My heart heavy, my mind troubled, my travel bag suddenly seeming to weigh twice as much as it did before, I stepped out onto the street and debated which way to turn. The truth was, I wasn't sure where to go. I'd been warned away from living at my own apartment, but other than that or Brogan's place—which I refused to return to right now—I didn't really have anywhere else to go.
Trying to move that depressing thought aside, I stood for several minutes debating before taking my phone out of my purse. I had several missed calls from Brogan, but decided not to answer him right away. Instead, I dialed Daisy's number.
"Lydia Loo," she answered in a sing-song voice. I smiled despite my pitiful current circumstances.
"Hey Dais." I stepped around an older couple walking hand in hand along the sidewalk. "What are you doing?"
"Shopping for an outfit. Will you be at the Christenson's Fourth of July party?"
"Um, no. I don't think so. Daisy, I need to catch you up on," I moved to the far side of the sidewalk as a large man with white-blond hair came walking straight toward me, not looking like he was going to change course before we collided, "some stuff that's been going on." I continued to veer right and the man did the same, clipping me slightly as we passed each other. I gasped as I felt something sharp poke my side, letting go of my bag. The asshole had been holding something sharp. Had it dug into my side as he passed?
"Lydia?" I heard Daisy say. "Hello? Are you still there?"
I turned to glare at the man and he leaned in to me, hissing in my ear, "Remind your brother what happens when we don't get our debts repaid."
My blood ran cold as I fell toward him. He held on to my upper arms for mere moments before he let go and disappeared into a group of people walking by in the opposite direction. I lurched forward, my hand going to the spot on my side that had been struck with whatever he'd been carrying.
"Damn crap connection," I heard Daisy saying from the phone still clutched in my hand. "If you can hear me, I'll call you later," Daisy said loudly. I dropped the phone on the ground, the screen shattering.
As I tripped and fell to my knees, someone off to my left gasped. I brought my hand from my side to my face. It was bright red with blood.
I'd been stabbed? Oh my God, I'd been stabbed!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brogan
My heart lurched in my chest as I pulled over across the street from Stuart De Havilland's apartment. It was the only place I could imagine she would go. I'd arrived home, and she'd been gone. I couldn't exactly blame her, but I'd still felt my stomach drop with sudden, icy fear.
I'd rushed downstairs and jumped in my car, driving the ten minutes to Stuart's apartment, my heart racing as I banged on the steering wheel and blared my horn at people going too bloody fecking slow.
I pulled my car into a no parking zone, and jumped out, starting across the busy street. She had to be here. Where else would she go? Feck me. I needed to fix this, but first, I needed to find her and make sure she was safe.
Relief pounded through my blood when I spotted Lydia exiting Stuart's building. Thank God. Thank God. I increased my pace, pounding my fist on the hood of a BMW that blared its horn at me.
As I started across the flow of traffic on the other side of the center median, I saw a man walk quickly past Lydia, grab her upper arms and move on. Something about the movement seemed strange, but before I could think too much about it, Lydia turned in the direction the man had continued walking. Oh shite. No. Clutching her side, she stumbled forward, falling to her knees.
"Lydia!" I yelled, breaking into a sprint. The sharp sound of squealing brakes barely penetrated the fog of panic I felt. "Lydia!"
I made it to her at the same moment an older gentleman was stooping to help her up. "Miss, are you okay—"
"Lydia," I rasped, pushing the man aside.
"I was just trying to help," he muttered from somewhere seemingly far away and then obviously moving on.
"Brogan?" Lydia said, confused and pale.
I pulled her to her feet. "Can you stand?" I asked, my voice shaking.
Had the man knocked her over on purpose? She weaved toward me, her hand again going to her side, a look of startled confusion on her face. I looked down to her waist and saw the bright red stain coming through the fabric of her striped shirt. Oh Lydia, Lydia. Oh feck.
My breath came out in wild pants as I walked her across the sidewalk to stand under the awning of a closed service entrance to Stuart's building.
I looked quickly back in the direction the blond man had gone, but didn't see a trace of him. Fedor Ivanenko. The unusual height . . . the white-blond hair . . . it had to be. I wanted to roar with rage and helplessness. I wanted to sprint after him and pound his face into the concrete. But if I was right about who that'd been, he would be long gone by now. The mob didn't hire hit men who didn't know how to make a quick getaway.
I moved Lydia until she was leaning against the inside wall of the entryway and inched the fabric of her shirt up, my hands shaking. I used the hem of her shirt to clean away the blood in order to assess the wound, my heart beating out of my chest. When I'd cleared some of it away, I saw it was mostly a flesh wound, deep enough to need stitches, but not deep enough to cause real injury. "Thank God," I breathed. "Thank God. Are ya okay?"
"I, I think so," she said. "I was just walking down the street and . . ."