Very Wicked Things

And so, after ballet practice was over, I didn’t meet him like he’d wanted. Nope. Instead, I ran clear across the quad and left his jacket draped over his Porsche.

Because Cuba Hudson was a rich, spoiled boy who would only break my heart if I let him. He had danger written all over him and I didn’t dig danger.

And danger is why I now pushed that memory away and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Heather-Lynn to clean up after dinner. She seemed occupied, trying to think of a way for us to come up with the money, so I headed to Sarah’s gun safe in her bedroom. My gut knew Barinsky’s men would be back, maybe tonight, and they’d expect their money.

Sarah still slept, giving me the opportunity to open the safe. My eyes traced over the smallest gun, a Ruger, noting the blackness of the cylinder, the pearl color of the handle. I’d never fired it, but Sarah had shown it to me through the years, explaining the basics on how to load it and where the safety was. Her husband had worked out of town, and this had been her protection while he was gone.

Making sure the safety was on, I picked it up and held it with both hands, like I’d seen cops do on television. It wasn’t as heavy as I thought it would be, but when I saw my shadow on the wall, I got weak in the knees at the vision I made. It made my stomach roll, until finally, I cautiously sat it back inside the safe. Part of me, the tough girl from the bad side of town, wanted to tuck that gun in my boot and be ready for them when they came back and tried to slap Sarah around. But the smart girl in me knew I didn’t have a chance. They’d probably take it from me before I could pull it; they might shoot us dead with our own gun.

I paced around, debating on my options, finally realizing I really only had one, and that was to play it cool and see if I could convince them to wait a little longer for the money.

Later, after Heather-Lynn had left for her own apartment upstairs, I walked the house, checking all the doors and windows, making sure they were tight. Then, unable to sleep, I sat in the window seat that faced the street. And waited.

CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT, the grey Mercedes pulled up in the same spot Cuba’s Porsche had held earlier, proving that indeed, they were Barinsky’s men and not just some random import in the neighborhood. The realization that his men had followed me all the way from Highland Park was a chilling thought. How much did they know about me? Had they known who Cuba was tonight? Did they know I was friends with Spider? And why was twenty thousand dollars that serious? I mean, Barinsky was a huge gangster. That had to be a drop in the bucket for him.

Two men got out, and afraid they would wake Sarah, I bolted for the front door.

No way did I want them back in this house.

With clammy hands, I flung the door open and stepped outside. They froze, the two of them pulling out guns.

I blanched and held my hands up. Didn’t wanna die. Not here in front of Sarah.

Both of them were meaty, body builder types dressed in expensive athletic wear and probably five hundred dollar sneakers. One was blonde, his face scarred with a few knife swipes I figured, and the other had red hair and a toothy, dark smile. Neither of them were dream boats, but stick them in another setting, and they’d be twenty-something guys headed to the gym.

Blondie lowered his gun and spoke. “You know who we are?”

I nodded. My voice was gone, buried deep inside.

“We’re looking for Sarah or Katerina Beckham,” he added as the porch light caught on a ginormous, crested ring he wore on his finger. Had that big piece of jewelry cut Sarah’s skin? I hadn’t noticed when I’d checked on her, and I realized she’d probably been lying on her side where they hit her.

My panic swelled, and I swallowed convulsively, trying to get my throat wet.

“Look, Sarah isn’t here. I’m—I’m Katerina.”

“Do you have the twenty thousand we’re owed?” Red asked.

“No,” I whispered.

Were they going to kill me?

Instead, they put me between and escorted me to the waiting car. Sure, I could have screamed or kicked or tried to use my fists, but it wouldn’t do any good. No neighbor would dare poke their head out in this place to help me. Especially if Barinsky was involved. People saved their own skin here.

I slid in the back, once again sitting on expensive leather seats.

Blondie cranked the car while Red watched me from the front seat, his eyes hooded.

I glanced out the window to avoid his stare. It crossed my mind to jump out and make a run for it, but I had nowhere to go, and if I did manage to hide for a while, they’d go straight for Sarah.

“Where we headed?” I pushed out, picturing an abandoned field where they’d dug a hole for my body already.

Red chuckled. “To hell if we don’t change our ways.”

A few minutes later, we whipped into the parking lot of a dirt-brown warehouse with a neon sign on top. Big Daddy’s Pawn it said, flashing on and off in a garish yellow color. Chain-link fencing with rusty barbed-wire on top surrounded the entire property, making it apparent they didn’t want anyone getting in or out.

We got out of the car. Blondie pushed me forward with his fingers in my back as Red used a key to open up the padlock on the gate.

Welcome to the headquarters of the Ratcliffe mob.

Close to the front door were two pit bull type dogs tied to a metal pole in the ground. The dogs growled softly as we approached, but when Blondie snapped at them, they shut-up. Overall, the place was terrifying. It fit right in with the whole I’m-going-to-kill-you-if-you-don’t-pay-me vibe.