Stolen Jewel by Alexis Abbott
Stefan
Soft country music from the seventies croons and twangs from the speakers as the car rolls along the winding roads of the New England backcountry. The music wraps around us and whirs out the window, mingling with the cool breeze and getting lost in the air. The invigorating smell of pine and fir trees waft through the window and excite my senses. It’s like the collective perfume of the deep forest, condensed into one pungent, bright aroma. It’s one of my favorite scents in the world, as it always reminds me of the power of nature. In my world, I have always dealt with a lot of powerful men with forceful ideas and desires. Men who would crush a flower under his boot or fell an entire forest of trees just to track down their next unfortunate human target. They care little for the big picture. They get stuck in the muck of tiny, gritty details. They want money, they want prestige, they want to constantly climb on the heads of their inferiors to get higher up on the ladder. In that world, a man with a gun and nothing to live for is the top of the food chain. Nothing can shake an assassin who’s made peace with his own death. It’s easy to feel enormous, too powerful.
But being surrounded by the majesty of nature reminds me that I am only a small piece of the larger tapestry. I may be an apex predator, but I’m not the only one. If I were to stop this car and walk straight into the forest, there’s little doubt I would encounter another beast, stalking me through the trees with even more expertise than I have. I can shoot a man dead, step over his bleeding corpse, and move on. But a grizzly bear? Or a tree that decides to fall and crush me? Those are enemies I can’t match. Instead of making me afraid, though, that realization gives me peace. It’s good to know there are things greater than the capricious ins and outs of life under the brotherhood’s thumb. There’s a world that exists out here so far away from the world I know, so detached from my deep-seated concerns. Out here, I can almost blend in with the trees. I’m almost a regular man, on a drive with the woman of my dreams.
We encounter very, very few other vehicles on our hours-long journey. One time, we pass a family of four in their station wagon. As they drive past, I catch a split-second glimpse into their tiny, separate universe. The father is behind the wheel, singing along to the music on the radio. The mom in the front passenger seat is turned around to talk to the kids in the back. A boy and a girl, both of indiscriminate age. The little girl catches my eye as they roll on by. She looks out the window and blows me a kiss. She can’t be more than four or five. I give her a smile in return, and they disappear around the bend. An hour or so later, we see a big Winnebago rumbling up the road toward us. This time, it’s an older couple, clearly enjoying their golden years by traveling the country together. They both wave at us with big, happy grins. I give them a nod in response. It feels strange to interact with these normal, happy people this way. As though I’m one of them. As if I could ever fit into their world. I wish I could only be so lucky.
I have my left hand relaxed on the steering wheel, holding on just tight enough to guide the car around hairpin turns and wobbly cliffside curves. My right hand is draped over the center console of the car, my fingers wrapped around my sweet captive’s dainty hand. One thing I’ve noticed from spending lots of time with Jewel is how cold she always is. Not personality-wise, of course. In that regard, she’s a crackling fireplace at Christmastime. Warm enough to make me smile, warm enough to melt the icy fortress that’s been guarding my heart for decades.
But physically, her little hands and feet seem to get cold so easily. Last night, as we lay snuggled up in the sleeping bag together, she was shivering in her sleep. Even with my own blazing body heat pressed up against her, the low temperatures outside seeped through the thin wooden walls to chill her. That comes with the territory of spending the night in a shed up on a mountain. But I did what I always do, what my instinct tells me to do: I protect her. I remember waking up to the sensation of Jewel trembling against my chest. I remember fondly how it felt to pull her in closer, tighter to my body. I wrapped my strong arms around her soft, curvy frame and gave her all my heat until she finally stopped shivering. I recall the little smile on her lips when she warmed up. Seeing her smile in her sleep made something powerful and possessive rise up inside me. I want to preserve that smile. I want to keep her safe and warm and so happy all the time. All of this trouble, all the danger and risk and betrayal of the closest thing to family I’ve ever known-- it’s all worth it a hundred times over when I see her smile in her sleep. I would stay up all night if it meant keeping her warm and protected.
Right now, I use my thumb to trace comforting circles on the soft palm of her hand as we drive along the country roads. Her fingertips are getting chilly, so I fold my hand tighter over hers. I feel the tension in her arm loosen up. When she gives my hand a squeeze back, a silent thank you, it makes my heart soar. It’s still strange to me how the tiniest gesture from Jewel hits me so intensely. I consider myself a hard, stoic man. My focus is unmatched. My capacity for brutality is only barely restrained. But Jewel does something to me I’ve never felt before. Even though she makes me harder than a rock, she keeps my feelings soft. It’s hard to feel angry and hateful with her sweet, inquisitive self around. She distracts me in the best way.
For example, I’ve been keeping my eyes trained on the road to make sure we don’t encounter any surprises, like a seasonal detour, a wild animal, or worse-- a human enemy. But every now and then, I treat myself with a momentary glance over at the most beautiful woman in the world. Every look is rewarding. Every time, I notice something different. Maybe it’s the way the golden sunshine hits her cheekbones or the way she licks her lips. Or perhaps her lashes gently fluttering and catching the light as she looks out the window. Even the way her hair falls around her angelic face makes me wish I could pull over and kiss her right here and now.
“It’s beautiful out there,” Jewel murmurs. “Look at how tall the trees are.”
“Plenty of unspoiled natural beauty out here to take in,” I remark, although my eyes aren’t watching the scenery roll by outside the window; I’m looking at Jewel. As gorgeous as the forests and mountains are, they can never compare to her.
It’s so peaceful, I can almost pretend like we’re a regular couple on a road trip, rather than two fugitives from different worlds. I wish I could pretend we’re just riding out to our vacation home in the mountains for some much-needed rest and relaxation. Not that I’ve ever been close to that kind of life. I used to tell myself I wouldn’t want it anyway. That I would be bored or feel trapped in the mundane details of every day as a civilian, like I would miss the blood and bruises. The Bratva trained me well, and part of that training is drilling it into my head that I’m different from ‘normal’ people. I could never live among them. I’m too dangerous. I’m all sharp edges, how would I fit into the rest of the world? The brotherhood taught me to rely on nobody but myself, and to pour all my heart and soul into the organization. I let my missions be my objective, just jumping from one bloody encounter to the next. I learned to be comfortable, if not ever happy, in that world. Until now. Until Jewel.
I steal another glance at her as we glide around a corner. The breeze picks up through her rolled-down window and lifts her hair like a puff of magic. It floats around her beautiful face for a moment, and it makes her smile. She closes her soft brown eyes and beams into the wind. If I didn’t have to focus on the road to keep us from careening off the mountain, I would have gazed at her as long as possible. The wind dies down as we turn onto a tree-lined section of the road, and Jewel turns to me looking rosy-cheeked and hopeful.
“So, where are we going? Am I allowed to know?” she asks brightly.
I nod. “We’re heading to another safehouse,” I tell her.
She tilts her head to one side, curious. “But I thought we were staying off the beaten track so your people won’t find us?” she presses.
“Nobody knows about this one,” I reply. “Hell, I hardly know about it.”
“What do you mean?” Jewel prompts.
“I bought it sight unseen when I first moved to America years ago,” I explain. “Paid for it outright, all cash. It’s a cabin on a lake in Maine. I’ve never touched the place.”
“Wait. Hold on, rewind. You have a cabin on a lake in Maine that you’ve never even used?” Jewel clarifies.
“Correct,” I answer.
“Okay, I have a million questions,” she says. “First of all, why?”
Instantly, I’m hit with the memory of arriving in America. Still nursing just a faint flicker of optimism, hope for the future. Back then, I could still force myself to believe that, one day, if I paid all my dues and followed my assignments to the letter, I could escape. It seems so ridiculous to me now, I struggle to explain it to Jewel in a way that makes sense.
“The same reason a lot of people buy property: as an investment,” I begin.
“So, you plan to sell it? You’re gonna play the real estate market?” she teases.
“Not to sell it. It’s an investment for my own future. This future, apparently,” I point out. “It’s going to come in handy while we’re hiding out.”
“Okay, so it’s meant to be a secret place,” she says. “But if you hadn’t met me, if we didn’t have to go on the run, what would’ve happened to your cabin? What’s it been doing this whole time?”
“Just waiting for me, I suppose,” I answer with a shrug. “Hopefully no one has broken in or squatted there while I’ve been away all these years.”
“Stefan, I’ve been wondering-- why me?” she asks suddenly.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“You know what I mean. You said yourself you’ve been living the same way for years. Doing the same dirty work. Criminal stuff,” Jewel lists off. “But now, we’re totally off-script. You say you’ve never touched this cabin, so why now?”
I sigh heavily. “I was a fool back then. I convinced myself I could have an illustrious career with the Bratva and then retire to that remote lakeside cabin and simply disappear. Time passed by. I took on more assignments. I carried out orders. I worked my ass off, and I sacrificed everything for it.”
“But the opportunity to leave never came,” she fills in softly.
I nod. “Exactly. The longer I worked for Brusilov, for the brotherhood, the more I let go of that cabin. It represented everything I could never have: peace, security, a simple life. This cabin is a reminder of everything I gave up when they took me under their wing.”
“Sounds like you’re not asking for much,” she points out.
“And yet, it’s a tall order for the Bratva,” I remind her. “A life in service to the brotherhood is a lonely one. I accepted that a long time ago. Besides, I came to realize over the years that there’s no point to being surrounded by all that beauty and peace when you have no one to share it with.”
She squeezes my hand. “Well, now you do,” Jewel asserts.
I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it gently. She smiles and blushes.
“That’s why I’m going there now,” I agree. “I finally have something to fight for. Someone to fight for.”
“I’m going to fight, too. You saved my life, Stefan. We’re in this together now, whatever happens,” she assures me.
Her words are a healing balm on my soul. It’s so easy to let myself sink into her kindness, soak up her optimism. She still has so much hope inside of her, despite all the horrors she’s seen. Despite everything I’ve put her through. Nobody in the brotherhood has that kind of idealism left. It’s been beaten and ripped out of us, systematically, until we no longer feel the urge for normal, human happiness. Her hope is intoxicating, but I have to stay vigilant. I can’t let my heart run off into the sunset with her, not while Brusilov and his cruel connections are chasing us up and down the east coast.
“Stefan, what did they do to you?” she asks out of nowhere.
I freeze up a little at her question. It’s so direct, so pointed. She’s a true lawyer, always managing to stab the point like a harpoon.
“It’s more of what they made me do,” I admit.
“Like what? How did all this start?” she keeps pushing.
It’s strange. At first, I took her questioning as annoying, but now I understand-- she just wants to get it. To get me. Nobody ever takes the time to try and peel back my layers and see the true self underneath. Nobody in my life has ever cared to know, but Jewel does. She cares so much it puts her life in danger.
“Where I come from, there aren’t many other options for a man like me,” I begin carefully. I don’t want to reveal too much, partly for her own sake, and partly for mine.
Jewel trusts me, even likes me. I worry that if she finds out too much about my past and the evil I’ve done, she’ll change her mind. It’ll shatter her image of me, whatever it is.
“And where’s that?” she asks.
“Volgograd. Russia,” I reply.
Her eyes go wide. “So that explains the accent. What’s it like there?”
A million images go racing through my mind. The floating church. The yellow river. The wail of the train engine chugging into the station. The bombastic buildings looming stark and oppressive over the city streets. I remember the fish market, the people selling wares on street corners. I remember the harsh cold of winter, and how it made my bones ache underneath my threadbare hand-me-down coat.
“Cold,” I answer shortly. “The weather and the people.”
“What about your family?” Jewel pipes up.
A dark, sarcastic chuckle falls from my lips. “I have only a few blurry, confusing memories of my mother. She was a quiet, fearful woman. I was still a child when I realized that she needed my protection, not the other way around. She couldn’t save me, not from the cruel winter or the slums or the Bratva. I grew up surrounded by their culture. I was entrenched in that world from the moment I was born,” I begin.
“The slums?” she repeats sadly. “You never had a chance, did you?”
“That’s up to perspective. Some would say it’s my fault. I should have resisted longer. I should have died rather than submit to the Bratva. But I was a child then, and I wanted to belong. The bosses promised me a life of wealth and lawless freedom. I was liberated from my poverty-- so long as I did what I was told,” I explain.
“What did they make you do?” she questions.
“I was always big and strong for my age, and with only my frail mother to protect me, the Bratva wasted no time in recruiting me. In the beginning, I took on guard duties. Protection or prevention orders,” I go on. “I followed the rules. I was smart. I knew how to pick my battles and stand my ground when it was needed.”
“So… they became your new family?” Jewel assumes.
I shake my head. “Not in any way that you’d understand,” I tell her.
She scoffs, looking sad. “Well, if they’re anything like my father, I kind of do.”
“You’re right. There are similarities. We were both brought up in a culture of cruelty and greed. I was taught to put the brotherhood first, then myself. There was no room for anything or anybody else,” I recall bitterly.
“How did you end up here? I mean, America,” she adds.
“I was smart enough to rise through the ranks, but obedient enough not to raise any eyebrows. The Bratva recognized early on that I was an asset, especially when I was harsh on my subordinates,” I explain. “They thought I showed promise because I was brutal. But they didn’t understand why I punished those men in particular.”
“Why?” she presses eagerly.
“Let’s just say we did not see eye to eye on how we should treat the innocents among us. Women, especially. Most of them, my brothers if you could call them that, were all too eager to harm a woman if she was in the way. Some of them even went out of their way to prey on women and the weak. Easy prey for heartless predators. I disagreed with that sentiment,” I say.
“I bet that got you in trouble,” Jewel remarks. “Like I did.”
I give her a reassuring glance. “You are not to blame for any of this, malyshka. Never forget that. I don’t blame you for anything,” I tell her firmly. “Anyway, to make a long story very short, I took on a mission that no one else wanted. It was high-risk, high-reward. I took the risk, I was successful, and I got the reward.”
“What was it?” she prompts.
“A chance at a different life,” I answer. “Early release and a ticket to America.”
“Wow,” she murmurs. “But what did you have to do?”
I stiffen up. I don’t want to tell her outright that I killed a man in prison. He was a terrible man who deserved to die, but I don’t want to break the tremulous trust established between us. I don’t want her to fear me. I need her to trust me.
“That’s a story for another time,” I answer grimly. “When I arrived in America, I had money for the first time in my life. I was hopeful that I could escape the Bratva, finally live a life I had never even let myself dream of. I even bought that cabin.”
“What stopped you?” she asks.
“The brotherhood does not let go so easily. They were the ones who sent me here, who gave me everything. I should have known that there would be a price tag to their gifts,” I growl. “I found work with the Bratva here in America. Little jobs, almost insignificant things. But as usual, the assignments only got darker as I rose through the ranks. I tried to live small, to fly under the radar. But they found me. They knew I was good for more than that. You don’t pick and choose, they do. And they weren’t going to let me go without using me up first.”
“Sounds like an awful way to live,” Jewel comments.
I shrug. “I stay busy. I’ve lived out of a go-bag for years now.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. And she means it, which only makes my heart ache more.
Changing the topic, I tell her, “At least now I get a chance to see my property.”
She brightens up. “How much longer ‘til we get there?”
“Just another hour,” I inform her with a smile.
The remainder of the drive is peaceful. We listen to music, watch the incredible scenery pass by our windows. Maine is resplendent this time of year. The cool air turns colder as we wind up the mountainside. We start to see snow on the trees, weighing down the branches. The world is so quiet out here. We don’t pass another vehicle for the rest of our drive. We might as well be the only souls out here.
When we pull up to the property, I’m relieved to see the cabin still standing, looking almost exactly like it did when I bought it from a listing. The afternoon light shimmers across the partially frozen lake. Snow blankets the ground and the roof of the cabin.
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” Jewel gasps as I turn off the car.
“Let’s hope the inside is as intact,” I remark, though I’m admittedly pleased by what I see so far. I grab our stuff, sling it over my shoulder, and then I do the gentlemanly thing and hoist Jewel over my other shoulder.
She giggles as I carry her up to the front door, making sure her poor little bare feet don’t have to touch the snowy ground. I set her down on the porch, pull out a key I’ve never used before, and fit it into the door. We step inside and Jewel looks starry-eyed at the interior. It’s a little dusty and it could use a burst of fresh air and some cleaning, but otherwise the place is immaculate. All the furniture and decor in the listing are still here. It’s sparsely but warmly furnished with lots of wood, wicker, and stone. There’s a small living room with a fireplace and plenty of windows and bookshelves filled with old, musty tomes. From there, we find a full kitchen with an antique-looking stove and a sink big enough to bathe a small dog in. We also check out two bedrooms, one smaller with a twin sized bed, and one larger with a queen and an en suite bathroom. While I inspect the clawfoot tub and dust-covered mirror, Jewel dives into the walk-in closet. I hear a gasp from inside the closet and rush over to make sure she’s okay.
“Jewel?” I question, pushing the door open wider.
She whips around to grin at me, holding up a stack of old clothes.
“Women’s clothes! And shoes!” she exclaims.
Immediately, she starts stripping off the big t-shirt and boxer shorts I gave her. Right in front of me. By now, I should be somewhat immune to her naked beauty. But instead, I find myself just as transfixed as ever. She doesn’t seem at all self-conscious anymore. Jewel stands in the walk-in closet, naked from head to toe, and I can’t tear my eyes away. She pulls on a soft-looking floral print sweater and a long, wrinkly skirt. Even though it’s not the sexiest outfit, I can’t help but feel drawn to her. It hits me that we’re alone again, out here in the wilderness. We have all the space and time in the world to really get to know each other, and I have so much pleasure still to show her.
But before I can move closer, we both freeze up. There’s a sound outside. We stare at each other while we listen. It’s the unmistakable crunch of tires on dirt and gravel. Someone is here. I rush to the bedroom window, pressing myself against the wall as I peer out the edge of the gauzy white curtains.
My adrenaline starts pumping as I watch a police car come rumbling up the drive.
“We have company,” I growl.