The Bratva’s Locked Up Love by Jagger Cole
23
Quinn
It could useJune’s promise of a cabin getaway. It could be my therapist’s encouragement to “hit the ground running” regarding my return to work and seeing patients.
But mostly, it’s because I simply cannot hang around in my apartment for one more hour not knowing where Maksim is. Or how he is.
So I don my vice principal outfit, I get in my car, and I drive out to the farm one day early. When the guards at the front desk give me confused looks and condescendingly ask if I’m aware of what day it is, I don’t even let it get to me. I just smile and tell them I’m getting a leg up on work before my first official day back.
Getting into the elevator, though, is harder. It’s eerie being back here, descending back into the Yellow Creek facility. The last time I was in this elevator, I was sobbing and shaking. Guards were barking orders into walkie-talkies, and there were bloodstains on the floor and walls. At the top, we were met with military emergency doctors, and I was whisked away, still screaming.
I shake the memory away. But before the doors close while we’re still up in the hanger, I frown.
“What’s that?” I nod with my chin at what looks like coal mine elevator framework disappearing into the floor of the hanger, with machinery on top of it.
“Oh,” the guard in the elevator with me grunts. “New freight elevator for heavy shit. It skips all the admin floors and goes right to the sub level. It’s one of the additions the Colonel had put in with construction after the—”
He stops short, clearing his throat as he awkwardly looks away from me.
“The, uh…”
“Prison break.”
He nods as the elevator lowers into the ground. I clench my jaw. That was a month ago. I’m better now. I’m rested and healed. I’m focused.
Almost everyone stares at me as I walk from the elevator down the halls to the main offices. All of them. Every single person in here knows who I am, and what happened to me. Or at least, they know the story of what happened to me that they’ve been told. The bullshit version.
I hear murmured “tied her up” and “his personal toy” that make my skin crawl and my face redden. Some of the stares and looks are sympathetic. Others are leering and crude. But I keep my head high as I walk into the offices.
But in there, I stutter. It’s worse in here, this feeling of remembering. The replaying of his touch, and everything that happened between us. But I take a breath, and I keep walking—right into someones big, broad chest as he come storming around the corner.
“Quinn!?” My dad hisses, stepping back from me. He doesn’t go to hug me. He doesn’t smile or offer any kind words. He’s seen me once since everything happened.
I smile weakly. “Hey, I know I’m a day early, I just—”
“What are you doing here?!”
His face pales. His eyes flit past me, scanning the hallways. Then they drop to his wristwatch. He looks antsy and irritated.
“Jesus Christ, Quinn,” he growls. “You’re not supposed to be back until tomorrow.”
I frown. “Uh, sorry? Look, I just wanted to get my feet wet and organize my office before—”
“Go home, Quinn.”
My brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“Your duty starts tomorrow. So today, you go home.”
I shake my head. “I’m not here to… look, what the hell is your problem?!”
He bristles when I raise my voice.
“Do not take that tone with me,” he hisses quietly. “In here, I am your commanding officer—”
“This isn’t the military, dad,” I mutter.
“Then think of me as your boss. Because I am your boss. And right now, I am telling you to leave and go home. And that’s an order!”
I stiffen. There’s nothing in his eyes. No love, no compassion. No worry. Just cold calculations and scowling indifference.
“Fine,” I spit. I whirl away from him, but then I stop. I grit my teeth as I whip around to jab a finger at him.
“You know what?!” I yell, loudly. “I’m fine, by the fucking way! Thanks for asking!”
The Colonel stays the same, though.
“Glad to hear it. Now go home.”
He brushes past me without another word, leaving me stunned. I don’t even know how I’m stunned at this point, but I am.
When he’s gone, I ignore his orders, though. I step into my own office and sit down at the computer. I call up the patient files, but then my fingers pause on the keys.
This is it.
My heart races, thudding in my ears.
If he’s dead, this will tell me. I close my eyes, feeling sick. I’m suddenly not sure if I’m strong enough to do this. But when I open my eyes, I imagine his face. I imagine his arms around me, giving me strength. Telling me it’ll all be okay.
And deep down, though I hate to think it, and I would never in a hundred million years admit it to June…
I do feel it. I can feel that he’s still out there, his heart still beating. I can feel that he’s alive.
I look down, type out his name, and hit the enter key. The millisecond the computer takes feels like an eternity. But suddenly, my breath catches. My eyes widen, and a grin spreads over my face.
Zaitsev, Maksim - intelligence asset. Level 5 threat rating. Russian language only.
My pulse throbs as my eyes skim the line.
Location: X block.
I want to scream in happiness. I want to jump out of my chair and run around the office hugging everyone I can.
He’s alive, and he’s in the hole, which is officially labeled as X block.
He’s alive.
I grin as I jump out of my chair and whirl. But suddenly, my eyes focus across the office to the front desk. My father is there, grunting angrily and talking with two internal security officers. And even from here, I know exactly what’s going on when I hear his voice boom.
“Get her out of here!”
Shit. I’m about to get escorted out of the freaking building. I almost can’t even believe how absurd my father is being with demanding that tomorrow be my first day. But I’m also not getting dragged out of here. Not before I go to see Maksim.
I bolt from my office and run across the bullpen into the first open door I see. When I’m inside, I whirl and slam the door shut, and then drop the shades but the window. When I turn, I freeze as a heat burns in my core.
It’s that office—the very same one where Maksim and I hid out. The one where he stitched up my cut. Where he kissed where it hurt. Where he peeled my clothes off and took me for the first time.
I blush deeply as the memories flood back. I walk slowly to the couch and run my hand over the arm rest. Then I sit and bite my lip, remembering what happened on this piece of furniture.
I stand and turn to peek out of the blinds. I watch the guards walk over to my office and poke their heads inside. They shrug, turn and scan the office floor, and then they’re walking away.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll wait here for a little while longer, and then I’ll head down to the hole, to see him. I grin, feeling giddy and electrified. I step back from the window to lean against the desk. But the second I do, a jar of pens knocks to the floor.
“Shit,” I mutter. I drop to my knees to gather them up. But suddenly, something catches my eye. I turn, furrowing my brow as I peer under the couch.
“What the fuck…”
But suddenly, I realize what I’m looking at. My eyes widen. My heart races as I reach under and pull out a cell phone—a clamshell, crappy, flip-top burner phone.
Holy crap.
It’s the one I smuggled in for Maksim. He must have taken it from the hole when he got out. And it must have been knocked under here during our time here. It also must have been missed somehow in the ensuing cleanup after the riot.
I stare at it in my hands. It’s dead, but the gears in my head turn. I yank open my purse and grin. Yes. The charger cable for my flip phone is still inside. I quickly rush to the wall and plug it it. The light glows with a faint red as I pick at my nails anxiously. But then, it turns on.
I look at the calls, and frown. There’s my burner number, and then another to a Chicago-based number. I glare at it. Motherfucker. He was using the phone to call outside the prison, and not just to me. For one horrible second, the idea that Maksim orchestrated the riot somehow crosses my mind. But then I shake it away. No, that’s absurd.
But that number is strange. I use my own smartphone to look it up. But then I’m just even more confused when it pops up as “Southside Matching Carpets & Drapes”. I snort, rolling my eyes. This company is either going for the comedy factor, or seriously has no idea how sophomorically funny their business name is.
But also, what the hell was Maksim doing calling a carpet place in Chicago at eleven-thirty at night? It also seems they’ve called him back a number of times over the last few weeks.
I’m about to close the phone when I realize there’s an unread text message. My pulse thuds as I quickly open it. It’s from another Chicago-based number.
“Maks, it’s Yuri. I’m using a throwaway so if you get this, try the call center to get to me. I have to chance texting on the off chance you’re simply not answering the phone for volume reasons.”
I frown. The name “Yuri” is ringing a bell, but I can’t…then it hits me. Yuri Volkov, as in Maksim’s boss, who he described to me as a father figure. And also as the man who got him clean. I drop my eyes back to the lengthy text.
“I found a string and pulled at it. I think you’re in Tennessee, and you were right, you’re at a private black site facility. You need to keep alert. This war with the Belsky Bratva… I think it’s connected. I think you were put there on purpose, to either kill you or to get to me.”
My face goes numb. Holy. Shit.
“I’m sorry, my friend, that you’ve been targeted for this. I’m doing everything I can to get you the fuck out before they kill you. Trust no one. My source suggested the commander in charge of this place is in bed with the remnants of the Belsky family. He also suggested that this man is under investigation for taking foreign bribes to either take political prisoners or to use his own connections to influence US foreign policy.”
I stare at the phone in horror. I’m shaking, and my heart sinks into my gut. The commander in charge is my father, and this man Yuri’s source is saying he’s under investigation for all of this?
“Stay safe, Maks. I’m going to get you the fuck out of there.”
I grit my teeth. Rage seethes into me. All the shittiness with my own father that I’ve ignored, or told myself was just part of his prickly personality… it all starts to become very much un-ignorable.
I’m going to get you the fuck out of there.
Anger pulses deep inside. No, Mr. Yuri Volkov, I seethe to myself. I am.
I turn, full of rage and fury. When suddenly, an alarm goes off, loudly. The sound instant jars through me, rattling the lingering PTSD from my experience here a month ago. The alarm blares again, and suddenly, the room thuds with a ratting shake—so hard that plaster dust falls from the ceiling.
Oh fuck.
Outside the office, people are yelling and jumping to their feet. Guards are pulling guns out of holsters as someone barks orders. I barge out of the office and grab the first guy who runs past me. He jolts to a stop and whirls on me with fear and recognition in his yes.
“Hey! What—”
“Christ, doc,” he guy hisses. “You got some real bad timing!”
I tremble. “What the hell is happening—”
“You need to get the fuck out of here!”
“What—”
“We’re under attack, doc!”
I seize up, fear clutching at me. “Another break?!” I choke.
His jaw clenches. His eyes narrow as he shakes his head and racks the shotgun in his hand.
“No, attack, doc. The inmates aren’t tryin’ to get out. Someone else tryin’ to get in.”
