Page 10 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
Hollie nods weakly. “Mhm.”
“And all these other names? Steven. Charlie. Rebecca. Francis. Andre. Kirk. Quite the list.”
“Clients,” she chokes out. “Please. Please don’t hurt them.”
Our eyes meet. “You care that much about your clients? I suppose I also care about where my money comes from.”
“No, my family.” Tears bead in the corner of her eyes, striking me with the force of a punch in the chest. “Please don’t hurt my family.”
Lowering her phone, I walk toward her until only the counter exists between us. She seems so small huddled on the stool with fear glistening in her damp eyes, and her knuckles have turned white with how tightly she grips the bowl.
“I’m sensing there is a deal to be made here, Hollie.”
She nods rapidly. “Mhm.”
“What did you see tonight?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, so I tilt my head. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” she chokes out. “I saw nothing.”
“Really? Tell me what happened.”
“M–My car broke down and I–I couldn’t call anyone. My phone died and I…”
She’s wrestling with herself to get the words out, and I feel disgusting but I can’t pinpoint why. I’ve done this dance a thousand times before.
“I was alone and I didn’t know what to do.”
“Then, Hollie. Tell me.” Setting her phone down on the counter, I slowly slide it toward her without lifting my fingers. “How did we meet?”
Her eyes are like the biggest emeralds I’ve ever seen in my life. “Your car pulled over after seeing me parked and you offered me help?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“T–Telling you.”
“Good. I’m sure your parents will be happy that you weren’t alone, Hollie. But if I need to stop by and tell them myself, we might have a problem. Are we understood?”
She’s shaking so much it’s a wonder she’s even still on the stool. “I understand. I do. Please, I understand.”
“Good.” Straightening, I leave her phone next to her on the counter. “Now eat. I won’t have anyone thinking I’m a bad host.”
She stares at me as if I’ve just sprouted another head right in front of her.
“Please. Eat.”
Hollie snatches up the spoon and shovels food into her mouth before I can blink. It’s good that she’s eating, but I can’t shake the guilt eating away at me. Is our previous tryst a few months ago really a good enough reason to treat her differently from anyone else in this position? She caught my eyes back then and while alcohol warmed and influenced both our decisions, I can’t deny that I was more than a little sad when we stumbled out of the cubicle and I lost her in the sea of clubgoers, never to be seen again.
Now she’s in my kitchen with tears clinging to her lashes while shoveling down curry like her life depends on it. Maybe my wording did give that implication. I return to my own meal and eat slowly, angled away from her so she doesn’t feel like I’m watching her even though I’m in tune to her every move.
Gradually, her eating pace slows and the worried wrinkle between her brows eases out as if she’s actually enjoying her meal. In my experience, anything like what happened tonight is enough to build up an appetite even if you’re stressed.
Just as I’m sweeping my spoon around the last of the sauce, a soft female voice carries through the apartment.
“Elevator in motion.”
Hollie straightens up, her eyes upward. “Who was that?”
“Think of it as an Alexa,” I say, setting my bowl in the sink. “Only way more advanced.”
