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chaos-weekly · 3 years

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Rain pounded on Libya’s abdomen. Well, it pounded around her and on her, but she mostly felt it on her abdomen, where her bandages had bled through from the gunshot wound that refused to heal. Probably because she hadn’t stayed still for more than a few hours in the last week and a half, but it wasn’t like she had the luxury of rest and recovery.

Footsteps approached, squelching in the muddy field. Liya lay on the dirt shoulder of the road. She was a few hours’ drive from Boston, out in the closest you could get to the middle of nowhere in Massachusetts. It wasn’t like New York where she could hitchhike upstate to the Finger Lakes area like she used to love doing.

No, Liya would never see her favorite place again. And no, Liya didn’t regret her decision. Her father had done the unspeakable—probably had been doing it for a while—and leaving was worth it. There was no guarantee she’d survive much longer. Her abdomen wasn’t her only injured body part. The other shot the soldier had taken had hit her upper arm, even if it only grazed. She couldn’t go to a hospital, not without having paperwork and insurance. Which she didn’t have, because Liya couldn’t use any of the aliases she got from her father or the Bratva.

Basically, Liya was stuck in Massachusetts on the muddy shoulder of the road in the torrential rain.

The footsteps had stopped, but they grew closer. Liya didn’t open her eyes. Maybe if she couldn’t see them they’d think she was dead, or maybe they wouldn’t see her at all.

A gentle nudge hit her side. The cry of pain and her now open eyes were involuntary. Liya found her attacker in the form of a handsome man with an appraising stare. He didn’t look pitying or concerned. Maybe intrigued?

“So you’re not dead,” the stranger said. He didn’t have a Boston accent. He sounded just distinctly neutral.

“No thanks to you,” Liya hissed, a hand gingerly coming to rest on her gunshot wound. She hissed again, sharper this time. Touching it was a bad idea.

“Hm.”

Liya closed her eyes again, but it didn’t last long. She could feel him staring at her.

“Are you going to leave?” She opened her eyes to stare him down from her place in the mud.

“You’re hard to track down, you know.”

Panic. That was what she felt. This guy was coming for her. He knew her dad. Papa wanted her dead. Or he at least wanted her back. Probably to sell her to someone else for revenge for leaving. Or to marry her off to some associate so he could strengthen the New York Bratva’s numbers. Or to forge an alliance. Either way, as sick as it was, Liya was glad she had found out her father’s dirty secret and left.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice shakier than she had willed it to be. So much for confidence.

“I don’t know yet.”

Something was up with this guy. Liya didn’t like him. He was following her, but he didn’t have a use for her. That wasn’t normal.

“Then why bother tracking me?” Liya snarled, but she was soon whimpering as the downpour grew stronger.

“You left the Bratva, Rozaliya. You’ve survived a week and a half already. You’re the Boss’ daughter. You have a price on your head.”

Now the whimper was from fear, not pain. Liya hated her weakness. She hated that she was losing strength. She hated herself.

“So you’re gonna sell me back? Claim the money?” Liya knew the figure paying for her return, preferably not too disfigured. It was a good seven figures. That type of money wasn’t offered by people like her father. Not for a missing person. Not for a traitor.

“No.”

Liya looked at him sharply, finally studying the stranger as best she could in the cold rain. He was tall and thin with a bad haircut and hooded eyes. If it hadn’t been for the stupid haircut, he might have been properly attractive.

“What do you want, then? Can’t you leave me here to die?” She looked skyward again, turning her face from him.

“I’m taking you with me, I’ve decided.” Before Liya could respond, the stranger had picked her up.

////

“Does she knows who you are?” Joe Bram asked in a stern, cold voice. As the leader of the Irish mob, he was a tall and strong man with a dark beard and chilled eyes. He intimidated most people, but Cerin found his own adoptive father—the second in command—to be more physically intimidating. Not that Cerin would ever tell Joe that.

“She knows I work with illegal organizations and that she has useful knowledge. She also knows we might be able to offer her protection.”

Joe didn’t look too happy with that answer. “She shouldn’t know anything. She’s Bratva! We can’t trust her.”

Cerin didn’t budge as Joe stepped closer. Again, Dad was freakier.

“She left because her father was involved with sex trafficking. She has secrets of the trade. You’ve been talking about getting more into weapons for years, Joe. Rozaliya is our in,” Cerin said calmly. It had taken quite a bit of wheedling to get her reason for leaving, and Cerin knew it would strengthen his argument.

“Get rid of her, Cerin,” Joe spat. Again, Cerin didn’t move, even if spittle had flown into his face.

“If we give her back, the Bratva will wonder what she told us. They’ll investigate or attack. If we kill her, they’ll attack. If we set her free and word gets out that we had her? They’ll attack us. Rozaliya is an investment, Joe, and she’ll be worthwhile for us.” Cerin knew bringing in the estranged Bratva Princess unauthorized was a frowned upon move, but he also knew it would be for the best. He was saving her life or whatever, but he was also opening doors for business and advancement. If he could get her to help them—and he would—then she could give them the insider tips and tricks on the weapons trade.

“She’s a needless risk,” Joe exclaimed, turning to Cerin’s father, Landon, in frustration.

“You’ve done too much, son,” Landon scolded. Cerin’s mood soured further. He knew his dad wouldn’t be happy, especially not after the Cleveland incident the month before, but he was trying to get back in their good graces! He needed to be back in their good graces if he as gonna maintain his power.

“Give her a chance,” Cerin pleaded, surprising himself. She reminded him of himself, which was probably why he was fighting for her so fiercely. That and he knew his idea was a good one. Mostly the latter.

“For what? To f—k us over?” Joe laughed caustically. Cerin’s lips thinned.

“To give us info. I’ll do the dirty work. I’ll take the risks. I’ll prove to you that she can be trusted, and you’ll thank me when she helps us more than anyone else.”

“And how do you plan on keeping her in line?” Landon challenged.

He smirked at his adoptive father. “Simple, I sell her back to her father if she’s any trouble. Explain that I found her and found her significance and turned her back in.”

Joe spun back on Cerin, but he spoke first. “Joe, we both know I can talk my way out of anything. I’ll bring her to her father myself if she isn’t useful. Trust me, she’ll talk.”

Landon hummed in thought. “He has a point, Joe. But where will you keep her?”

Cerin shrugged. “My apartment, probably. I have that guest room. I’ll lock my apartment and ensure she can’t get out.”

Joe threw his hands up, ever the expressive one. “Fine. Keep her. Whatever happens is on your head. I don’t care who you’re related to or how helpful you are, Cerin. I will not hesitate in killing you myself.”

Cerin didn’t flinch. “Noted.” He nodded to his father and Joe, and then Cerin left to go find Liya (who he had kept locked in his car). She still needed medical help. Maybe Adam could help with that instead of just autopsies on corpses.

#chaos weekly #ain’t no rest for the wicked

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