“GOOD MORNING, IGOR.” I hide a grin as he tries to tackle the weeds that have overtaken the flower bed.
“It is not a good morning, Mila.” He stands with hands on his hips and looks down at the mess. My brown satchel hits my hipbone, and I push it toward my back.
“I think you should remove it all and not even bother trying to separate the weeds from the plants.” It’s too hard to tell which is which.
“I think you’re right, Mila,” Igor says. Soft blue eyes smile up at me. He’s been a resident of this apartment complex since before I moved in six years ago. He’s been a constant in my life, helping to balance out my unpredictable past, which I’ve buried. When I moved in here, it was a new start for me.
“I better get to work.” I touch his back gently, and Igor waves me off as he tackles the overgrown mess. I live close to Teapots, which is where I waitress.
I pull my satchel back to the front, and it hits my bum as I walk. I glance over my shoulder, tugging my wine-colored coat tighter around me. I have the sense I’m being watched.
I’m naturally a paranoid person, but I don’t think anyone could blame me, if they knew my past. I quicken my steps and continue to peek over my shoulder, but each time I look behind me, I’m met with mocking emptiness. Strong hands grip my arms, and I swing around, nearly walking into a man.
“Oh, sorry,” I say as I glance down at the tattooed hands and all the way up to a pair of dark eyes. Something deep inside me stirs and runs in fear. His hair is tied back, the sides shaved. The black cross tattooed onto his head has me stepping out of his large hands. He towers over me, and I lock my knees to keep upright.
He nods before stepping around me. I can’t breathe as I turn and watch his large frame clad in a dark suit walk down the sidewalk. He never looks back, but my throat grows taut. I know who he is. My vision wavers and I stumble forward. My mind won’t settle as I automatically arrive at work. Removing my bag and jacket, I wrap an apron around my small waist.
The Collector.
I just met The Collector. He had to be here for me. But he’s gone, I try to tell my racing heart. He’s gone. You are fine. You’re here at work.
I grab my pad and pen and give my boss a tight smile as I make my way out onto the floor. I’m unsteady and my mind is frazzled. Was he here for me?
Of course he came for you, Mila. You knew he would.
I scold myself as I step up to a table and take the order from the couple. I scribble it down and walk away, giving the order to the cook. I start to clear off tables. I need to run. I need to go right now! What am I doing?
I fill a tray with dirty plates and try to tell myself that maybe he had someone else to collect. Fear clutches my throat, and I press my palms onto the table like I might be able to stop the onslaught of emotions that threatens to pour out of me.
I straighten and walk over to my boss.
“I’m so sorry, Elena. I need to go.”
“You just got here.” She frowns. “Are you sick? You do look pale.”
“She always looks pale.” Kat laughs from the kitchen, and I force a smile that doesn’t last.
“Yeah, I’m not feeling well at all.”
Elena nods. She’s a good boss, and I’m a good waitress.
“Thanks, Elena.” As I get my bag and coat, I try not to glance around the space. I might never see it again. I can’t stop the tears that burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them spill. I leave out the side door. I don’t get far before I press my back against the stone wall and take in gulps of air.
I want to scream. Running isn’t an option, but I got six years. I know I only got those six years because of Victor. I wasn’t hidden here. It was an illusion that he’d sold to me, and I bought it without question.
I push off the wall and start the walk back to my apartment. I’m waiting for The Collector to appear and grab me, but no one does.
Igor’s gray eyebrows rise, and I try to force a smile for him.
“Forgot something.” I wave him off and his eyes narrow slightly, but he goes back to his job. I take out the keys to my apartment as I climb the steps.
I keep thinking of running, but I already know how silly the idea truly is. Yet, the survival part of me won’t give in.
I open the door, and the smell of my vanilla candle is the first thing to greet me. My stomach tightens and I meet my blue eyes in the mirror. I drop my gaze as I pull off my jacket and hang it up. I close the door and enter the kitchen, which is already a small room. Now it shrinks to nothing as The Collector sits at my table with his tattooed hands joined. My gaze jumps to the spiderweb tattooed on his neck. He did time in prison. Being Bratva made his list of possible crimes long.
I untie the apron I forgot to take off. My stomach tightens as the chair screeches along the floor as The Collector rises.
“You’ve come to collect,” I say without meeting his gaze. I fold the apron with the same care I always give it.
Biting on the inside of my jaw stops the onslaught of tears that want to spill. I want to ask to take a final walk around my home. Maybe take some photos I kept from my childhood. I know I’ll never return.
What I might be going back to has me hunching my shoulders. Death looks like a better option, but I’m a coward. I never could end things; I didn’t have it in me. It would have been kinder to myself.
“Pack a few things,” he clips.
I frown at him. I didn’t expect that courtesy, but I would take it. Pack a few things, like what? Pictures, clothes, toiletries? Would I be returning to the mill? My stomach coils.
You made it through it once, you can do it again.
But could I? Tears spill and I wipe them away fast as I randomly grab clothes and toiletries. I finally grab the photo album before unplugging everything in each room. The Collector waits in the kitchen. His arrogance nearly makes me want to run, but I know he can kill if he wants.
My mouth waters and I swallow the saliva. I return to the kitchen with my bag and The Collector rises. His eyes don’t meet mine. “Let’s go.”
I pull the bag up on my shoulder and take one final look at my small kitchen. Some part of me that knows what’s coming shuts down, and I become numb as I follow The Collector to his car.
He pauses when he reaches it and opens the trunk. I sling my bag in and walk to the front of the car, where I open the passenger door. I glance up to see The Collector staring at me. He closes the trunk before walking to the driver’s side. His eyes don’t release me until he disappears inside the car. I get in and focus on fastening my seat belt—the tremble in my hands has me attempting to lock the belt three times before I succeed.
I watch the wall move past me in a blur. Liddi’s screams send waves down my spine, and I try to curl my body in on itself. I can’t go back there. Panic claws up my throat and I silence it.
One, two, three, four, five… I count until I lose count and have to keep starting again. I count as tears stream down my face and my body is racked with trembles I can no longer control. It’s like my nerves are crackling and popping, and I can’t stop the assault on my body.
The slick car under me barely allows the rough surface to affect its occupants. My stomach churns. Blood money, that’s what paid for a car like this.
I glance at The Collector. His neck is coated with tattoos. There are more skulls and crosses tangling themselves in the web. A thick scar is woven with a gray snake. Being this close, I can see the ragged skin, otherwise it looks like two snakes intertwining.
The car slows and we pull up to the black marble structure. The gates slowly open, and with each inch they part, I can sense my doom.