods slowly, scrutinizing me. I wish he would back the fuck off. “You got concerns about that?”

I rub my temples again before I answer. “Nope. We got business to attend to.”

“Vadik. Is this going to be an issue for us?” Kir asks.

I won’t dignify his pain in the ass interrogation. I get to my feet. “C’mon. Let’s get a drink.”

He claps me on the back on the way to the door. “Now that’s my big brother.”

And that’s my middle brother. The only way to change the subject is to mention alcohol.

“Dominika!” I holler as we settle into the dark, paneled-wall lounge.

I sink deeply into a crackly leather chair, and the scent of everything I remember from my childhood rises up to meet me—lemon oil on the furniture, cigars, and expensive whisky. I loved coming to the club when I was a kid. All three of us did.

Of course, Mama only let us come in the off-hours, when there were no girls running around half naked, and no grown men crying because they’d bet their house on a card game.

“Vadik. Kir,” Dominika says a little over-solicitously.

It’s not like her to suck up. But she’s nervous. If the club closes, she has nowhere to go. Hell, she’s still bitter my father didn’t leave her a red cent in his will.

Shitty treatment of a long-time mistress, but I have no doubt he had his reasons.

“Couple scotches, please,” Kir says.

I watch Dominika disappear behind the bar, choosing the top shelf brand she knows my brothers and I prefer.

She brings us two Baccarat crystal rocks glasses, Kir’s with ice and mine without. I suck down the liquor in one long draw. The migraine that was threatening was finally taking its leave thanks to the pain pills my doctor prescribed. Pills that are not supposed to be taken with alcohol.

But there are times I’ll do anything to make the pain go away. Kind of like how Gil Gates will do anything to get my brothers and me off his back.

* * *

Charleigh

“What’s wrong with you today?”

Ugh. I thought I was hiding my distraction.

Dammit.

I think carefully before I speak. Luci’s not only my study-buddy, but she’s also become my best friend. Actually, she’s my only friend. The last thing I want to do is lie to her, but how can I tell her about my father’s debts, and the visit by those horrible men?

Who, if they’re true to their word and return twenty-four hours after they first threatened and beat Pops, are due back at the pawn shop around five p.m. I will be there when they are. I don’t have a plan yet, but I’ve been trying to come up with one.

So far, no luck.

Thus, the distraction that’s so obvious to Luci.

“I… I’m sorry. Guess I’m not all here. My dad… is having some health problems.”

That’s not a total lie. I mean, he was bleeding all over the shop floor. I would call that a health problem.

Thank God my younger sister wasn’t around to witness the mess, and in fact I’ve arranged for Evie to stay over at her best friend’s house tonight just to ensure she stays away from the shop. I’m not particularly thrilled with the mom of Evie’s friend—I have a feeling she gives them run of the house and anywhere else they want to go—but at least there’s safety in numbers and they are clear across town. There’s no way they’ll pop in on my dad.

“What’s wrong with your father?” Luci asks, frowning.

She knows a bit about my ‘situation,’ that since my mother died, my sisters and I were pretty much left on our own. Pops’s employee Victoria picked up whatever slack she could, but when my older sister left for New York, all the responsibility for looking after Evie shifted to me. Not that I mind. It’s just that my dad withdrew into himself after we lost Mother, barely getting himself out of bed to get to the shop every day, never mind taking care of his three young daughters. So, we figured stuff out on our own. It wasn’t too hard.

Evie says Pops feels guilty, an interesting observation for someone so young. But I don’t know what he should feel guilty about. It’s not his fault Mother was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Pops… well, he hurt his head. He hit it on something. In the shop. Something hard. He was bleeding all over. You should have seen it. What a mess,” I babble, the words coming more easily the more I say.

And to think I’m still not exactly lying.

A ‘sin of omission,’ my faithful mother would have called it. Yes, she did try hard to instill her church values in her daughters. But all that pretty much flew out the window when she died.

Was murdered, actually. It’s still hard to say that. The ‘m’ word. So, I usually don’t.

“Damn, girl, I’m sorry to hear that. Is he gonna be okay?” Luci asks, her face covered in concern that makes me feel like shit for sort-of lying.

I nod quickly. Probably too quickly to be convincing. “Oh, yes. You know, it’s just… worrisome. All the blood that comes from a head wound is just crazy. It was scary.”

Scary? It was freaking terrifying. And I’m afraid the worst is yet to come.

Luci extends her hand to mine. “That sucks. I’m so sorry. But look, we have an exam coming up. We’re at the top of the class. We’re gonna ace this one, Char.”

She’s right. The teacher, who’s taken a liking to the two of us—she says she’s never seen anyone work so hard in her bookkeeping class—gets to recommend her top students to the school’s placement center.

That means jobs. And money. And no more scraping by with the minimum-wage pay Pops gives me for the few hours I help him in the shop. Of course, I can’t move out of our apartment yet, not until Evie graduates from high school. But I can establish my independence and get some money in the bank for when the time is right.

There’s a lot riding on this prize our teacher is dangling before us. And now, I have to worry about this business with Pops.

He wasn’t a great dad before Mother died. I think that’s partially why she turned to religion. Helped her get through the long days of parenting three daughters pretty much on her own. And after she was gone, well, he was more disengaged than ever.

But hell, he’s my father, and I’ll help him any way I can. Although maybe I should think hard before I say that.

Luci’s looking at me like she can read my mind. God, I hope she can’t, but we have a lot in common, with our religious upbringing, hardships, and other stuff.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks.

And now the tears come. Dammit. The last thing I want is to let her know how messed-up Pops’s situation is. Why make her worry? It’s not like she can do anything to help, much as she might like to.

“Thanks so much, Luci. I really appreciate it. It’s just been… a lot, you know. A lot with staying on top of school, keeping Evie out of trouble, and now my dad.”

She nods. “Hang in there, honey. You’ll come out on top. I know you will. When it comes down to it, we have no other choice.”

She’s right. There is no other choice for people like us.

* * *

Charleigh

I pull into the dumpy strip mall where Pops’s pawn shop is. All the other businesses—two nail salons, a laundromat, and a shady-looking tax preparation service—are dark, long since having closed up for the day. My father’s is the only one with lights still on, the last beacon of commerce in this sad little shopping center, with its weedy, pot-hole-filled parking lot.

I park my beater car next to his. Victoria must be gone for the day. My car is a hand-me-down from him, really a piece of crap vehicle that was considered a beater when he got it several years ago. The car he’s driving right now isn’t much better, but a good couple months in the shop last Christmas season left him with enough extra cash for a long-overdue upgrade.

So, the beater was passed down to me, and I was thrilled about it. The fact that it just keeps running and running with minimal effort on my part—gas and oil changes, of course—is something my mother would have called a miracle. Proof that ‘someone’ out there is looking out for me.

At one time I might have believed that. Now, I call it dumb luck.

At this hour of the early evening, Pops’s business is usually closed up too. He’s typically tinkering in the back of the store with whatever merchandise came in that day or doing a little light accounting. Since I’ve been working on my bookkeeping certification, I offered to help him with this task. But he won’t hear of it.

Which I think is strange. I guess he has his reasons.

Since the shop is closed for the day, there should be no other cars in the lot aside from ours. And yet there is one in the far corner, parked in the shadows. It’s too dark to identify its make and model, but I am pretty sure it’s black or at least a dark blue or grey. It’s nice. Not like mine and Pops’s.

I pray that doesn’t mean what I’m afraid it might.

I knock on the shop’s door and my father answers it in an instant, letting me in and locking it back up behind me. While I give him a kiss on the cheek, avoiding the side of his head that was bleeding so badly only the day before, I scan the place. Thankfully, no one else is there. Yet.

“Pops, they didn’t come back,” I say, looking around like I can’t believe our luck. “Is everything okay now?” I hold my breath for good news.

He looks at me, his once-bright blue irises having faded like a piece of newspaper too long in the sun. He was quite the looker in his younger days, but when life has given you more than your share of unkindnesses, this is one of the places it shows. These days, when I’m running around all the time, busy with my course and chasing after my younger sister, I don’t often take the time to look—really look—at my father’s face. And now that I do, I see a roadmap of all the crap that’s come his way. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his brows grey, bushy, and wild, and it looks like he shaved that morning in the dark. There are some smooth spots on his face and some with uneven stubble. His complexion is a sort of grey-yellow, what I would expect of someone sick in the hospital.

A sadness grips my heart and I feel for the man. He’s not been much of a father, but he sure has had his share of life’s crappy handouts.

In answer to my question about visitors, he says nothing, only looks down at his feet, unintentionally bringing attention to his Hush Puppies, which are in desperate need of replacing.

That’s the first thing I’ll do when I get a job. A real job. I will buy my dad new shoes.

When it finally dawns on me that Pops isn’t answering because he has only bad news to share, all the mountainous hope I have, that he can get himself out of the mess he’s in, melts into a puddle of nothingness.

And manifests itself as a knot in my stomach so tight it takes my breath away, as the three Alekseev brothers appear from the back of the shop like some sort of nightmarish apparition. Only this is no dream. Without thinking, I position myself between my father and them. I know I can’t stop them doing anything, but maybe I can be an obstacle, however temporary. Give my father time to get away.

Who am I kidding? Charleigh, the badass.

Not.

Instead of going after Pops like I’m sure they’re going to, I find my feet leaving the floor as I am hoisted over someone’s shoulder.

“Vadik, no,” my father hollers.

“Oh my god,” I scream, but it’s hard to push out much air when all your weight is on your diaphragm, supported only by some beast’s brawny shoulder.

So, I kick my legs around and pound on the man’s back. If I can squirm enough to throw him off balance, he may drop me, giving me the chance to fight back.

Once again, who the hell am I kidding?

From my upside-down position, I don’t see the guy with the shaved head, Vadik, but do see the two others. He must be the one carrying me. We head toward the back of the shop.

“Mr. Gates, stay right where you are. Niko will wait with you.”

Oh god. What are they going to do? My mind races to the worst-case scenario, something all women fear with a devastating intensity, and I kick and scream harder. Vadik stops and waits for his brother, the one with the bun in his hair, to take a seat on a folding chair, and hands me to him like a sack of potatoes, like he does things like this all the time.

“You got her, Kir?”

I am laid across his lap like a bad girl about to get a spanking.

Holy shit.

I am about to get a spanking.