Page 18 of For a Price

The Russian shot toward the window, wrestling the screen off. I squirmed on the floor, screaming and helpless against the sounds of gunfire. He leapt out of the window with half a second to spare before the police were breaking down the bullet-riddled door and flooding the room.

I was in tears by the time they cleared the space.

Roman Volkova was long gone, having fled on foot.

The cops assumed I was the victim. Just some innocent young woman who had been kidnapped and bound. Not the perpetrator of a crime myself.

I didn’t correct them, sniffling in tears as I played the part of the victim. They missed the furtive glances I shot toward the window where Roman had escaped. As they threw a thermal blanket around my shoulders and helped me to my feet, I was wondering what happened to him…

A week later, I’m still wondering.

It’s like Roman Volkova disappeared without a trace. I’ve been forced to pick up the tiny fragments left behind after a botched kidnapping attempt.

JC was finally released from the ER missing almost all of his front teeth. Finch and Fozzil have distanced themselves from both of us, effectively blaming JC and I for the mission gone awry. I haven’t cared because I’m aware of my temper—the next time I’m in a room with any of them, I’m telling their asses off.

Otherwise, I’ve been left to couch surf wherever I can ’til I can figure out another scheme for cash.

But it’s not so easy when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder waiting for that other shoe to drop. Where did the Russian go and was he going to let go of the fact that a group of random individuals tried to kidnap him? Was he off somewhere plotting revenge?

He’d mentioned I’d gotten involved with things I didn’t understand. He’d told the sovietnik—whoever that is—that I wasn’t some threat. Though he also made sure to let me know this sovietnik guy could have my head on a pike if he wanted…

I sigh in confusion and realize I’ve walked several blocks farther than I meant to.

I’ve left Rosita’s neighborhood altogether and made it to Old Northam.

A few more blocks and I’ll run into a pocket known asSochi, an immigrant community full of first, second, and third generation Russians and other Eastern Europeans.

I back up a couple steps as my heart skips and I decide to go the opposite way. The longer route that’ll take me to the city center.

I never thought I’d have to avoid a segment of the city because of a kidnapping gone wrong. But it’s as I turn to walk away that someone calls out to me.

“Devochka!”

It’s a pot-bellied man smoking a cigarette outside a café.

My skin runs ice cold. I whip around. “What did you just call me?”

The man merely blows smoke and laughs, his beady eyes set on me.

I panic and decide to get the hell out of the here. Even faster than originally planned. I’m quick on my feet, sprinting back down the block in the direction I came.

Several streets later, I’m slowing up, panting for air, hoping I’ve made it far enough.

I head downstairs to the subway where dozens of others rush in every direction. Swiping my card, I wander onto the platform and wait for the next train.

Crowds have never bothered me. Part of living in a huge city like Northam means encountering hordes of people at any given time.

But as I stand on the platform with my hands stuffed in my hoodie pockets, I can’t help noticing the people around me.

There’s the guy with a beanie strumming a guitar for pity coins. Some chubby woman and her children selling beaded jewelry. A bunch of men and women in business casual, likely off to some soul-destroying job in a cubicle.

And then there’s the pair of square-jawed men on the far side of the platform who are watching me. They might as well be twins, both dressed in all black with crewcuts. Both bear the same kind of unflinching intensity that Roman Volkova had possessed.

Large and stocky, they look like they could cause some damage.

I test the waters. I take a few steps to the right and then glance in their direction.

Their gazes have followed me. I step to the left and they follow me again.

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