Page 34 of Ruthless Consequences

“No,” I say. “But—”

He finds a parking spot, turns the car off, and looks at me.

“But what?”

“I’ve been to Little Odessa.”

Little Odessa is also known as Brighton Beach. Or vice versa. It’s known for its large Russian and Eastern European communities.

“Yeah?” he says, and I don’t like the tone of his voice. He’s curious, but cautious. Like if I tell him something he doesn’t like, he’s going to burn the world down. “Little Odessa.”

“Ava,” I say, waving a hand. “She has a thing for dangerous men.”

“She’s younger than you.”

“She is, but she doesn’t look it.”

He nods, like he agrees.

“You know my sister?”

“Met her. Not long ago. In the principal’s office. She was dating a Russian guy?”

“I’m not sure if dating is the right term. She was digging for information. She’s obsessed with the Fausti family. She thinks all dangerous roads will one day lead to them. The guy was or is connected.” I sigh. “She called me one night. She was hiding. He wanted to take her back to Russia with him. I rushed there and we left together.”

He turns his face forward and a vacant look comes into his eyes. It’s scary, but it doesn’t scare me.

“Have you been?” I say, to change the subject. “Here?”

“Yeah,” he says.

I think he’s going to say more, but instead, he gets out and comes to my side. He opens the door and we start toward the boardwalk. He doesn’t dodge people. People move out of his way. He doesn’t even bother really looking at any of them. It’s like, if he feels someone or something is worth his time, then he makes eye contact.

I’m not worried about the people, either. I’m too busy taking in the scene. The beach in the distance. The crazy fast rides. Some spinning in midair. Some flying on tracks. All the stops along the boardwalk. Some shops, but mostly food places. The perfume in the air is a mixture of salt water, grease, and seafood. Something sweet lingers underneath it all, and my hand tightens in Lilo’s.

He glances at me but says nothing. He leads me into a shop that sells souvenirs and clothes made for the beach.

“Get what you want,” he says, nodding in the general direction of the store.

“I’m okay,” I say.

“You pick or I do.”

I grab a pastel shirt that has Coney Island on it, a pair of cutoff jeans shorts, and flip-flops. Lilo nods, adding a sweatshirt, a tote bag, and a backpack to the counter.

“What about you?” I say, looking him over.

Black T-shirt. Jeans. Boots. He looks like he’s about to hop on a Harley, not spend the day at the beach.

“I’m good,” he says.

He pays cash for everything, and we find a bathroom. I quickly change, stashing my old clothes and tennis shoes in the tote bag, and we drop the bag off in his car. He has the backpack slung over his shoulder with the sweater.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing that.” I nod to the bag but mean the sweater. “It’s hot.” He’s going to melt.

He looks me over, his dark eyes almost absorbing me. He doesn’t say it, but I’m sure he’s thinking I’m too skinny to be anything but cold. Especially at night, when the wind might almost knock me down.

I shake my head, but a smile lingers on my face. “Thank you,” I say, squeezing his hand.

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