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It didn’t mean anything to me, but Sasha’s jaw set. The tiger tattoo on his neck rippled as the muscles in his throat flexed.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, answering the unspoken question probably plastered across my face.
Once he’d shoved his feet into boots, the cops hauled him out the door and down the hallway. No goodbye. No nothing. Just an empty reassurance and an even emptier apartment.
My breathing quickened. The world around me spun as fast as the thoughts in my head. The blood in my veins buzzed. I was going to throw up at any second. I knew it. The Coke and the popcorn were making their way back up my esophagus. Swallowing it down, I turned and scanned the kitchen frantically.
Snatching my phone off the counter, I scrolled through the contacts, debating who to call first.
Misha was the obvious choice. He would know what to do. He had access to the money and lawyers and whatever else Sasha needed. But then again, he might be pissed Sasha was arrested in the first place. Avoiding the cops at all costs was something ingrained in all of them. Misha might see Sasha’s arrest as his own fault, a problem not worthy of fixing. And that, in and of itself, could jeopardize Sasha’s standing, which I couldn’t let happen.
I scrolled back up to the top of my contacts.
The phone rang three times before a very confused man answered the phone. “Roan? Is everything ok?”
“Bennett.” I swallowed down more nausea, purposely slowing my breathing so I didn’t word-vomit into the phone. “I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The cops just came and arrested Sasha. They said he had a warrant. And I can’t see him until tomorrow at bond call. They said it was ‘no bond’ or whatever and he had to go see a judge. They only told me the one charge but I guess he has more and I’m pretty sure my friend just ratted him out for what he did to—” The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. Oh my God! That fucker! “No! It was my fucking dad! He’s gotta be the one who—”
Bennett whistled sharply into the phone. So much for not word-vomiting. When I stopped talking, he cleared his throat. “Do you know where he went?”
“They said 31st Street.”
A deep sigh sounded through the speaker.
“Why? What’s wrong with 31st Street?” My heart rate tripled again, remembering the face Sasha made when he heard the news. My palm was so sweaty I felt like I was going to drop the phone.
“It’s super max, which means your man is going to bereallypopular. Hopefully some of his comrades are locked up too, otherwise he’s in for a long night.”
I sank onto one of the stools at the bar. Would his scary nickname would be enough to keep him safe, at least for one night? God, I hoped so. I mean, he’d survived prison. A Russian prison. Surely jail was tamer than that. Right? “Can you help him?”
Bennett ignored the question and lobbed back one of his own. “Have you talked to his people yet?”
“No, you were my first call. I figured he needed a lawyer more than a mob boss.”
“Good. I’ll call Misha and let him know what’s going on. I’m going to tell you right now not to expect him home tonight. Ok? Cook County doesn’t work that fast. But I’ll bring him back to you, Roan. I promise.”
“Thank you, Bennett. I can’t thank you enough.”
He disconnected and I slumped across the counter, resting my head on my arm. Anger and fear twisted through my intestines like thorny vines. This was Dad’s doing. I fucking knew it was. Aggravated battery? What a fucking asshole. He’s lucky a broken nose was the only thing Sasha did to him and then he turns around and presses charges because he had his ego stomped on? It was over a fucking week ago! Did he report it that night and it just took the cops this long to catch up to Sasha or did Dad purposely let some time slip by so we’d think we were in the clear?
Regardless of the answer, I swore right then and there I was going to get him back for this. There was no way I’d ever forget how easily he lied about the ransom demand when I was kidnapped, or how he’d treated me my entire fucking life. But my original plan of having Sasha scare the shit out of him? Yeah, fuck that. I didn’t want to scare him anymore. I wanted him to fucking suffer. His actions, or lack of actions, had consequences and I vowed to make sure he felt each and every brutal repercussion.
22
SASHA
“Where should we put him, Sarge?”
“Fuck if I know.”
I sighed, turning my attention to the cement ceiling overhead. There were so many cracks and water spots up there, I was surprised it hadn’t come crashing down yet.
The jailer trying to book me had had this conversation with two of his other colleagues. And now a sergeant stood next to him, clicking through my computerized file, regarding me with wariness.
“Is there any room in med hold?” the jailer looked hopeful.
