Page 5 of Under His Control
The elevator gives a soft shudder as it climbs. I don’t move.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“It’s the AC,” I lie.
“Go home, Taylor,” he says, low enough to vibrate in my bones.
I step out on legs that don’t feel like mine.
He stays inside, a wall of heat and restraint, watching. By the time I reach the staff hallway, I’m breathing like I just ran a sprint.
It’s not adrenaline.
And I know it.
CHAPTER 2
TAYLOR
By the time I get home, the adrenaline is still wearing off when my phone rings.
Chris.
My brother’s name flashes on the screen. I answer—and immediately wish I hadn’t.
“What do you mean they’re going to kill you? What did you do?”
I practically scream the question into my phone, my heart beating like crazy.
My brother is breathing hard. I can picture him slouched against a wall somewhere, phone clutched in his trembling hands, his face half covered by that ridiculous Motorhead hoodie he never takes off.
“Tay,” he says, voice scratchy, “listen?—”
“Iamlistening,” I interrupt, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. “You said someone’s going to kill you. You can’t just say something like that and not elaborate.”
He’s silent for a beat. I can hear background noise—either traffic or the low hum of a TV.
Finally, he sighs.
“I screwed up. They’ll kill me unless I pay back what I owe. But I don’t have it, Tay.”
“What did you do, exactly?” I ask. My mind is suddenly filled with images of bullet-riddled bodies and severed fingers.
He mumbles something I can’t quite make out.
“Chris,” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice calm. “You can’t call me, freaking out, saying someone is going to kill you. You’ve got to give me more than that.”
“I’m serious, Tay.” His voice is low, strained. “They will. I messed up, and they’re not the kind of people you mess up with.”
My stomach drops. “Who’s they, Chris?”
He hesitates. “The Bratva.”
For a second, I think I must have heard him wrong.
“The Bratva?” I repeat, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter like it might be able to stop the world from tilting. “You owe money to the Bratva? The Russian fucking mob?”
“Yeah. The Smirnovs.”
