Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) (10 page)

Not many did. And those who managed it were invariably changed by the experience. Hardened, even. You'd have to be.

"Hey, lady!" A gruff, smokers voice called out. "Spare some change?"

About twenty yards ahead of me I saw a homeless man wrapped almost to his eyeballs in an overcoat that was several sizes too large. It might once have been a dark gray, but now the color was indistinguishable from the gloomy streets around us, speckled with filth and stained with salt from a long winter spent sleeping on the streets.

Careful, Maya
.

I reached my hand into my jacket, fingers searching for the handgun I'd stolen from my father's house. Not that it had been difficult to get my hands on one – they were everywhere at home, so I knew it would never be missed. To be honest, my father would have loved it if he’d known I was carrying. Though perhaps not if he found out
why
I was carrying…

I hated myself for readying myself to pull it out, hated myself for having so black an understanding of humanity that my first thought after encountering someone in need wasn't to help, but to protect myself, but I'd made a promise to myself – I was going to save Eamon, whatever it took.

"No change," I called back. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, come on," he wheedled, drawing closer to me. "I just need something to eat tonight, you know? Ten bucks and I get a bed in a hostel for the night. You ever sleep out on the sidewalk, lady?"

Shit. He doesn't look like he's going to leave me alone
, I thought.

The last thing I needed was to get into a confrontation with this guy. I decided to give him what he wanted. It'd be a small price to pay to get out of this unscathed, and more importantly, with my cover intact.

I reached for my purse, a nondescript black bag that I'd had since I was about fifteen years old and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

"Here, take this," I said, stretching my arm out and offering him the note. My hand trembled as I thrust it toward him, and I tried to convince myself that I was just cold. "Get yourself something warm to eat, okay?"

The bum moved with a shuffle, barely seeming to pull his feet away from the asphalt, but somehow he closed the last five yards that separated us with almost supernatural speed. My hand jerked back involuntarily, but I pushed it back out and toward him, trying not to panic.

"You're too kind, miss." He said, pocketing the money greedily.

The closer I got to him, the less I liked what I saw. He had yellowed teeth, more filth under his fingernails than I'd ever seen, and the telltale haggard, wrinkled skin of a habitual drug user. I wasn't sure I could blame him, exactly – I couldn't imagine how tough being homeless must be, or what hardships had driven him to drugs in the first place, but realizing what he was did nothing to put my mind at ease.

This is what dad does
, I thought with a shudder.
He ruins lives
.

"Have a good day," I said hurriedly. This wasn't the kind of place I wanted to be, especially not with darkness closing in, and especially not alone. Full-grown men knew not to wander the streets of the industrial district alone, and I was quickly beginning to understand why…

"Hey, miss – where you going?"

"I, uh –."

I stammered, trying to come up with an excuse, any excuse to mollify my companion. My brain went blank with panic, irrational panic – because there was no need for me to worry. There was no logical reason reason I should have to tell him
anything
. I'd just given him what he wanted, couldn’t he just let me go?

The bum looked at me hungrily, like I was a hot meal, or something…
else
.

"I gotta go," I insisted.

"Aw, don't be like that," he mumbled. And, under his breath but loud enough to be clearly audible, "who does this bitch think she is?"

"What did you just say?" I replied, shocked.

You shouldn't have said anything, Maya
,
you should've just kept your mouth shut
.

The guy was clearly unhinged, and worse, I was quickly beginning to suspect that he might not just be a little crazy, it was looking more and more likely that he was dangerous too. I pushed my fingers back into my jacket and sighed with relief as my fingers closed around the handle of the thirty-eight caliber pistol I brought along with me on this ill-fated adventure.

"Keep the twenty," I said, turning away.

"Hey, miss." He growled threateningly. "I said, where the fuck do you think you're going?"

M
aya

I got ready to pull the pistol out of my jacket, but thought better of it. I knew that pulling a weapon on him had to be a final resort, because I had no idea whether I had what it took to actually pull the trigger – and if he didn't stop, and I didn't pull…

Then it’s all over.

All I knew was that I was no killer. I needed to find another way.

I broke into a run, heading toward the old Ford building just a hundred or so yards away. An old storage yard separated me from its safe embrace, and a no man's land of rubble and rebar. I ducked through a broken section of chain-link fencing, feeling a tug as a jagged offshoot of metal caught against my jacket.

The unexpected resistance tossed me off balance, and I stumbled, catching my foot against a loose brick. Time seemed to slow down as I fell with my arms wind-milling, and my legs desperately trying to catch up with my body’s momentum.

But it was too little, too late.

Shit
.

I hit the floor of the concrete yard with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs, and I heard a metallic tinkle as the gun flew out of my jacket and skidded to a halt against an old, rusted metal barrel a few yards ahead of me.

Only one thought managed to escape the background panic that was quickly overtaking my mind.
You've got to get that gun
.

I paid no attention to the sound of the desperate, keening moan which escaped my lips as my lungs heaved for air. Couldn't, didn't have the luxury. There’d be time to lick my wounds and feel my aching bruises later on. If I survived. I crawled forward, dragging my knees along the rubble-strewn yard and ignored the jolting screams of pain as I scraped the skin raw.

I slowed my crawl, hoping beyond hope that the bum hadn't given chase, and for a brief second, when all I could hear was the sound of my own labored breathing and the rush of blood in my ears, I allowed myself to imagine that the bum had given up the chase.

"I'm gonna get ya, bitch!"

Another wave of adrenaline flooded into my system, wiping out the pain, wiping out the fear, and giving my brain only one thing to concentrate on.

Get. That. Gun!

My heart rate skyrocketed as the adrenaline did its job, and my senses closed in until every background detail faded away. I was in a world with no scent, a world where traffic noise and bird sounds and even the eerie moan of the wind whistling through holes in the brick facades of old, abandoned factories had disappeared, a world where all I could hear was the sound of footsteps crunching against the concrete behind me, taking the place of a ticking clock counting as my time ran out.

My vision narrowed, and I understood for the first time what tunnel vision actually meant. Nothing else mattered to me except getting the gun into my hands.

This is for Eamon
, I thought,
not you
.
Do whatever it takes
.

My son’s image popped, implausibly and out of nowhere into my head, and it gave me the burst of strength I needed to keep going, as did the terrible, all-encompassing fear of dying. Not because I was afraid of death, but because it would mean leaving him in the hands of my father.

I couldn't let that happen.

"Stop!" I called out, my voice sounding weak against the noise of my hands and knees desperately scrabbling against the concrete. "I'll call the police!"

"Fuck the cops." The bum snarled. This time, his voice sounded scarily close – no more than a few yards away from me, close enough to –.

But I was close, too.

My hands closed against the gun’s inviting metal handle at the very same moment that the bum's shadow began to close out the light above me, and I spun round, landing heavily against my back.

My attacker was only a couple of feet away at most, his eyes hungry with desire – for me. I shuddered, dreading to think what he had planned. Whatever it was, I knew I wanted no part of it. He pulled up, lurching backward with shock as he arrested his headlong rush toward me. He toppled over, landing on his ass.

"Stop! Don't come any closer," I said. My voice cracked with fear. My trembling fingers closed around the trigger, and I began to seriously contemplate what might be about to happen.

Can you really take a life?
Will you be able to live with yourself?

"Come now, girl," he said, his tone of voice changing in an instant to a whining, wheedling. "We can come to an arrangement, can't we, you and me? You give me what
I
need, and…"

And I spend the rest of my life in counseling?
Tempting, but
–
no thanks
.

"I said," I repeated tensely, the trigger half-depressed under the weight of a finger that was trembling with the pressure. Or perhaps it was from nerves. I wasn't a cop, or a police officer – I'd barely fired a gun before, something that had always disappointed my father. It was why I'd never bothered going to the range. I didn't want dad to think he'd won. But just because I didn’t practice, I still knew a thing or two about how they worked. At the end of the day, guns are simple. You point, and you shoot.

"Don’t you fucking move!"

He didn’t listen.

A gunshot echoed around the old factory yard.

The old industrial district abruptly fell silent, as though the whole world had stopped turning at the very moment I pulled the trigger.

A flock of black crows soared to the sky, their startled cawing reverberating off the factory's roof tiles and bouncing back, so the entire square became a maelstrom of noise, a cauldron of terrified wildlife sounds melding with the reverberating, sharp retort of the gunshot rebounding off every brick and roof tile around.

The bum sank to his knees with eyes wide with fear, grabbing his stomach as he collapsed to the ground. "You missed," he said, wide with shock. "You stupid bitch, you missed! I'm going to fucking kill you!"

I stood up with the weapon in my hands pointed directly at my assailant, legs braced and arms steady. In short, I was ready to kill.

"No," I replied firmly. "I didn't miss. I don't
miss
. I just decided I didn't want to deal with the paperwork."

It sounded good, in my head anyway, but I had no idea whether my bravado would stand up to the real test.

My would-be assailant stared at me with impotent fury, his eyes full of black rage and fists clenched together and trembling with frustration. I didn’t know whether he still had drugs coursing through his veins, turning off his brain's sense of risk and driving him to indulge in his basest instincts, and frankly, I didn’t care.

I knew he as wavering and it forced me into making a decision that I knew I would regret. I knew I'd regret it more if I didn't.

"Do you know who I am?"

"I don't give a fuck." He spat.

"Oh," I said mildly, "I think you will."

"Try me, bitch."

"You want to know where I got this gun?" I asked, gesturing with my chin at the black weapon cradled between my hands. I kept the barrel trained directly at his chest.

He didn't reply, just kept his predatory eyes fixed on me. I could see the wheels turning in a brain that had clearly been atrophied by years, maybe even decades, of drug abuse.

I pressed ahead. "I took it out of Mikhail Antonov's office," I said. I studied his face carefully, saw his eyes narrow at the mere mention of my father's name. "Oh," I chuckled. "You've heard of him, have you?"

"You've got it worse than I have," the bum said slowly. "Stealing a gun from that psychopath – you're crazy."

"Who said anything about stealing?" I replied, letting a faint smile play on the corners of my lips. I hoped it would make me look sinister, but on balance I'd have settled if it just let me appear relaxed. I didn't want the bum to know just how terrified I was, or I'd lose the only trump card I had left. I felt like I was a diver in a broken shark cage, and that at any moment the predators swarming around me would realize my protection for what it was – false.

"It was a gift." I said, quickly improvising. "A birthday present from my father."

"He's your –." The man stammered, reflexively relaxing his fingers as the enormity of his fuck-up became clear.

"Da," I said in Russian. "
Yes
."

I hated myself for using my father's name, even in the service of a good cause. But it worked. Holy hell, it worked. I saw his resistance like a child's sand castle in the face of a tidal wave.

I shouldn't have said it. Christ, it was the kind of thing you could spend half a lifetime regretting. But I was so revved up, so buoyed along by the title wave of adrenaline running through my system that, in that moment, consequences seemed to disappear, and. I leaned forward menacingly. "You know why I'm here?"

"Because you're a crazy bitch?" He spat.

I resisted the urge to pistol whip him in the face and knock a couple of those cracked, yellowed teeth out of his filthy mouth.

I cracked my back. "No. Because I've got a family to protect. So you know what, I don't want to kill you. But I will if I have to. If you're the one standing in the way of me getting out of this fucking cesspit of a city, then believe me, I'll kill you."

Shit, Maya. Tell him everything, why don't you.

For a second, my whole posture quivered as I realized the enormity of what I’d just let slip.

Pull yourself together. He probably didn't notice a thing.

I pointed the gun back to the road, and far away from me and my goal. I didn't care where he went, I just didn't want it to be here. My voice stayed level the entire time I was speaking. It was a marvel, or perhaps just more evidence of the incredible power of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Now scram, got it? I don't want to see your face again, because if I do you sure as hell won't like what happens next."

"Oh."

I kept the gun pointed at the road until the last sounds of the tramp's feet scrabbling against the rubble-strewn yard disappeared into nothingness. My heart was pounding at a hundred beats a minute now that the adrenaline my brain had dumped into me had begun to diminish, and if I'd felt cold before, it was a hundred times worse now as the chemical courage began to drain from my veins, leaving behind only a crushing, almost crippling sense of fear. I wasn't a gangster, wasn't a soldier – so what I'd just experienced was crazy.

I turned back to the old Ford building, the decaying factory that had been my target this whole time.

At least
, I thought,
you didn't get this close just to fail. Even if things didn't go quite as smoothly as you'd hoped…

I walked up to the old, moss-covered covered factory walls, searching for one particular rusted steel door, a door that I'd passed through just once before. I found it without too much trouble, and after straining to kick aside a piece of rubble that barred my entrance, heaved it open and passed through. Inside, the factory was dark, damp and dank – the kind of place I'd normally avoid. Last time I visited, it had been summer, and it hadn't seemed anywhere near as terrifying. Then again, last time, I wasn't chased by a crazed homeless man…

I shivered at the thought, or perhaps at the all-pervading chill.
Let's get this over with, Maya, and get the hell out of here.

It was fifty steps to the old bell tower's stairs and I covered the distance in triple time, before bounding up an old concrete stairwell that smelled faintly of ammonia. I didn't want to think of why. My thighs were burning by the time I emerged back into the chill cold of the rapidly approaching Alexandria night. I kept my silhouette low, in the hope that no one was watching. I couldn't imagine that they were, but then again, it paid to be careful these days.

Other than a couple of old, yellowed cigarette butts on the floor, the place looked undisturbed.
Were they here last time?

I moved towards my target – an old metal cabinet built into the brick tower – quickly, and picked up a loose red brick off the floor. I grimaced, this was going to be loud, but I didn't have another alternative. I bashed against the rusting steel as hard as I could, focusing on the corner I'd screwed shut months before. After so many years unpainted and exposed to the elements, It didn't take long before the thin red metal began to flake into a small pile of metal fragments around my feet.

Clang!

I dropped the brick with a thud as the metal door came loose. I crossed my fingers.
If it's not there…

I thrust my hands into the cabinet and scraped away a pile of old newspapers and cans, looking for the priceless package that I'd gone to so much risk to collect. I held my breath after my fingers didn't immediately close around it, but my fears were baseless.

"Yes!" I yelled out loud with delight as my fingers closed around the plastic bundle. I pulled it out, delighted, forgetting for a second where I was, and that I was supposed to be staying quiet. The translucent plastic package was slightly muddied by its long period in hiding, but its contents were nevertheless unmistakable.

Two fake passports, one real birth certificate, and twenty thousand dollars in cash. Everything I needed to get me and Eamon out of Alexandria, and to make it so my father would never be able to find us again.

As I turned to leave, I felt a strange sensation of danger prickling against the back of my neck.

I should have paid more attention to it, just like last time. I should have known that the homeless man wouldn't give up that easy. But right then and there, it was the last thing on my mind.