Chapter 13

Audrey

I hate lying, although I've been doing it a lot lately, like tonight. Tonight, I lied like my life depended on it because, in many ways, it does.

Jason is angry and befuddled, but he is also worried sick about my safety and well-being. If I tell him the truth now, he may never want to speak to me again. Nothing horrifies me more than the idea of losing him, especially now with the pregnancy. I've decided he needs to know about that, at the very least.

But tonight is not the time to drop that bombshell on him, which only adds to my guilty conscience about keeping such an important issue from him. What a hot mess this has become, and I couldn't have predicted any of it.

Wrapped in a thick blanket, I lean against one of the squad cars with its flashing red and blue lights. My teeth chatter as I try to focus on what Officer McKinley is asking.

He's taking copious notes while his colleagues cordon off both ends of the alleyway with yellow tape and collect bullet casings, prints, and any other evidence they can gather.

"Miss Smith, you're sure you don't know those men?" he asks again, eyes narrowed with what I assume is a natural tendency to treat every victim with a smidgen of doubt.

I shake my head vehemently. "I swear, I have no idea who they are."

"Audrey, they broke into your apartment specifically. Yours isn't a ground floor or even on a lower floor, which would normally be the target of choice for burglars," Jason says. A paramedic is treating our scratches and scrapes with gentle dabs of a stinging antiseptic. Jason winces from the discomfort, then gives me a hard look. "This was a targeted attack."

"I don't know who they are or what they wanted from me," I insist. "All I remember is being half asleep when they busted through the door of my apartment."

"So, you have no Russian-speaking friends or enemies?" Officer McKinley asks.

"No. I'm a kindergarten teacher, for Pete's sake."

And the daughter of one of the most powerful Bratva leaders in New York, but that's for me to know.

I couldn't bear the shame of Jason learning the truth. They say we don't get to choose our family, but in most cases, we have the option to walk away. I ran away two years ago, and I've been living in a shadow of fear ever since.

What worries me the most is that I truly have no idea who those two brutes were. The one with the scar on his temple seemed familiar because he looked like the literal stock photo of any Bratva family member—a big, burly Russian dude with some form of disfigurement and a dead-eyed glare that made me fear for my life.

I know my family's people, and they certainly wouldn't come after me the way those bastards did—with guns and balaclavas, not with using force and threatening me with death.

My best guess is that somebody figured out that Fedorov's daughter is in Chicago, and they decided to take me in the hope of being able to use me as leverage against my father. I'm not okay with that. I've worked too hard to build a decent, quiet, uneventful life.

"And you're certain they were speaking Russian?" the police officer asks Jason.

"Yes. Positive. Judging by the way they moved, the way they dressed and used their weapons, I'm inclined to believe that at least one of them has some kind of military experience," Jason replies.

"But so do you," McKinley says with an admiring smirk.

Jason offers a subtle nod in return. "Yes, sir."

"Army?"

"Rangers."

"You fellas pack a punch."

"I'm not invincible, though," Jason sighs. "Had I not been carrying a weapon, none of us would be here right now."

The police officer gives me another curious look. "And what is your connection to Mr. Winchester here?"

"She's my girlfriend," Jason answers before I can say anything.

The words roll off his tongue in a way that sounds so natural, so sincere, I could literally cry. He just told the cop I'm his girlfriend.

His lying girlfriend . Oh, God, Audrey, you're going to burn in hell for this, and you need to figure out a way to make it right before it's too late.

"Yeah," I mumble in agreement as Jason puts his arm around my shoulders.

I welcome his careful embrace and feel my whole body gradually warming up and relaxing against his. But the relief comes with a sense of guilt. I don't deserve his kindness, not with the little bit of truth I've actually told him. It was one thing to keep my past private; secrecy isn't the worst crime one can commit in a relationship. Lying, on the other hand, is infinitely worse.

"Have you considered the possibility that the assailants were trying to hurt you, Mr. Winchester, by getting to Miss Smith first?" McKinley asks.

"It's highly unlikely," he tells the officer. "I don't have any ties to Russians or the mob."

"The Chicago Bratva is known to be quite influential. They have their fingers in many pies, to the point where a lot of business owners don't even realize that they're in bed with them until it's too late," McKinley says.

"No, it doesn't make sense," Jason replies. "All of my businesses are legal and my own. I don't have any partnerships established anywhere with anyone else. I vet all of my employees and contractors carefully, given my own Army background. I do my due diligence and pay all of my taxes. I promise you, Officer McKinley, everything is above board with each of my trusts and companies. We even check the donations coming through my foundation. Not once have we found anything that could be flagged as out of the ordinary or less than legal."

But McKinley raises a skeptical eyebrow. "It could be that you pissed someone off and don't know it. Have you purchased any new properties lately? Maybe you inadvertently muscled into Bratva turf."

"Just The Emerald," Jason replies. "However, this whole neighborhood is clean in that sense. Besides, wouldn't they have reached out to me first? The news about my company buying the complex came out months ago. If they had a problem with the purchase, surely they would've sent someone to talk me out of it."

"No one came, huh?"

"No," he sighs deeply. "This is incredibly confusing."

Not to me, it isn't. It has nothing to do with Jason or his businesses. This is about me. About my God-given last name and the blood that flows through my veins. Jason's life was in danger tonight. For better or worse, I was raised in that environment—I'm used to looking over my shoulder.

I know what to do if someone tries to kidnap me or if someone succeeds in taking me prisoner. I know how to leave DNA behind in case I'm killed. And as horrendous as that sounds, it's what I was taught at a young age.

Other girls grew up with Barbie dolls and ballet classes. I grew up with a strict Russian nanny who never hesitated to spank me whenever I did anything that went against the Fedorov family code: Our Bible was a carefully implemented survival manual in case rival Bratvas ever tried to come after me or my brothers.

I'd hoped I was able to leave it all behind me when I left New York. Clearly, I was wrong.

"How are you feeling?" Jason asks me.

I didn't even notice McKinley moving away from us. He's busy liaising with the other officers as they bag bullet casings and lift fingerprints from the dumpster. I remember telling them that one of the assailants leaned into it at some point during the struggle.

"I'm better, thank you," I mumble, my cheeks burning as I stare at my trembling hands. "I can't stop shaking, though."

"That's the adrenaline. It'll wear off," he says. "You do know you're coming back home with me tonight, right?"

I can't fight him on this. The Chicago Russians know where I live. They're not going to leave me alone; that much is painfully clear. But I can't live like this. I'm not quite sure what I'll do next, but Jason is right—I can't stay at my place anymore. Knowing that hurts my heart on a deeper level. This was my home, my safe haven, my little niche in a crazy, chaotic world.

"Whatever happens next, we're going to figure it out, Audrey. I promise you that."

"I know," I reply, half-smiling as he presses his lips against my temple. His kiss is soft and warm, filling my core with liquid sunlight. The effect that this man has on me is almost immediate, and it pains me deeply because I know I'm at fault here.

One thing is certain, however. With everything that has happened and with everything that is bound to happen next, I have to overcome this hurdle. I have to set my fears and pride aside and grab the bull by the horns. I need to reach out to my brothers and find out who ordered the hit on me. They may be New York-based, but Bratva folks know one other across the United States.

If there's anybody who's able to find out this information, it's Anton and Vitaly.