Owned by the Hitman

Chapter 9: Katy

My head is resting against the cool glass window of Ivan's car. It's a brand-new black Mercedes with a spacious interior, but I can hardly pay attention to the luxurious ride I'm being taken on with everything that's racing through my head.

I stare numbly out the window as Ivan drives. Raindrops are pattering against it, marring the view of the rainy Brighton Beach that passes by outside. We drive by the red brick shops and apartments along Neptune Avenue, and my eyes try to catch a few of the pedestrians ambling by.

It hits me as odd that the things that are happening to me are happening right under their noses. I wonder how many of them worry about or even notice the crime that riddles their own city, but more than that, I find myself kind of wishing I were in their shoes instead of mine.

Ivan must not want to try to talk to me right now, because he doesn't say anything as long as I keep my eyes steadily focused outside. A few times, my mind wanders to him, wondering what could be going on in that mind of his.

An actual fight, in my club. People got hurt, and someone very well could have died if anything had gone awry during Ivan's stunt. Not once did I ever think I'd have to deal with a gun being pulled in the Amber Room, yet here we are now.

What did I do wrong?

What would Dad think?

I tear my eyes away from the window and rub my temples. I can't let myself brood on that anymore. I'm over that threshold. Dad is the one who's responsible for my being here in the first place, isn't he? Maybe what he would think in a time like this isn't the best thing to go by.

I gave Ivan my address when we first got into the car, and now we're pulling up into the parking lot. Before I know it, he's silently gotten out, come around to the passenger's door, and started to help me out delicately.

"Careful there," he warns as I shakily stand to my feet. I didn't realize how wobbly my knees would be in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush, but I would have collapsed if he weren't helping me up. I feel a weight on my shoulders and turn my eyes to see a heavy, oversized jacket being draped over me.

Even as it warms me, I wince at the pain in my torso. I know the brutes were trying not to leave a mark on me so people wouldn't ask questions, but I know I'll have one on my stomach by morning. I feel my wrists, and they're raw too. I shudder at the thought of what might have happened if they'd been left to get carried away on their own.

I ignore the puzzled look we get from one of my neighbors passing by as Ivan helps me up the stairs and I try to unlock the door with a shaking hand. My face burns bright red when a metallic click tells me I missed the keyhole. My hands are shaking too badly.

"Damnit," I swear under my breath while vainly scratching at the keyhole before a warmth envelops my hand — Ivan has reached his out to steady mine. "Thanks," I murmur a moment before the lock clicks open and we step inside.

My apartment isn't much of a comfort right now. As soon as we walk in, I'm greeted by the sights of all the half-packaged goods I'd been trying to sell, and I'm hit by the memory of that frantic night and the morning after. My grimace deepens when I realize all of that was just in the past twenty-four hours. It feels like it's been a full week.

Ivan quietly helps me inside, his powerful muscles steering me to the empty couch easily. He's careful to ease me down slowly, and I can feel the muscles in my abdomen protest at the change, already starting to feel sore.

I resist gently as I feel him try to put me on my back, but he gives me a concerned look. "Don't try to sit up," he says in a soft voice, "I know you'll want to keep awake, but you need rest after an episode like that."