19. Olive

19

OLIVE

T he buzz of the tattoo gun tickles my ears while the needle stings the skin hugging my ribs.

I go back and forth between studying the tiny black bird in the full-length bathroom mirror in my parents’ lake house and craning my neck to stare at it directly. Lifting the gun from my skin, I wipe away the smudged ink and blood with a cloth then continue.

This bird is smaller than all the rest in the flock. Just a baby, taking up little space, leaving room for brothers and sisters to join another day.

When my eyes water, I pause to rub my face on my shoulder. Sniffling, I get back to work.

With its fresh ink, the little black bird is darker than the others by the time I’m done, its wings spread to fly with the rest.

I shut off the gun then wipe away more blood and ink before applying a thin layer of petroleum jelly to the tattoo and covering it with gauze. After I splash water on my face and push back my hair, I stare at myself in the mirror.

This is the face of a killer.

Why do I look so normal?

My head spins toward the glass door leading to the deck when leaves crunch outside. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my heart quickens.

It’s likely nothing.

Twice now, I’ve thought I heard something outside and panicked over wind rustling leaves or small animals scurrying—or more likely, my imagination playing tricks on me. But still, I grab the shotgun leaned against the door jamb and raise it to my shoulder.

Leaving my shirt discarded on the bathroom floor, I creep through the darkened living room toward the glass door in only a sports bra and pajama bottoms. When I make it there, I flick my eyes over the front yard in search of any suspicious figures.

Nothing yet.

I unlock the door and quietly slide it open before stepping onto the deck, the gun swinging left and right in my arms.

Is someone there?

The words perch on my tongue, but I don’t voice them. I clamp my teeth down just to hold them in and walk to the edge of the deck, my finger poised on the trigger.

“Olive.”

A gasp yanks from my lungs as the gun swings toward the familiar voice coming from the other side of the railing. Alik’s hands raise as he steps into view. “It’s just me.”

I lower the gun on a deep sigh, the piece of metal suddenly heavy.

“ Alik . What are you doing? I could’ve killed you.”

He chuckles as he climbs the stairs and gently pulls the gun from my hand. “Not likely.” He hoists the gun onto his shoulder. “But it’s cute that you think so.”

“Why were you sneaking up like that?” I cross my arms over my chest, cold air biting into my skin.

Alik looks down at my arms and takes off his jacket. “I wanted to see which of you was here.”

Which of me…

Oh.

My cheeks heat as he drapes his fleece jacket over me, enveloping me in his scent, then spins me to lead us inside. “I’m not gonna lie to you, seeing you half-naked wielding a shotgun… My guess was not Olive.” He laughs like it’s a joke between the two of us, but I don’t see the humor.

He shuts the door once we’re inside, and I sit down at the kitchen table.

“What’s wrong?” His voice dips low, dripping with concern, like he truly doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t. He thinks she’s … what, funny? How?

He should be running away from me. Not laughing at me.

My eyes water, and Alik must see it because he drags my chair closer and gently guides me onto his lap. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head.

He takes my face in his hands and turns it so I’m looking at him. His brows are pulled together with concern, and his eyes hold a kindness to them I never saw before he got to know me. Before now .

He feels warm. And far more protective than dangerous right now. He’s softer. Kinder. Part of me can’t help but wonder if he reserves that kindness just for me. Maybe it’s a fantasy, but… I’ve wanted this man for so long. Now he’s here.

I can’t help but feel it’s too good to be true.

“Is it me you want?” I whisper, pulling my face from his hands. “Or is it her?”

He rears back. “ What? ”

I look away, and this time, he doesn’t bring my eyes back to him. “I blacked out the night you came to my apartment… Did you meet her then? Have you been seeing her this entire time?”

“What?” he repeats, this time with an incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

I clench my jaw to keep myself from saying anything. I don’t know how much I trust this dream I’ve been living. It doesn’t make sense that he’s here. It doesn’t make sense that he still wants me … unless he wants her too.

“She’s trying to frame me.”

“Is that why you’re sleeping with her? Is she forcing you to do that, or else she’ll pin you for the murder of a living person?” I scoff and cross my arms, wincing when I scrape my fresh tattoo. I catch Alik’s eyes on the gauze, and when he goes to remove it, I put my hand on his but only make a weak attempt to stop him.

His head tilts while he looks at the fresh, tiny bird. He reaches out to carefully run his thumb over the tattoo before bringing his hand back and studying the smudged blood on his thumb. There’s a question in his eyes when he finds mine, but he doesn’t voice it. Doesn’t attempt to change the subject.

I look down at my lap and catch his scent on his jacket. My eyes close on impulse as I breathe in the woody mix of pine and sage.

“I did it myself,” I explain.

He places the gauze back over the bird, gingerly pressing his fingers over the tape to stick it to my flesh. “You’re talented.”

I bite my cheek while letting seconds pass, hoping he’ll ease my worries.

I don’t want her.

I only want you.

She’s insane. A murderer.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” Alik says instead of all the things I want. He moves me back to my chair so he can get up.

He doesn’t understand.

He just … doesn’t get it.

More seconds pass while my head spins trying to think of a way to explain it. Alik sighs and heads for the door while my hand brushes over the tattoos on my ribcage.

I close my eyes and take a breath.

“Do you want to know what the birds mean?”

My heart thumps in my ears, making them feel full. Alik could have stopped, or the thumping could be blocking out the sound of his footsteps. Either way, I need to continue.

I trace all seven, now eight birds in the flock by memory like I’ve done a thousand times before. “Damian wasn’t the first person I killed.” My eyes clench at the memories that aren’t really memories. They’re … I don’t know what I’d call them. Gut feelings.

Blood-stained clothes that have shown up in my hamper.

A wallet with an ID of a person whose face flashed on the news the next evening.

An unknown wedding ring found in my pocket.

Money I can’t explain left for me on my dresser.

A hat that didn’t belong to me or anyone I knew.

Bloodied clothes and more bloodied clothes.

Again and again, it happened. And I knew. Even without memory, I knew. There was an owner to that blood, and I’m the one who shed it. I prayed they weren’t dead, but after seeing the man on the news whose ID I had…

I tattooed his bird on me first, as a symbol that although I never knew him, I wouldn’t forget the pain I caused. The birds multiplied as years passed. Until finally, one day, I woke up next to Damian’s body, the horrid truth staring me right in the face at last.

I find the new bird representing Mrs. Barkley and press in, cringing at the sting but knowing I deserve it.

Such a tiny thing. Plenty of space left for more brothers and sisters.

More .

Because there will always be more.

“They’re her victims.” Alik’s voice breaks through the thumping in my ears as he pulls my hand away from the tattoo.

I nod.

My victims.

Tears leak through my closed lids, and when Alik cups my face, I find it in me to open my eyes.

His hand falls away, and he waits with a patient expression for me to continue.

“I hate her,” I whisper for the first time out loud. Rage gurgles beneath my skin and sets me on fire, making the fleece feel unbearably hot. I shrug it off my shoulders and take in a steadying breath. “She’s ruined my life and the lives of so many others. She’s… I hate her. And I hate myself because of her. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to run away from who she makes me.”

His lips sink into a frown, but he says nothing.

I touch my tattoo. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

He nods. “I know that.”

“Alik…” I let out a shaky breath as I take his hand.

I’ve wanted this man for so long.

So. Long.

Right now , I need him. I need his arms wrapped around me, his lips pressed to my ear, telling me everything is all right.

I’m so scared I’m about to lose him.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice soft.

I bite down on my lip hard then let it free. “The only way I can be with you is if you hate her too… I don’t want her to hate you, I don’t. Because if she hates you, she could hurt you, but…”

“I understand.”

I shrink while waiting for him to go on, my heart pounding against my chest. Alik pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.

He takes my hand and brings it onto the table to rest with his.

“You do?” I ask.

He nods. “You’re a good person. You’re bothered by the things you’ve done… I get it.”

I sigh with relief, but when he pulls away from my hand, I tense.

“I’m not a good person, Olive. I do a lot of bad things and have hurt more people than your alter could’ve thought to.”

My lungs stop pulling in air.

“Do you know what an enforcer is?”

An enforcer?

I shake my head.

Alik’s face seems to harden as he sits up straight. “It’s my position within a crime organization. It means I do a lot of dirty work to make people do what we want. A lot of times it involves doing hits.”

Hits .

Like … killing.

I look down at my lap and nervously pick at the dry skin on my knuckles.

“I care for you,” he says, sounding gentler than before. “I’ll protect you no matter what. If you’d rather not be with me knowing what I do, I understand… But to get back to your earlier fear, in case you still want to know… I don’t want your alter. She and I share some similarities, and I don’t think she’s completely bad. She makes it seem like she’s looking out for you, even though it’s obviously misguided. She’s intelligent enough that I think she could make me better at what I do.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he barrels over it.

“But I don’t want to be better at what I do. I don’t want to be more like me.” He shifts in his chair as his face softens. “I think I’d like to be more like you.”

“More like me?” My eyebrows arch.

His mouth opens and closes as his eyes drift to the kitchen. I turn to follow his gaze but don’t know what he’s seeing. All that’s there are dishes in the sink and a plate of snickerdoodle cookies I made before I started my tattoo.

“I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be happy before I met you,” he says, pulling my eyes back to him. “But you just… I don’t know, you pry things from my mind I didn’t know were there. If hating your alter is what it takes to keep feeling the things you make me feel, then I’ll hate her. I won’t ever speak of her again. I promise.”

I chew on my lip before whispering, “And we’ll never speak of your work again.”

He nods. “I promise.”

The hold on my lungs releases, and I take in a big breath of air as I look away from him.

Alik is a murderer…

I kind of knew that, didn’t I? I certainly suspected he was a dangerous criminal. This isn’t a huge revelation.

But…

“It’s just bad people you kill, right?” I ask, needing the clarification. He isn’t like me. He still has standards. Some moral code. He must.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

I don’t .

But I need to know.

When I don’t answer, he continues.

“I don’t ever hurt anyone for fun. I’m not a sadist. There’s always a reason, and most deserve to die.”

Most.

So not all.

“It’s also never my choice… If that matters.”

I squint at him. “What do you mean?”

He opens his mouth but pauses to think. “I mean, I don’t pick and choose who deserves to be hurt. I’m just given a target and follow orders.”

He doesn’t even know the people he kills.

He really is dangerous.

“What happens if you don’t do it?”

He shrugs.

“Would they hurt you ?”

He nods.

“Can you leave?” I ask, sitting up straight with my hands grasping the table. “What if we left together?”

“They’d kill us both,” he says, so matter-of-factly I don’t consider arguing against it. “No one leaves the brotherhood.”

The brotherhood . So it is a brotherhood.

I relax my grip on the table and stare down at my fingers splaying over the wood. A tiny ball lodges in my throat. “I guess you’re doing what you have to do, then.” I bring my gaze to him and look into his red eye, remembering his story. Remembering how unimportant he made himself out to be.

They would’ve left him to be tortured to death if not for his friend.

I believe him when he says they’d kill him… And that he can’t leave…

I reach my hand across the table for him, and his eyes lower to it, but he doesn’t move. “Why did you join?”

His eyes find mine. “I was born into the brotherhood by my father’s blood.” He leans back in his chair and places his hand on mine while a sigh rushes past his lips. “There was a time when I felt it was an honor to work for the Petrov family, but believe me, running away with you sounds great right about now.”

The Petrov family.

That doesn’t sound familiar.

“Does your father still work for them?” I ask.

“He died when I was a kid.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. He died a coward. The police had him on charges, and he snitched for a lighter sentence. He deserved what happened to him. It was merciful that the Bratva didn’t kill my mother and I as further punishment.”

“The Bratva?”

He opens his mouth, his eyes widening slightly like he said something he shouldn’t have, but I squeeze his hand and don’t make him confirm. Obviously, he doesn’t want me to know which organization.

But it’s the Bratva. That’s … Russian, I think.

“I’m so sorry you had to experience that.” I frown and scoot my chair closer to him. “You were just a kid.”

He slowly pulls away as his posture grows rigid.

“So you had to join them then? Even after that?”

He looks toward the door, but I don’t think he’s seeing anything. Seconds pass without him responding, and I regret the question altogether. Clearly, if he had a choice, he knows he made the wrong one.

“I don’t expect it to make sense to you,” he finally says.

It doesn’t.

But I want to understand.

“I would never judge you…”

He runs his hand through his hair and lets more seconds pass.

“My mother was a whore who spent her nights working the street and her days passed out in bed with whatever abusive boyfriend she had at the time. She wasn’t family. Until you, I…” He looks into the kitchen, but this time it isn’t a far-off look. He’s actually focused on something. “I barely remembered her being a mother at all.”

He gives his head a shake. “But after my father died, I made a friend whose grandfather was the Pakhan, which is what we call our boss. We became close. For a long time, I thought he was my brother. He was the closest thing to family that I’d ever had. Because of his bloodline, he was supposed to be Pakhan one day, and he used to talk on and on about how I would be his underboss, which is…” Alik’s face relaxes into a sad, defeated expression, “an incredibly high-ranked position. When I was eighteen, I did what it took to become a made man with the idiotic impression that I was somehow gaining a family as well as power, but uh…” He shows his palms. “A few months later, we did that job, and when it was all said and done, my friend ran off like an even bigger coward than my father had been. I’ve been nothing more than a weapon ever since, and I’ll die serving a crumbling empire under the rule of a…” Alik laughs, but I don’t think there’s anything funny about it. “An absolute psychopath.”

I fold my arms in front of me and lean on the table while I process his words. I want so badly to reach out, but I’m too afraid he’ll pull away.

He’s wounded… The scar on his eye was only the beginning.

“Did you uh…” He looks into the kitchen while rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you bake?”

I turn my head to the plate on the counter and jump up. “Oh, yeah. Here.” I’m halfway to the kitchen before I feel silly getting Alik a cookie. That probably isn’t what he was suggesting. When I bring him one, he doesn’t take it, so I just set it awkwardly in front of him then sit down. “I really love baking. The snickerdoodles are my sister’s favorite. I think I just love the nostalgia it brings.” I smile through an awkward laugh, but Alik doesn’t look at me. He stares at the cookie.

“I could smell it on you when I came to your apartment,” he says, weirdly serious.

I narrow my eyes in confusion and don’t say anything.

He blinks several times, like he’s trying to rid himself of some memory, then looks at me. “I really like you, Olive. I like the way you make me feel.”

I nod, my heart feeling like it’s growing. “Yeah… I really like the way you make me feel too.”

He looks back down at the cookie and carefully picks it up like it’s a bomb. After staring at it a moment, he takes a bite, his eyes closing like he’s reliving something. I think he is.

I feel so open with him. So exposed. My demons crawl out of me in front of him without my permission, and when he’s near… For the first time in my life, I don’t feel hated for being me. For being weird. A little murderous.

And even though he may be murderous too… Every time I look at him, I can’t help but think he might be perfect for me. He might be the only person in the world who can look at me and not judge, the same way I can look at him without judging.

I can’t help but think I really like him too.

And maybe, just maybe…

One day…

We could do more than like each other. Maybe we could love each other.

Maybe I already love him.