His head rolls sluggishly toward the door. “Did you kick the door in? It was unlocked.”
Andrei shrugs, looking like a pissed off dog as he stomps forward. He grabs Daniil around his shoulders, and lifts himinto a standing position. I look around him at the splintered remains of the doorframe, closing my eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath while my heart pounds anxiously in my chest.
I like this house, but these two are working so hard to make it as miserable as my last apartment.
“Where’s the bedroom?” Andrei asks, eyeing the unopened stack of boxes disdainfully.
I sigh and open my eyes. Daniil’s good arm is propped up over Andrei’s shoulder, and he looks miserable.
“Up the stairs, second door on the left.”
I shake out my arms, not sure what to do now that Daniil is in far more capable hands. I look around the room, trying to ignore all the damage that’s been done in a matter of minutes.
When Daniil bought this house, I thought it was a step toward something more stable than what I had. I was sick and tired of the drafty windows, the noisy neighbors, the thin walls and locks that only worked some of the time. This house is supposed to be a new start for me, and maybe the start of something a little better for Daniil and me.
When Andrei’s work here is done, Daniil’s going to have to leave Colorado and go back to Chicago, but I hope this house means that he’ll make an effort to not use that as a reason to set an expiration date for us.
“What do you need me to do?” I call out.
They’re already climbing the stairs, and for a moment I’m not sure Andrei heard me. When they reach the top, he looks back at me and I wonder how I look through his eyes.
Pathetic, probably. I’m a fucking mess. Covered in blood, face puffy and tear-stained.
“He should have a first aid kit around here somewhere. Grab that, bring it to me, and then fuck off for a while.”
“Don’t be rude to her in her own house,” Daniil grunts.
Andrei snaps something back, but I’m already sprinting toward the hall closet for the medical supplies that I put away. Daniil thought we didn’t need to have a full suture kit, but it looks like we were both wrong about what this house needed.
Darting up the stairs, I practically toss the first aid kit at Andrei, who catches it with infuriating ease.
“Thanks. Now go get some sleep.” He almost looks sympathetic as he looks at me. I open my mouth to tell him how impossible that would be, but before I can, he shatters an illusion of him caring by opening his mouth again. “Today’s shipment is too big to fuck up, so I need you to get it together.”
I straighten my spine and stare at him, refusing to flinch away from his uninviting stare.
“No, you don’t.”
He looks at me over his shoulder, gaze so sharp that I feel pinned in place. “Pardon?”
“You don’t need me.”
“Last time I checked, I only had one useless dispatcher on my payroll, and that was you. Go put yourself together so you can do your fucking job.”
Frustration that’s been bubbling inside me for the past eight months boils over. I want to find something to throw at him, but I don’t want to distract him while he’s taking care of Daniil.
“Tell your idiot driver not to take the interstate and to stick to the highways instead,” I say. I’ve told him this a hundred times already, but he refuses to listen. “He’s moving drugs, and weall know it, but if he takes the slower route, there’s less traffic. If a cop pulls him over, it’ll take longer to get backup, and the cops sit on their asses, scared they’re going to get shot. Not to mention, it’s next to impossible to be stealthy about following someone when there are no other cars on the road. It throws off the troopers, and it throws off DEA agents, too. The cartels do it, and I’ve heard them call off entire operations over it.
“Or, even better, wait a day. Switch your driver and the car that they’re using, because both of them are under surveillance. Because if the fucking State Patrol has any intel, they probably got it from public sources. Facebook, or Discord, or some other social media. They aren’t fucking clever; your drivers are just stupid.”
I clench my fists, hating how the drying blood makes my skin feel tight. “Your drivers are the fucking problem, Andrei. Find some who can keep their mouths shut and they’ll stop getting busted all the time. And if that doesn’t work, then you have a rat.”
I take one more glance at Daniil, throat squeezing when I see his eyes closed and head flopped against the pillow. “I can’t fix that, so I’m taking a sick day. You dragged me into this so I’d make sure things get missed, right? You want to make it easier to get charges thrown out in court because I didn’t document something, or I took too long to get cover so your driver gets let off because the State Patrol could get charged for false imprisonment. If you listen to me, he won’t get pulled over at all, and I’m redundant.”
I turn on my heel, wanting nothing more than to lie down as the adrenaline fades to impotent worry. “I’ll be downstairs. Please let me know when he wakes up.”
Andrei grunts as I turn the corner.
“And you’re going to get my door fixed!”