Five minutes passed at the speed of a glacier until the door slid open. Star glided in, pulling Peele along behind her, blindfolded with his own tie. She winked to Angel and mouthed ‘just in case.’

  Angel wanted to smack herself and felt incredibly blessed that Star had more foresight than she did. She had no idea if Peele had gotten a good enough look to remember her from that morning. Though in her experience, people rarely looked at her face. But she could feel stupid about undressing for nothing later, it was time to get this over with.

  Star shoved Peele into the chair Angel had set out so that he was facing the mirror head on.

  “Just sit back and let us do all work,” Star said seductively as she slid between the mans legs, though the look she gave Angel said ‘this had better work or I’m gonna kill you.’

  “‘Bout time you took me up on my offer,” Peele grunted, “Where’s your friend?”

  Barely two sentence’s out of the fucker’s mouth and Angel was already sick of his voice.

  Time to swallow her pride.

  “Right here, babe,” she said, schooling her tone the way she would with any costumer.

  Roughly, she grabbed Peele by the hair and smashed her lips against his as Star got to work unbuttoning his pants. Overcome with the taste of cheap cigarillos and watered down scotch, it took all she had not to barf as he rammed his slimy tongue down her throat.

  Peele hand gripped her chin to keep her in place and his other tried to push Star further into his crotch when she stopped moving. Angel figured they had to have enough pictures by now and in one swift motion, wretched his hand away from her friend’s head and twisted until she felt a snap.

  “Argh! Fuck!” he screamed and stood, shoving Angel to the ground. “Fucking bitch!”

  The mirror nearly shattered as it was thrown open. Dima grabbed Peele and forced him back into his seat as Star went to help Angel up. A little shove didn’t hurt as much as locking lips with that sleaze bag; she bounced back easily, ready to break his other hand.

  “Are you ok?” she asked Star.

  “It wasn’t a great view, but I’m fine. What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Go ahead and get back to work. I’ll text you later.”

  “You sure?”

  Angel looked back to Peele, licking his wounds while Dima stood guard over him and Beau sorted through the photos.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for doing this.”

  “Anytime, but you owe me so fucking big.”

  Awkward and out of her element, Star waved to the guys as they waited for Angel to join them.

  “These guys really your friends?” she asked.

  “Regrettably.”

  “They’re kinda cute-”

  “Goodbye, Star!”

  Star shrugged and sauntered back out into the club. Angel wished she could follow instead of hosting this shit show.

  She took her place across from Peele, who wasn’t looking much better than he had that morning. Beau draped his heavy jacket around her shoulders and gave her the stack of photos and the beretta before taking his post behind her.

  “Even after getting your ass beat this morning you were still in the mood for a lap dance?” she asked the battered man and held up one of the pictures. “Not exactly a glamor shot, but I’m sure Mrs. Peele will get the message.”

  “You fucking slut!” Peele shouted.

  But before he could try and lash out at her, Angel cracked the barrel of the gun hard against his face, knocking him clean off of his seat. While he was down, she kicked him twice in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. The pig deserved a few more, but for the sake of time, she allowed Dima to put him back up.

  “Anything else you’d like too say to me?” she snarled.

  Peele glared and thrashed in Dima’s grip but remained silent. His cheek had busted and was already swelling as blood dripped down and stained his shirt.

  “Good. Our friend Vitaly says you have something for him. We’re here to collect.” She went through the stack of photographs and picked out a few more to show him. “Greed’s not a pretty thing, Mr. Peele, but I’m afraid these are much, much worse. Beau you could have a career in this, these came out very nicely.”

  The photos were amazing considering they were taken behind a sheet of glass.

  “What do you want from me?” Peele asked through gritted teeth.

  “Besides an apology? I think it’s obvious. Give us what Vitaly is owed and the photos are all yours. This little incident never has to leave this room and you won’t have to see us again. Am I going to fast for you?”

  Peele was turning a vivid shade of green as she spoke, whether it was from the broken hand or fear of his wife, Angel couldn’t be sure. Either way, his bite was gone.

  Once Angel was redressed, they escorted Peele out to the car, but not before sneaking out a bottle of wine from the store room so she could wash the taste of loser out of her mouth. For the second most awkward car ride of the evening, Angel drove as Dima and Beau sat in the back with Peele to “help” him show the way to his office; a dingy little loft over a butcher shop.

  “Did you guys seriously never consider searching his place to begin with?” Angel asked, her blood pressure rising with every second she had to be with these morons.

  Their ashamed silence was answer enough.

  Even with a gun to his back, Peele tried to fumble about as is he couldn’t find his keys, even though they could hear them jingling in his pockets as he searched. Beau, his patience thinner than a tissue, jerked Peele by his bloody shirt collar and went to take the keys himself, but Angel held him back. She was sick of these petty games, but she knew how to play too.

  “Hold it. Dima, be a dear and get the door please,” she said, motioning to Peele.

  Dima quickly caught on and grabbed Peele from Beau.

  “Sorry,” he quietly apologized and slammed the man into the door like a battering ram, splitting the wood as it caved in.

  “Thank you!” Angel singsonged and let herself in.

  Peele dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, stars dancing in his eyes as Angel crouched down in front of him.

  “Why do you keep making this so hard on yourself? We could have been done by now.”

  “Goddamn-”

  Angel pushed the tip of the beretta to his nose.

  “Do yourself a favor and stop talking. Now, don’t speak, just point to where the stuff is.”

  If they weren’t on a time sensitive schedule, she would have loved an excuse to knock the man’s teeth out one at a time. As if he could see the sadistic twinkle of glee behind her eyes, Peele lost his glare and pointed to a floor board beside them.

  Skeptically, Angel stood up and stepped on the spot, to find that it was indeed loose. She allowed Beau to do the honors of prying it up and from underneath he pulled up a fat manila envelope. He passed it to her, but she wasn’t going to rifle through it. She had no idea what they were supposed to be looking for to begin with and she wanted to keep it that way. The less any of them knew, the better.

  “This all of it?” Beau asked.

  Peele nodded, scowling at the now empty hole in the ground. Angel grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at her.

  “Are you sure?”

  Eyes wide, he nodded again, more frantically this time. She pulled his head closer and lowered her voice, so only he could hear her.

  “If I find out you hid anything from us, I’ll be coming back for your fucking throat. You have no idea how lucky you got tonight, you degenerate son of a bitch. You knew damn well who you were dealing with and you thought you could play games with them? You’re gonna wish it was Vitaly coming for you if I ever have to see your dumb fucking face again. Got it?”

  Peele didn’t indicate one way or another if he did, save for a small quake in his shoulders. That was good enough for her.

  Angel sighed, relieved to have gotten that out of her system. She had forgotten how cathartic being so mean could be. Her bitter rage cooled, uncoiling the burning tension she held in in the back of her head until she remember the folder in her hands and that she had to go see Vitaly’s smarmy face again. On her order, Dima tossed the photos on the ground by Peele.

  “All yours, Mr. Peele. I’d also take a break from the clubs if I were you.”

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  She tucked the folder under her arm and marched back out to the car, the guys following at her heels. The two gave release to their nervous laughter now that they had finally completed their task. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but they would take the small wins where they could and reveled in the weight being lifted from their shoulders.

  “Here, you wanna keep these?” Beau asked Angel, passing her a couple of pictures he kept from the incriminating collection as he hunched down into the car.

  “I don’t think I want any souvenirs,” she said, grimacing at how large her thighs looked in the snap shots.

  “More like insurance,” he smirked and tucked them into the glovebox

  Maybe these guys weren’t completely incompetent after all. She wouldn’t hold her breath, but in that moment, she was proud of them.

  “Do either of you have a phone?”

  Beau nodded.

  “Good, hand it over.”

  “Why?” he asked as he tried to shimmy it out of his back pocket. It was his turn to drive and he was hesitant to take his hands off of the wheel for too long.

  “I need to call Vitaly so we can make the drop.”

  “Why do you need my phone? Use your own!”

  “I’m not gonna let that dick get my number!”

  “What makes you think I want him to have mine?”

  He quickly gave up for fear of swerving out of his lane and asked Dima to get it out for him.

  The ulcer bubbling in Angel’s stomach reached it’s boiling point as she entered in Vitaly’s number. His voice would only make the pounding behind her eyes worse, he’d have to settle for a text.

  -Got it. Where do you want to meet?-

  It didn’t take ten seconds before Louis sent her an address that she didn’t recognize.

  -Meet in the garage. 2nd level.-

  The lack of any of smart remark set her teeth on edge. Vitaly was a dirty dealing creep and a double cross wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Meeting in a parking garage was already a bad sign.

  With no other choice, she typed the address into her phone’s GPS and they followed it’s monotonous directions to a half built parking garage, connected to a fenced off, poorly lit construction site.

  Of course it is she thought ruefully.

  Beau double parked in the middle of the second level, every little screech of the rusty breaks and squeak of the stripped tires reverberated off of the thick cement walls and ceiling. Angel didn’t need to check her phone to tell that they wouldn’t get any service in there. The only light was from their headlights. Every second, their grave was dug deeper and deeper and there in the dark garage, they may as well have already been buried.

  Angel took long, loud gulps out of the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon she swiped and passed the bottle to Dima.

  “Drink up,” she said, “a little buzz’ll do you good.”

  Dima didn’t have to be told twice. He drank his share, his face scrunching with the burn searing down his throat.

  “Should we really be drinkin’ right now?” Beau asked as the bottle was passed to him.

  “Can’t imagine a better time,” Dima said.

  “I’d rather keep my wits about me.”

  “What wits?” Angel snorted. “If you had any wits we wouldn’t be here!”

  “You’re a mean drunk, huh?”

  Angel scoffed.

  “I fucking wish I was drunk. Look, you’re nervous and it’s making me nervous. You can’t be so jittery around these people. Drink the wine. Or I think I might have a few Xanax in my purse if you want those instead.”

  “Just drink the wine, Beau,” Dima insisted, his gently demeanor holding strong through the anxiety.

  Begrudgingly, Beau polished off the rest of the bottle as the high beams of a Rolls Royce pulled into view, nearly blinding them. As it came to a halt, the overhead lights to the garage flickered on, perfectly illuminating Vitaly's gaunt face as he stepped out from the front passengers side.

  “Everyone out,” Angel ordered, “Turn the car off, but leave the keys in the ignition.”

  She didn’t like their odds, but if there was the slightest chance they could get away, they needed to be ready.

  Slowly, they got out of the car and moved to the front, Beau and Dima flanking either side of Angel. Vitaly’s shit eating grin spread wide on his face, but he didn’t approach them. They would have to come to him. Two very large men who gave Dima a run from his money emerged from the back of the car, taking away their only solid advantage against Vitaly, and held the door open for a graying older man to step out.

  Angel’s heart clenched, ripping the air from her chest as it sank to her feet. The world spun beneath her as she dashed behind Dima, pulling the hood of Beau’s jacket up to hide her face.

  She knew that man.

  She had been hiding from that man for four years.

  Why? Why did he have to be there now? Was this some sort of cruel cosmic joke?

  “You alright?” Dima asked softly, struggling to split his attention between her and the men who now governed their fates.

  Angel didn’t answer. If she spoke too loudly, he’d know it was her. She’s have to keep her mouth shut tight for once.

  “Angel? Earth to Angel?” Beau whispered frantically, palms sweating.

  If she was too afraid to talk, then they were in bigger trouble than they thought.

  The graying man stood proud and upright, with a commanding presence that didn’t take a genius to figure out meant that he was in charge. Vitaly looked to him for the go ahead and received a curt nod.

  “So, what do you have for me?” he asked Angel, beckoning her to come forward.

  Angel wanted nothing more than to be swallowed into the the earth. She thought of simply tossing the folder on the ground and sliding it over to him, but thanks to herself, she had promised to hand deliver it. Had they not had an audience, she may have had a better chance, but no such luck was on her side tonight.

  Choking down her fear and what was left of her pride, she shuffled out from the safety of her friend and toward Vitaly. She kept her head turned slightly so she wouldn’t be facing any of them directly. She must have looked ridiculous, but self preservation won out over embarrassment.

  A clean hand off was made as Vitaly took the folder and flipped through it.

  “I can’t believe you actually went through with it,” he said, as snide and cocky as ever. “And here I was worried you were all talk.”

  He waited expectantly, but the only sound he got out of her was the tapping of her platform heel. Her fight or flight instinct were kicked into overdrive, desperate for her to run as far away from where she was currently standing as possible.

  “What, no banter?” he asked, sounding genuinely disappointed.

  Angel shrugged.

  You got what you wanted, now let me the fuck out of here! she wanted to shout.

  “Not quite the spitfire you described, Vitya,” the graying man chuckled, his booming voice rebounding around them.

  He stalked forward in slow, even strides that still caused Angel to fumble back as she flinched.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his tone not sorry at all.

  Angel shook her head, but still wouldn’t look his way.

  Beau and Dima couldn’t believe what they were seeing. They didn’t think Angel could be afraid of anything. For the first time, she almost appeared human to them. The only thing holding them back from stepping in was the unyielding approach of the two goons, backing them up to the car and effectively separating Angel from her “muscle”.

  “I’m Matvey Kuznetsov,” the man continued, “I’d like to thank you for taking care of this little errand for me. Vitaly said you’ve got a lot of nerve. So much big talk for a young lady, but I see you’ve had no problem following through on your word. Come here and let me take a look at you, I promise I don’t bite.”

  His condescending tone and the “young lady” brought back too many conflicting memories that fried her brain as she tried to push it all down. In vain, foolish hope, Angel turned and simply started walking away in rigid, robotic steps.

  “Angel what the fuck!” Beau hissed.

  She ignored him.

  He swerved around the goon boxing him and made to run to her but was cut off and shoved back by Vitaly.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he shouted at her. “Show some respect!”

  Angel sped up but she wasn’t fast enough. Vitaly grabbed her by the back of the jacket and with a forceful yank he pulled it away, leaving her completely exposed. He grabbed her by the shoulder and whipped her back around to finally face Kuznetsov.

  The man’s unimpressed glare slowly morphed into confusion, then utter disbelief.

  “Mila?” he asked shakily. “Lyudmila Ivanov… is it really you?”

  A name Angel hadn’t heard in four years. Not since her parents were arrested. Not since she ran away from Russia. It sounded like a different language now.

  She hung her head in defeat. It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be. Like a bad dream. A long, frustratingly stupid bad dream.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, a well rehearsed response that was still perfectly automatic after all this time.

  “Oh my god... Oh my god!”

  Kuznetsov wretched her from Vitaly’s grasp and into a crushing embrace. The man hollered in joy, nearly sweeping her off her feet as he pressed kiss after kiss to her cheeks and forehead. If his men didn’t know any better, they’d dare to think he was shedding a tear or two. They all stoically watched the reunion, unsure of what was supposed to be going on anymore and Angel, slumped in Kuznetsov’s arms, had no choice but to let it happen.

  “I can’t believe it! After all this time, it’s really you!”

  “Uh-huh,” Angel groaned as she subtly tried to squirm away.

  God what was she going to do? This was so much easier when she thought Vitaly was just going to kill them. She shot a pleading look to her friends, as if by some miracle they’d be able to help her. But it was painfully clear; they were trapped. They all were.

  “We need to tell Nikolai! He’s missed you so much!”

  “No!”

  Angel didn’t mean to be so loud with her protest, but that was the last thing she wanted. It was happening too fast. She wasn’t ready to see Nikolai again. He was Kuznetsov’s only son and four years ago they vowed to never see each other again.

  “No? What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

  The hurt look on the man’s face was almost enough to make her cave, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

  “I mean- I, uh…” her tongue felt like lead in her mouth, “I can’t, n-not like this. I um… I have to…”

  Shit shit shit shit! Use your fucking words! For once in your godforsaken life you have nothing to say?! You had to find your restraint right fucking now?!

  She felt like a teenager again, getting caught sneaking out of the house. Hell, even then she had been able to come up with air tight excuses on the spot without breaking a sweat.

  Now all those years of training and conditioning her lies were wasted and her composure wouldn’t last much longer. Angel looked back and forth between the guys as she tried to bullshit an explanation. Kuznetsov, in his joy, had forgotten their audience and called off his men.

  He sized up Beau and Dima who were left standing awkwardly on their own. They wouldn’t make a move until Angel did, which they hoped would be soon.

  “Sorry about that, randaya,” he apologized to her. “Is this your crew?”

  At this point Angel would say anything to stall. She had been the one calling the shots all night. Despite wanting to wash her hands of the two, she would have to vouch for them. Ironically, she was safe with Kuznetsov, and as long as they were with her, she could make sure Vitaly left them alone.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice steady at last.

  If Beau and Dima had any arguments, they didn’t voice them. She finally had her excuse.

  “We’ve still got a few things to take care of after this,” she carried on, “I didn’t account for this… well…”

  Complete cluster fuck.

  Kuznetsov smiled widely.

  “Ha! Already running your own show, eh? That’s my girl!” he cheered and clapped her on the back.

  Holy shit, he’s buying it.

  Angel released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and the boys visibly sagged in relief.

  Kuznetsov was hesitant to leave, keeping a vice like grip on her shoulder. It was a forgone conclusion though. Now that she was back in his sights, he’d never let her go again. He brought her back into his arms, gentler this time.

  “Nikolai is flying into JFK in a few hours,” he said, “I’ll tell him the good news and we’ll go from there.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, he never did, and returned to his car. No time or place to discuss. No method of communication exchanged. He’d get her when he wanted her. It was that easy for him.

  Angel barely responded to Kuznetsov’s farewell as she struggled to maintain her crumbling coolheaded facade. Once he and his car were out of sight and they were left alone in the damp garage, she fell on her ass and then onto her back, thudding her head over and over again against the pavement.

  “Why? Why? Why?” she chanted, though her anguish was more akin to that of a driver who missed their exit than true devastation.

  Beau and Dima huddled around her and watched the meltdown. They had more questions than ever and Beau didn’t want to wait for their new “boss” to finish her little episode.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked. “How do you know that guy?”

  Angel groaned, she had no intention of getting up anytime soon.

  “He’s my godfather,” she sighed, “and I was... kinda... engaged to his son.”