Anatoly Medlov (2 page)

She had gone to sleep smiling and oblivious. He had gone to sleep thinking about his dilemma – how to undo what he had done far too spontaneously. The tightness in his chest had started immediately, as soon as she spooned against him and closed her big, brown eyes. His father was right. It simply would not work.

Now, curled up beside him, wrapped in the sheets, she never felt him when he stirred, when he pulled his body from the bed and quickly slipped on his jeans.

Once fully dressed, he stood by the bed for a while, staring at her and thinking of all that he had put her through and vice versa.

Finally when he had reasoned enough, he grabbed his wallet and keys and slipped out of the bedroom.

The family could take care of her arrangements to get back to Italy to the winery. He knew that his father would
at least
– Royal may not.

All he did know was that he couldn’t stayn the condo with her a moment longer. Now that he knew that she was okay, that she had not been harmed because of him, he could release her.

In fact, he had already released her, whether he liked it or not. She wasn’t the one. It was sort of refreshing when he thought of it. To fall in love with Victoria would be too easy and far too dangerous. She was like him. Cunning. Forward. Greedy. His decision would be best for the both of them or at least for him. And that was all that mattered at the end of the day.

It would have been cruel to leave her stranded at his parent’s condo alone, so he left the keys on the kitchen counter for the Bentley. But he didn’t leave a note. That would be too much.

Words couldn’t express what he was feeling right at the moment anyway. What was the use of trying? He’d walk for a while and clear his head. He just had to get out of the condo and way from her, had to get away from the commitment that was coming. The looming inevitability of a bad relationship choked him out of the space – drove him to flee.

Opening the front door to the house, he looked back one last time up the stairs and then left.

The sun was just as bright outside as it was in his father’s bedroom. It shone down on him and fed him the energy he needed to get on with things. He took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air, slipped on his Aviator shades and headed down the steps towards the walkway.

Looking around at all the well-manicured lawns, the expensive cars and the people walking up and down the sidewalk, he felt a calm that was not possible a minute ago.

This place was such a far cry from the life he had known when he was a boy. Everyone here was privileged. They had no clue what it was like to struggle, to fight for every crumb. But then again, neither did he anymore.

Life was good, but his was pushing him to get back to Memphis. His business could not run itself. There were things to do, people to see, money to make, guns to sell.

Catching a taxi a few miles outside of the upscale, gated community, he ordered the small Indian man to take him straight to the airport. He would bypass heading back to the countryside to his father’s chateau. Dmitry would understand. His father was like that. He was wise in his years because of the women that he had gone through before meeting his wife, Royal. Only Victoria was not his Royal. There was nothing anyone could do about that.

Within the hour, he was on the tarmac of a private airstrip with a cup of tea and a cigarette, preparing to board his private jet and head back to the states from Prague.

Still smelling like sex from the night before, he threw his cigarette down and headed up the stairs to his plane. The metal clanged under the weight of his heavy boots as he quickly made his way up. When he got to the top, he turned around and looked over the airstrip.

Finally, so far away from the condo, he could breathe again. The tightness in his chest had subsideut he did wonder if she was awake yet, if she had found the keys, put the pieces together and figured out what he didn’t have the nerve to tell her.
Goodbye. Take care. Don’t call.

“
Welcome back, Mr. Medlov,” the flight attendant said, offering to take his nearly empty cup.

Turning away from Prague, he passed his Styrofoam container to her and took off his shades.

“
Thanks, Karen,” he said, feeling a sense of relief.

“
Let’s get out of here,
da
.”

Chapter Two

Memphis, TN

Anatoly raced through the city on his motorcycle from his father’s old mansion to
Mother Russia
restaurant with his mind on the meeting that would take place in less than an hour. He gripped the handlebars and jolted down Walnut Grove past the people in their family cars obeying the speed limit. Their slowness annoyed him. Or maybe it wasn’t them at all. Maybe it was his need for the fast life.
Fast all the time. Fast until death.
His new mantra was completely against his father’s old school teachings, but he embraced it happily.

Reluctantly, his men followed as best they could a few cars back. He didn’t really like bodyguards very much, even though according to the council
they were a necessity
. However, they made him feel more vulnerable than when he was alone.

Alone, he could take care of himself. He felt like the true recluse that he was. Plus, there wasn’t much he couldn’t handle with the heat he was packing under this coat. Cop or Thug. He could take anyone out, if needed.

Most days, he felt utterly invincible. Like today. He was roaring inside, but he didn’t know why. There was just something in the air. Something urgent was on the horizon.

He accelerated as soon as the stop light turned green. Digging in and pulling off hard, he was just about to switch gears when he felt a jolt from behind. A sudden jerk took his bike off the ground. He propelled forward in the air helpless to the power of the strike. Then his body hit the hard pavement with an earthquake-like thud. He rolled twice feeling chunks of flesh tear apart as he clumsily bounced.

On his back, he looked up at the sky and tried to breathe when the momentum slowed. His chest felt as though it would cave in. He heard cars screeching around him, trying to stop for the man lying in the middle of the street. Then he heard a car door open, heels pound the pavement and a woman screaming.

“
Oh, my God! I’m so sorry,” she squealed from afar. She ran up to him and dropped to her knees. “Can you move? Oh myGod!”

Anatoly tried to move, tried to breathe. He reached for his helmet, to pull it off and inhale fresh air. She helped him remove his head gear. Her perfume greeting him as he emerged. Sparkles of white light blinded him. Sweat formed on his forehead from the pain. Then he heard familiar, Russian voices. His men. They came running and pushed the woman out of the way.

“
Boss, boss, are you alright?” one voice asked.

“
Call an ambulance,” another voice ordered.

“
I’m so sorry!” the woman said again.

“
Help me up,” Anatoly finally ordered as his vision came back to him.

“
Boss, I don’t know if you should move,” one of his bodyguards said concerned.

“
Help me up,” Anatoly insisted, making his body move. If they wouldn’t help him, he’d get up himself, then there would be hell to pay.

His men pulled him up while a few others picked up his bike. Anatoly looked around. Cars stopped, and people looked on with their hands on their mouths.
Great
, he had become a spectacle.

Limping, he went over to the sidewalk and sat down on its edge near a gutter. His men gathered around him as if he had just been shot. He wanted to scream at them, to demand some space, but he was too tired to bark. Instead, he slumped over and rubbed his bloody knees. He hated road rash.
This shit will leave scars for years,
he thought to himself
.
He winced as he touched the exposed, torn flesh mingled in denim jeans.
Fucking bad driving women
, he thought to himself.

As he looked across the street at the woman, who had evidently hit him, Anatoly could tell that she wanted to come over. She stood in her red suit with her cell phone to her ear talking to someone – probably the police – about the accident and staring at him.

“
Should we get you out of here?” Vasily, his bodyguard asked.

“
No, go on to restaurant. Tell McNamara that I’ll be late for our meeting. See if he can reschedule for later this evening. Find out when his flight leaves and make any arrangements that he needs,” Anatoly said, still looking at the woman.

“
What about her? You want us to...”

“
No,” Anatoly said, looking back down at his aching knee. “
Just
go and do what I told you to.”

“
Yes, boss,” he said, taking a few of the men with him.

The woman couldn’t help herself any longer. She put away her phone and ran through traffic

Anatoly looked at her and automatically thought of Victoria. Her chocolate skin glistened with perspiration and her full lips curved into a pensive frown.

“
Sir?” she looked over at the bodyguards who sat with him. Stepping back a few feet, she raised her voice. “Is there anything that I can do? I’m so sorry. I didn’t look up in time. It was my fault.”

“
I know it was your fault. I couldn’t have done this to myself,” Anatoly snapped. “Do you have insurance?”

“
Of course.” She looked over at her Audi. “I can go and get my card. Are you alright?” She looked back over at him.

“
Do I look alright?” Anatoly asked.

The woman sighed and put her hand on her heart. She wiped the tears quickly from her face. “I’m so sorry. I was...not paying attention.” Her voice faded.

A police car pulled up with its lights on and siren blaring. Anatoly looked over and rolled his eyes.
Great
.
Now the pigs come.

A fat, stubby, white officer pulled himself out of the car and slowly made his way over, wobbling with every step and determined to take his time. He looked at the odd group with a frown.
A black woman, a biker and a group of misfits in suits?

He pulled out his notepad and pen as he got closer then stopped when he saw who was sitting on the sidewalk. Not just any biker. It was Anatoly Medlov. Turning around, he grabbed the radio on his shoulder and called in something.

The woman looked over at the officer then at Anatoly. “He sure is taking his time,” she said offended. “Officer!” she called out. “Is an ambulance on its way?” She pointed at Anatoly.

“
I don’t need ambulance,” Anatoly said gruffly, getting up without his men. They knew better than to help him in front of the cops.

“
But you’re bleeding and injured,” she protested, putting her hand on her hips. “Excuse me, officer?”

The fat cop turned around and swallowed hard. He walked up to the group and looked at Anatoly. “Can anyone here tell me what happened?” he asked in a slow, southern drawl.

“
We had an accident,” Anatoly said, ignoring the pain. “We were just about to exchange insurance information and be on our way.”

“
Who was at fault for the accident?”

“
Me,” the woman said, raising her hand.

Anatoly eyed her.
Damned right it was her fault.

“
And what’s your name, ma’am?” the officer asked.

“
Destiny,” she answered with a ring in her voice. “Destiny Palmer.”

Anatoly looked over at the woman as she explained what happened to the officer. She had a Southern accent, sounded like she was from Memphis, looked like something out of a magazine with her busty curves and striking features.

Her thick, naturally arched eyebrows brought out her bright, brown eyes covered by wing-like lashes. Her cheekbones were high and rosy; her nose was carefully carved, and her lips were covered in a gloss that made them perfect for kissing. She wore a tailored red suit – red being his favorite color – that discreetly covered her well-kept body.