Page 7 of Vas

She heard an engine start as she reached her car and looked over her shoulder to see Steve, helmet on, give her a wave as she opened her door and got in, locking it as soon as she pulled it shut.

She gave him a wave back then put the key in the ignition and turned it. Her car made a half-hearted attempt at starting then died. She pumped the gas pedal a few times and tried again with the same results.

Shit. And Steve had already left. Double shit.

She stared into the night out the front window thinking about her phone—a worthless piece of technology without minutes to make a call. She’d forgone the necessity in order to buy new shoes.

Stupid.

Well, she wasn’t accomplishing anything by just sitting there.

A relic of a payphone still in operation was around the corner in front of the diner. She could use it to make a call. Sighing, she grabbed her purse, unlocked the car door, and got out, glaring at the hood of her car. Words her grandmother used to say floated through her head—this too shall pass. Anna just hoped it didn’t pass with a funeral for her car and a demotion to public transportation.

Her thoughts had just turned to bus schedules when she was grabbed by the arm, stopping her mid-stride and slamming her back up against a hard body.

Startled, she let out a squeak before filling her lungs, but before she could yell, a large, callus-roughened hand covered her mouth and a low, male voice spoke close to her ear. “Hey, pretty lady. What are you doing out here all alone?”

Her entire body went cold. Then instinct kicked in, and she started to struggle. The guy tightened his arm around her body and pulled her deeper into the alley. She twisted and squirmed, attempted to trip him with her feet, but he was so much stronger than her that her efforts did nothing. Desperately, she clawed at his arm and tried to move her head back and forth to dislodge his hand from her mouth, but it remained firm. It also muffled her screams, killing all hope that some passerby might hear her and help.

He moved her deeper into the shadows to a spot so dark she could barely see. That’s when true panic set in. With a burst of strength, she doubled her efforts, arching her body and throwing her head back, trying to connect with something—anything—but his grip stayed firm and she knew she did little damage.

The man’s large hand not only covered her mouth but also her nose. Between that and her panic, Anna was finding it harder and harder to breathe in enough air. The darkness that surrounded her became darker, her struggles growing weaker, and her adrenaline rush was starting to fade, making her nauseous.

Before she totally blacked out, the hand vanished from her mouth, but the sweet relief of oxygen was brief as it moved to the back of her head, tangling in her hair. She cried out as her body was slammed against a wall, the side of her face painfully smacking into the stucco surface and scraping into the skin of her cheek as she was shoved against it.

The arm around her middle changed to a hand pawing under her jacket. She tried to struggle anew, but his weight was leaned into her, sandwiching her between the concrete wall and the hard wall of his body, making it impossible for her to move.

“Please don’t,” she gurgled, right as fingers yanked on the waistband of her jeans.

She squeezed her eyes shut, a lump of emotion clogging her throat, and she was just giving up any chance at salvation, when suddenly the weight at her back was gone.

She felt a rush of air as the guy was lifted from her, his hands tugging at her clothes as his hold on her was ripped away. The unexpected freedom left her clawing at the wall for purchase, but she lost her balance, falling and landing painfully on her hands and knees.

She heard grappling and feet shuffling, and then a voice saying, “You just fucked up.”

That voice had a Russian accent.

Chapter 3

Vas took the long route to his apartment, circling the block instead of using the shortcut which connected the back alley of the diner to his complex.

He needed the extra steps and fresh air to clear his head after his encounter with Anya. And although he wasn’t presently on a job, he still didn’t like having a muddled head. It could be dangerous.

Anya wanting to give him the money back had surprised him and that never happened. In his line of work, being taken off guard was even more dangerous than a muddled head.

He’d made it perfectly clear he hadn’t wanted the money back. Hell, with the condition of her shoes alone and the limp they had given her, he knew she could use it. But fuck him if her softly spoken please hadn’t been his undoing. Emotion had tightened his chest as that single word hit the air between them, and he'd known, in that moment, he would've done anything for her.

Andthatwas even more dangerous than a muddled head and being surprised combined.

If he were smart, he’d stop going to the diner, altogether. His desire for Anya was growing too strong and she was too sweet to get mixed up with the likes of someone like him. His world was dangerous, dark, and bleak and not the right environment for someone so innocent to survive. That didn’t stop him from wanting her though. Greed was a powerful emotion, and, he was discovering, when it came to Anya, that emotion was merciless. He couldn’t fool himself anymore. Keeping away, knowing she was so close, would be hard, even for someone as disciplined as him. The allure of the blonde, brown-eyed beauty with the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose was too much to resist. When he wasn’t in town, he sorely missed his daily fix—and he wasn’t talking about apple pie.

The newsstand on the corner came into view, and the lined and weathered face of the old man behind the register eyed him as he approached.

“Mr. Dastoevsky, good to see you. It’s been a few days. You go out of town again?” Mac asked when Vas stopped in front of a display of magazines.

Vas grunted, dipping his head in acknowledgement.

“The new Classic Car Monthly came in.” Mac pulled his glasses from his face, cleaned them with the hem of his shirt, then held them up to the light, squinting, before putting them back on.

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