Page 8 of Saving Helena

“You know what happens when people sticky fingers?”Dimitri said, leaning over theman’sshoulder. His smile spread widely across his face.

“Wait,”the man breathed out.“Wait.” It was too late, though, for Ronald Dawson’s first finger.

Dimitri had already pushed a cigar cutter forward before he could wriggle away. Like a miniature guillotine, the mechanism snapped, and the digit fell to the ground.

“Oh God! God,” Ronald screamed. Blood spurted from the wound.

I kicked back at my desk while Dimitri continued his work. Ignoring the screaming, Isorted through my newest collection of daily videos from the cameras outsideHelena’sapartment complex in Phoenix.

Flexing myfingers,I allowed myself a full hour of scrolling before I caught her leaving for her workday. There was my princess…her golden hair shining in the Arizona sun as she left her building. Too bad the cameras weren’t good enough to catch what sort of earrings she was wearing.It was Saturday, andon the weekends, she indulged herself with those crazy earrings that she liked. Sometimes, if the angle and the light were just right, I could see them swinging wildly at the end of her earlobes. Mushrooms, rainbows, little bottles … with Helena, who knew?

It'dbeen a few days sinceI’dsnuck up to catch a glimpse of her in person. Perhaps this week, I’dbe able to manage it. The thought already cheered me up.

“Well?”Dimitri’svoice called me back to the matter at hand. Closing the computer window, I let my attention get pulled back to Mr. Dawson and his remaining fingers.

CHAPTER NINE

Present Day - Helena – age 25

“Was there a problem?”Sergei asked from the desk where he sat at his laptop, presumably working through shared spreadsheets, but I hesitated to presume.

I had been stopped on the same worksheet for the last twenty minutes as I connected the dots. Sergei had noticed that my work had slowed down and was already moving his large bulk from behind the desk.

He was the lead supervisor of this projectI had been pulledinto last month. Sergei was a scary-looking guy with a scar down his neck and blonde hair shaved in a buzz cut. Like most of the guys in the back office, I was pretty sure he was Russian.

“Why did you stop?” he demanded, his brows furrowed and his eyes piercing me with an icy glare as he leaned forward onto the desk with his scarred knuckles.

Shaking my head, I answered,“Sorry, just zoned out for a minute.”I sent him the most dazzling fake smile possible.

“Wedon’tpay you to fucking zone out and think about shoes or your damn boyfriend,” he growled, butthankfully, he sat heavily in the desk chair that squeaked under his weight.“Suka,”he grumbled under his breath, which I was sure wasn’t a compliment.

I took a deep breath, unaware I had been holding it and focused on my work again. Sergei was difficult to deal with, and being around made me uneasy. He didn't seem trustworthy.

I have worked at Concorde Financial for the last four years, and for the most part, it has beenan excellentjob. The accounting department was well-run, and my direct supervisor hadbeen replacedjust after I was hired by someone much more reasonable.

However,justlast month, a new department head came and asked accounting for two people for aparticularproject. My boss had looked a little shaken at the request, looking around the cubicles as he’d come out and pointed me and another colleague out. The projects we’d been working on were mundane accounts, nothing too out of the box, but when I’d been selected, itwasn’tlike we could say no. There was also a bit of ego involved, and I wish I’d been able to call my dad and brag a little. Right now, though, I wish I could call and talk things over with him.

I was confident that the new ‘department head,’ Anton Makarovich, was someRussian criminal, which would be fine.Indeed, I had had plenty of linesIwas comfortable crossing in my previous life. It had never bothered me that my father and the MC ran guns or drugs. They might have thought they kept those things from me, but I knew plenty. Icertainly wouldn’thave had any moral high ground to stand on, but…I had started to notice some concerning patterns.

Focusing again on the computer in front of me, I returned to the accountsI was looking at and worked backward through the other screensI had pulled up, ensuring I looked busy.The very last thing I needed was for that oaf to come over to my station. Sergei glanced over a few times but seemed reabsorbedin whatever he had going on. The good thing about him was that he wanted to be here just about as much as I did, which was not at all.

My memory was excellent, and I had seen incoming payments just today for two hundred million, give or take.Just yesterday, Sergei had been on the phone talking to Makarovich andsaid an auction wouldmake two hundred.What sort of auction would they be having? My mind spun as I looked at the numbers and the accounts. Before I could change my mind and remind myself that I should mind my own business, I wrote down the account number and backtracked my search.

Staggered was putting it lightly. Billions of dollars, at least, were going through this account, all through these auctions. What the hell?

“I’mtaking my break,”I announced. Closing down the programs on mycomputer,I quickly stuffed the sticky note in my pocket and got up without looking at Sergei.

Suddenly, his hand was on my arm, so hard it was bruising in its grip.“Idon’tthink you are. Sit the fuck down.”Close up, he was even scarier and smelled like onions.

“You’reluckyyou’resmart,suka.Make sure you earn your money here, orwe’llhave you earn it elsewhere.”His blue eyes bore into me, making me shrink under his stare. Giving me a shake, he pushed me back towards my chair so hard that I collapsed.

Damn it. The man was scary as hell. The other accountant, Julie,didn’teven bother to glance up at me. She had long since made me understand that there was no wayshe’dbe doing anything other than whatwas askedof her.

Once the clock hit five, I walked calmly, holding myself together by a thread.Making sure my gait was relaxed and that I smiled at the security guard as I left the building with no apparent rush, but if someone had checked my pulse, they would have known that I was about to have a heart attack.

All the way home, Imaintained the façade that everything was fine in case someone was watching me. Barely able to breathe, I slammed my apartment door and bolted the locks, ignoring my shaky hands.Resting my head against the wood, I took a second tocalm down.

A bruise had formed around my armwhereSergei grabbed me. All afternoon, he had kept his steely gaze pinned to me, his eyes narrowed.

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