Immigrant girl

Chapter 6. Anya.

Cold sweat coursed through me. Animal fear paralyzed my brain. I desperately tried to figure out what to do. Mendes's hands, with their clammy, cold claws, clung to my body. The hand covering my mouth was wet and disgustingly reeked of cigarettes. He was forcibly dragging me into the darkness of an alley around the corner. What to do?! What the hell should I do?! Without thinking, I swung my right leg and landed a kick on his shin while simultaneously biting the hand covering my mouth. His iron grip loosened, and I broke free with all my might. Mendes lunged after me but stumbled, fell onto the asphalt, and tried to grab my leg. He managed to hook my ankle, and I stumbled but didn't fall. I kept running, and as I turned the corner, I collided with something solid at full speed. I thought I had run into a wall, but I was mistaken; it was a person. My horrified gaze met cold, steely blue eyes.

"What happened?" His voice was calm but carried a hidden threat. I stared at Dovlatov in silence. "Anya!! What the fuck happened?!" He shook me by the shoulders, and his loud voice and strong shake brought me back to my senses.

"M...Mend...Mendes," I stammered in response.

"Son of a bitch!" was all Dovlatov said, and he swiftly headed towards the alley from which I had just escaped. "Stay with her, Max, don't fucking take your eyes off her, or I'll personally shoot you right in your face!" he yelled as he went.

I stood there, motionless, watching him go. Oh my God! I began to tremble. Tremors racked my body, and tears welled up in my eyes. He almost raped me. That's what you get for this job. Maybe I should quit, no matter what benefits that damn mobster and his redhead sidekick promised me. I saw Dovlatov returning, his eyes were ablaze, and he had a gun in his hand. Seeing where my gaze was directed, Alex started tucking the gun into his belt and covered it with his jacket.

"It's empty there. I'll deal with him later; right now, you're what matters," he approached almost closely, his warm hands encircling my waist, and he held me tightly to his chest. "Anya, did he do something to you?" His voice seemed to quiver slightly.

"No. He didn't have time," I replied, burying my face in his chest. He smelled of expensive leather, wood, and sea salt. I took a deep breath and burst into tears.

Tears burned in my eyes. I felt horribly ashamed, but at the same time, I didn't care. I clenched Dovlatov's jacket lapels in my fists and couldn't stop crying. He stood there, unmoving and silent, merely holding me in his arms. My tears had already run dry, and I was now having a full-blown breakdown. I sobbed and shook with my whole body. Dovlatov remained a stone statue. Summoning immense effort, I tried to breathe deeply, calming myself down. I released my fists, and Dovlatov's jacket was hopelessly crumpled. I quickly moved away from him and stared at the asphalt beneath my feet.

"Feeling better?" Alex asked softly. I nodded. "Get in the car. I'll take you home and escort you to your apartment. One of my men will stay at your place in case I can't reach Mendes today." I raised my teary and swollen eyes to him. He didn't wait for my response, just watched me.

"Are you going to kill him?" I whispered, surprised by my own boldness.

"You shouldn't think about that," Dovlatov snapped. "Let's get in the car."

I obediently made my way to the black Rolls Royce parked near the club's exit. The door was opened by Max, the man shadowing Dovlatov. Inside, the car was warm and smelled of citrus and new leather. The interior was lined with red leather, and the headrests were embroidered with Cyrillic initials, "A. D." A chuckle escaped my throat. Hell (*Russian letters A-D translates as Hell). How amusing. Alex glanced at me, probably thinking I was nervous. He gave the driver my address, and we set off.