Blood Price (10 page)

Instead, she helped Atar to the nearest free table, straining her muscles to ease him into a seat. He promptly slumped forward. His eyes were blinking but it was obvious he wasn’t alert yet. Before sitting, Nikia examined the small room. There was a plethora of tables, with only a few occupied. An abundance of cigarette smoke burned her throat and made her eyes water. She coughed, attracting the attention of a scruffy man two tables over. He glared at her through bloodshot eyes, mumbled something and wrapped his hand more securely around a glass filled with amber beer, as if protecting it from her.

She took the seat that best allowed her to scrutinize the entire room, although her back was still undefended. She tensed when the men who had followed her entered the bar one by one, with the blonde trailing in last. Their eyes fell on her and she held her breath, wondering if anyone would come to their aid or if they would even look up from their drinks while the men did whatever they planned?

She let her breath out slowly when the group took a table across the room. She didn’t let herself relax completely because all of their eyes remained focused on her and Atar—the men with a disturbing quality she didn’t want to identify and the girl with a petulant scowl.

She started with surprise when a hand fell on her shoulder. Looking up, Nikia barely choked back a gasp at the muscled man towering over her. He made the bouncer look small in comparison. His bald pate gleamed even in the dim light provided by the sparse lamps suspended several feet apart from the ceiling. An impressive handlebar mustache covered most of his upper lip. She looked down at the hand on her arm, swallowing at the size of it. His knuckles showed signs of bruising, indicating they had been used recently for purposes she didn’t want to contemplate. Only the thick wedding band on his hand provided her a slight measure of reassurance that he was a human and not some goliath conjured to torment her. Her throat was dry and she coughed, searching for her voice. “Yes?” The timid squeak didn’t project confidence.

He said something in Czech but switched to English as thick as his mustache at her blank look. “What to drink?”

Relief swept through her, along with the urge to laugh. He didn’t seem like the waiter type. “Water.”

He shook his head. “Pay or get out.”

She shrugged. “Whatever then.” Despite the dryness in her throat, she didn’t plan to drink anything
Ranstikø
served, for fear of what germs might be lurking in the glasses.

With a sharp nod, the man moved back to the bar, turning to the task of filling two small glasses with the contents of a bottle. The beverage didn’t look like beer. She eyed it doubtfully when he returned to their table.

He set down the glasses with small thumps, sloshing the liquid in each. “
Becherovka
.”

She frowned up at him. “Excuse me?”

He thumped his chest. “Czech drink. Very good.” He inclined his head in Atar’s direction, saying, “
Ono vůle bdící jeho ohromný dub
.”

She shook her head with confusion, not missing the laughs of those close to their table. A blush warmed her face when the big man put his hand at crotch level and showed it slowly rising. There was no missing that implication. She looked away, reaching for the glass as a means of distraction. From the corner of her eye, she watched a tiny woman, almost as broad as she was tall, walk to the big man and slap his arm, giving every appearance of admonishing him. To Nikia’s amusement, the man’s shoulders drooped and he returned to the bar.

The glass was in her hand and she brought it to her mouth cautiously. The strong cinnamon aroma made her breathe in deeply and when she tasted it, the
Becherovka
was similar to strudel.

Atar lifted his head, seeming to find a reserve of strength. His voice was slurred but she was encouraged that he could speak. “Not safe.”

She set down the glass and leaned closer, dropping her voice to a whisper meant only for his ears. “I know, but men followed us.”

“The suits.”

Nikia shook her head. “Other men. They’re in the bar now. I didn’t know what else to do, so I brought us in here.”

He rubbed his head. “We need to leave.”

She lifted a brow, skeptical of his ability to go anywhere at the moment. “Are you strong enough?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Head’s fuzzy but improving. I think the drug is wearing off.” He straightened in the chair, looking as though it took all of his returning strength to remain upright. “We have to leave.”

She couldn’t agree more. This dingy tavern in a seedy section of Prague was the last place she would feel safe but it was foolhardy to leave the safety of the crowd. The men in suits worried her but the other men watching from the table nearby posed a more immediate threat. She knew they were equally dangerous and were simply biding their time to act. She swallowed a nervous lump, trying not to consider what they might do when they got tired of waiting. “Yes, but not until you’re stronger.”

He waved a hand and tried to rise, succeeding only in sliding his chair back an inch before slumping forward slightly. “Yeah.” Atar reached for the glass, sniffing it before taking a small sip. He grimaced. “It’s too sweet.”

“Just like your lady friend,” said a gruff voice behind Atar, belonging to the burly man who had followed them into
Ranstikø
. His voice was surprisingly rich and pleasing, with hardly an accent when he spoke English.

Atar had distracted her from keeping watch on them. Nikia twisted her head, searching for the other three. One stood off to her right and the other was almost behind her. The blonde girl stood several feet away, watching with an air of mingled impatience and malicious glee.

He turned his head with apparent difficulty to look up at the man towering over him. “You’re interrupting a private conversation.”

“Talk?” The big man scowled. “Women need action.” He placed a huge hand on Atar’s shoulder. “I will borrow her for a time and return her unscathed…probably.” His cohorts chuckled at his lewd announcement.

“Like hell.” With surprising fluidity, Atar got to his feet, flinging off the hand on his shoulder.

Nikia surged from her seat, determined not to let Atar face them alone. His lithe muscles and way of carrying himself would have assured her of his ability to take care of himself under other circumstances but he stood little chance of overcoming three men in his drugged state.

The one behind her lunged forward, grabbing her arm. Nikia turned on him, growling low in her throat as she brought up her hand, slamming her palm against the bridge of his nose. Blood sprayed from his wound, spattering her face and hair. She grimaced in disgust. He cradled his injured nose, cursing her as he stumbled to a nearby seat.

She turned back in time to see the other man take a swing directly at his face. Atar tried to twist away but moved too slowly and took the brunt of the man’s fist against his cheek. He grunted and swayed, clutching the back of his chair for support.

Without thought, Nikia moved into the fray, standing beside Atar to keep him on his feet, while switching her gaze between each of the two men threatening them. The air was fraught with tension, heralding the violence about to escalate.

An angry voice caused all of them to jerk and turn to their right, where the short woman who had admonished the bartender was rushing to them, shouting in Czech and shaking her finger. She placed herself in front of Nikia, glaring up at the big man. She didn’t betray a hint of fear when she told him something in an angry tone, punctuating her words by jabbing her finger toward the door.

The man laughed as he pushed her out of his way so hard she spun into a nearby table, crying out with either shock or pain. Nikia didn’t have time to determine which while the man bore down on her. She brought up her hands to scratch his face as he lifted her in a tight embrace, cutting down on the oxygen she could draw in. She bucked and thrashed in his arms as he lowered his mouth toward hers. The stench of cigar and cheap beer emanated from his opened maw and she turned her head just as his mouth neared hers.

She shuddered when he instead licked her cheek before laughing—a sharp, cruel sound that vibrated through his chest and into her body. Nikia struggled to bring her knee up into his testicles but found herself imprisoned in his arms. “Atar,” she whimpered, finding it increasingly difficult to take in a breath as the man’s arms tightened around her.

In a second, she was free and the man was turning toward Atar. Nikia looked at him, astonished to see he held a broken chair in his hands. His trembling arms betrayed his fatigue when he pointed the remaining leg at the man standing before him, unfazed from the blow of the chair. He still bore splinters of wood on the back of his shirt and shrugged massive shoulders to shake them off as he moved toward Atar.

Seemingly from nowhere, a roar engulfed the place. Before Nikia could identify the source, the man who had licked her toppled to the floor, tackled by the huge barkeep. His face, red with anger, was a marked contrast to his dark mustache as he pummeled the man with his fists.

The third one of the group hesitated, obviously prevaricating between intervening and saving his own skin. Self-preservation was his main concern as evidenced by the way he ran from the tavern, with the bleached-blonde girl following, screeching all the way.

The barkeep was still working over the other man, who seemed puny in comparison, when the plump woman came to his side. With a simple touch of her hand on his arm, she got him to stop punching. She said something softly, meant only for his ears. He nodded, scowled down at the man under him and got to his feet. He didn’t look at him again as he turned to the man on a stool in the corner and told him something in Czech.

It must have been an order to take out the trash, because the man rose from the stool and sauntered forward. He grasped a handful of the injured man’s shirt and dragged him across the floor to the open door, where he heaved him outside with what appeared to be little expended effort. He only had to point at the ruffian cradling his bleeding nose to have him running from
Ranstikø
in terror.

“Th-thank you,” Nikia said, wincing at the way her voice trembled, just like the faint tremor spreading through the rest of her body. Reaction was setting in.

He shrugged. “For you not, girlie. No one lays hands on my wife.”

She ran a shaky hand through her mussed hair. “Regardless of your reasons, thank you.”

He snorted. “Thank me by leaving. No trouble here more.”

“Ivan,” the little woman said, outraged. She chided him in Czech, pointing once more to the street.

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Very well.” He looked at Nikia. “Maria is spotted with softness. She tells me you are troubled and men will wait for you.” He grimaced. “She insists you take night in upstairs room.”

Relief swept through Nikia. The men in suits obviously hadn’t tracked them here, so it seemed as safe as anywhere in this area could be. If they could make it through until the morning, their chances of escape were improved. She locked eyes with Maria. “Thank you.”

Maria inclined her head.

“For room is fourteen hundred Kcs.”

Nikia’s stomach fluttered with panic. She had no money, having had no time to grab her bag. She looked at Atar, knowing he had his wallet from having felt it in his pocket but unsure of what his cash reserves were. Even worse, did he still have their passports? Their plane tickets were probably long gone but that didn’t worry her. She wasn’t eager to return to Constanta. Her planned trip to Belarus would be cut very short if her real and fake passports were both back in the room at the St. George. She wasn’t certain she had the mental reserves left that were necessary to hypnotize someone into believing they had already seen her passport, as she had done in Constanta.

“Will you take Euros?”

Ivan nodded in answer to his question, accepting the fifty Atar removed from his wallet and tucking it in his pocket without any indication he planned to give change. Atar didn’t press the matter, apparently deciding this place was their best option for the night and it wasn’t worth losing the chance over eight Euros.

Ivan returned to the bar and Maria gestured them to follow her around the bar, to a doorway revealing a set of stairs. Nikia put an arm around Atar’s waist, pleased to note he was moving more steadily and leaning less on her. Surely, he would recover by morning.

Her feet automatically took the creaky stairs, missing most of their paint, as her mind mulled over her epiphany. In his weakened state, Atar would need rest to recuperate. This was her only chance to escape him and head for Belarus. Yes, she had discarded the idea of leaving him earlier but he wasn’t safe then. Now, he was as safe as he could be. The thought germinated in her mind while they emerged onto the second floor, where Marie led them to a door halfway down the hall.

When she opened it and pointed for them to go inside, Nikia and Atar slipped past her solid bulk to examine the room they had purchased for the night, which she hoped would prove to be a safe haven. It contained a double bed with an iron head and footboard, a small table with a pitcher and basin, a rickety-looking chair by the table and a crooked dresser bearing an antique brass lamp. There were no light fixtures and no switches. Maria confirmed this when she followed them in and turned on the lamp. She waved her hand around the room and gave them a smile.

Nikia forced herself to return it. It wasn’t a palace but it would certainly do for their purposes tonight. She nodded, which seemed to be all Maria needed. She turned and bustled out.