It’s flannel, should be warm but I still shiver as I crawl under the covers. Laying on my side, I watch the reflecting shadows on the wall from the naked branches outside my window and my mind goes to Trevor.
Is he cold now too? Is he hurt? Does he wish he never made the mistake of getting involved with those stupid mobsters?
He’s such a decent guy but he’s not muscular or tough. He won’t be able to stand up them, they’ll destroy him and I turn, squeezing my eyes and count slowly to ten. It relaxes me a little and I think back on the time, Trevor and I met.
It must have been around a year from now. I’d lost my wallet out on the street and he came by, knocking on my apartment because he’d found it and wanted to hand it back. He could’ve just kept the money in it but he didn’t. Because he’s a good guy.
I offered him some cash as a reward but he refused that too. I didn’t get a yes out of him until I invited him inside for some tea. We chatted for hours afterwards and ended up becoming pretty good friends.
Wherever I go, he goes too. We do almost everything together. Not to say that our friendship is perfect. He’s got some mood swings but overall he’s great and he doesn’t deserve what happened to him. I understand that he shouldn’t have gotten involved with the mob in the first place but they had no right to rip him out of his own life just because he got on their bad side.
Swallowing, I realize that its men like Dolokhov who have him now. I wouldn’t wish someone like Dolokhov even on my worst enemy. I’ve never in my life met a man as cold as him.
His eyes remind me of icicles, his body looking to be as cold and hard as a mountain peak and when his skin touched mine a few couple of times, his body temperature was so low that it felt like coming in contact with something frozen.
Maybe he really is frozen. Both on the outside and on the inside.
I know he’s not a nice man at least, that’s for sure. He led me on, making me think that he was actually going to help me. Then he just threw that no in my face and I...
I slapped him.
Burying my head in my pillows, I let out a worried sound. It’s those kinds of thing that can get you killed. You don’t just slap the head of the brotherhood and get away with it.
I crossed a line and Dolokhov seems like the kind of man who doesn’t like it when others step out of their lane. He looked at me like I should be crawled up in some warm space surrounded by stuffed toys or something. His world is not meant for me and he didn’t like it when I entered it.
But it’s too late now, anyway. He’s seen me. And I’ve been told that the brotherhood never forgets a face or a name. I’m on his radar now and I rub my hands over my goosebumps. I did take a big risk tonight because now that I’ve come to Dolokhov’s attention, I’ll never be able to hide from him if he would want something from me.
When he yanked me to his chest when I was about to leave, his eyes were so possessive, dripping with ownership like he knew everything about me. Like he knew where I’d been and where I was going.
His eyes told me that I’ll be going to him and that there will never be no turning back. I can kick and scream and fight but it won’t do me any good. It made me panic a little and yet when he let me go, I missed his touch.
And now it is all I can think about. Which is crazy because we don’t even go together. My world is pink and his is black. Under normal circumstance our paths wouldn’t even had crossed. And I feel a tinge of guilt when I realize that deep down, I’m glad that they did.
4
Alec
It is several hours past midnight when I make my way down the spiralstaircase to the basement. When I first moved in here the previous owners had arranged it into a pool room, but I had a better use for it.
It’s the coldest place in the whole house, no windows, the walls made out of steel. It is a good place to hide things you don’t want to be seen. The figure cowers in the corner when I walk inside, not even hearing me until I jerk at the chains keeping him imprisoned.
He flinches, watery eyes flaring and he starts shaking, thrashing when I start pulling at the chain but it’s no use and next time he blinks, he’s hanging from the ceiling, shackles wrapped around his wrists.
“Why are you doing this?” he shouts, his spit flying everywhere and his eyes are bloodshot. “Please, let me go. I haven’t done anything.”
Lie. Trevor Sorkin is a liar.
The girl told the truth when she “informed” me about Sorkin but she was wrong about one thing. It wasn’t the Italians who took him. I did. Four days ago, a boxer owned by the Italian’s won over a boxer owned by the brotherhood.
Sorkin, the referee ruled TKO much too soon and there was only one explanation. We’d been set up. Sorkin had accepted a bribe by the Italian’s, leading to a loss of a quarter of a million for the brotherhood.
It is only fair now that I let him pay for it and he should be grateful that the rest of the brotherhood doesn’t know that I have him. If they did, he’d already be dead. Boxing is taken very seriously. So is money.
“Let me go,” Sorkin starts wailing as always when I’m down here. “Just let me go and I’ll do whatever you want...”
He is roughly the same age as me but more than often he acts like a little boy.
“What I want is for you to be quiet,” I say, grabbing a chair and I pull it over to sit in front of him. I inspect him closer than before. So this is the friend of my Lyla? I would never have guessed. They don’t seem to have much in common.