Exposed (28 page)

The realization of their position made Ivan jut his chin out and walk on, shoulders straight. They might be desperate, but they weren’t without pride.

A few people stared at him go past. A few people glared. But a few people also asked if he needed a hand. Ivan said thank you, but no. 

However, there was one person who didn’t stare or say a word. Ivan walked within a few feet of Butch, but the man didn’t acknowledge him at all. Butch was just sitting on a bench, staring at the bank. 

Ivan paused, frowned. June was in there working. He remembered the way Butch had singled her out … threatened her. Ivan’s fingers dug into the wooden slats of the crate, his teeth ground together.

But he stopped. June was safe inside the bank. Surely Butch’s mind power didn’t work through brick and mortar. Ivan thought of June, of the deal he’d made with her, and continued toward the store.

He paused again outside the door. His fingers dug into the crate for entirely different reasons. Ivan’s stomach twisted into a knot, his palms grew slick and he fumbled with the box in his hands. 

Ivan blew out a big breath through his nose, sending the fuzzy-edged leaves of some poppies rustling. Very probably, Mr. Powell would say no. But if he could get him to say yes ….

Ivan shook his head at it all. He’d encouraged June to stop trying too hard to please others, and here he was, trying to channel his inner people-pleaser to shill his wares. But June was right—if he would just try, maybe he’d see others could be good to him in return. All those years of striking first, of assuming the worst. It had made him and his family an island, a fortress of otherness that no one dared breach. 

Maybe this was the first step to acceptance from the town. There was only one way to find out.

Ivan balanced the crate on one knee and opened the door. The bell tinkled overhead, and back by the counter Mr. Powell lifted his curly head. 

“Can I help you?” The man’s eyes shifted to the box, then deep wrinkles creased his forehead.

The store was a relic of decades past. The sort of place where wide-planked floors groaned underfoot and giant shelves behind the counter still sold big bags of flour and oats. But Mr. Powell had attempted to modernize. There were canned goods now, and a bank of freezers at the back to accommodate those who now owned a refrigerator.

However, the available produce, Ivan noticed, was far from fresh. That emboldened him. He walked up to Mr. Powell and laid his crate on the wide, wood counter.

“I’m Ivan Sokolov,” he started.

Mr. Powell nodded. “I know who you are,” he said, his gaze casting about behind Ivan. The man nodded toward a door at the back of the store and led Ivan inside a small, cluttered office.

Ivan cleared his throat. This wasn’t a good sign. But he took a breath and continued. “My family has had a loyal following at the market—”

“My wife used to buy flowers from your family nearly every week,” Mr. Powell interrupted. “Lovely selections.”

“We still have lovely flowers,” Ivan shot back, heat rising in his face.

“I know you do, son.”

Ivan settled his tight shoulders. “That’s why I’m here today, actually.”

Mr. Powell cocked his head, listening. His eyes—brown like June’s, but surrounded in feathery wrinkles—were sharp, but Ivan thought he saw kindness there.

“My family has sold our fruits, vegetables, and flowers at the market for ten years now. Shoppers have always loved what we grow, and more than one tells us they come only to us for flowers.”

“Yes, your roses are famous.”

Ivan held out one such rose that he’d brought. It was at the cusp of a full bloom and the inky color of red velvet.

“It’s time we expand, and I think selling our produce and flowers with you is the perfect opportunity.”

Mr. Powell nodded, his lips pressed together. “You know we already stock fruits and vegetables. I’m afraid a business relationship with your family right now is … ah ….”

Ivan spoke up before Mr. Powell could say no. “I’m confident your shoppers will prefer our produce.” 

He lifted up a yellow pepper, the skin firm and smooth, and held it out to Mr. Powell. “I’d like to offer you this produce and these flowers to try out in the store for a week. You keep any profits you make on them during that time. If they don’t sell better than what you’ve already stocked, then we’ll continue on just at the market.”

In his mind, Ivan saw the rotting fruits and vegetables at the farm growing, overtaking their house, burying them. He shook the image away and focused on Mr. Powell.

The man gently prodded at the fruits and vegetables in the crate, lifting a cucumber and feeling for soft spots, smelling a peach.

“And,” Ivan continued. He paused to calm his heart. 

Saying what he about to say felt like a betrayal of his family, of their innocence. It felt like letting the bigoted people of Independence Falls win. But there was a difference between pride and stubbornness, and making this deal was practically his family’s last chance. 

“You can keep it secret where you’re getting the produce and flowers. No one need know you’re working with us.”

Mr. Powell kept his eyes on the crate, and his fleshy jaw worked back and forth. “I’m not saying I agree with what some others are saying about your family. But understand, this is a chance I’m taking. I’m opening up this business to serious risk.” 

But then Mr. Powell looked up to meet Ivan’s eyes and extended his hand. “But you have a deal, Mr. Sokolov.”

Ivan walked away feeling light as air. Lighter. And happier than he’d been in years. All because of June.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

June

June couldn’t stop thinking about Ivan. Walking through town wearing that ridiculous outfit had been hard—her stomach a nest of snakes and her throat dry. 

But she’d done it, done it knowing Ivan didn’t care what she looked like or what others thought. He was so right. They were living with something dangerous inside of them, and there was no telling when that danger would turn deadly. Why waste time worrying about what others thought? Why make herself miserable?

And now … June laughed at herself. Now she felt like she could find the courage to make that final move for her own happiness. She could tell her parents there would be no more money.

All because of a half-hour in a hideous dress. And Ivan, mostly because of Ivan.

She almost wished she would have stayed in the dress and spent every second she could with him. Almost.

June touched the edges of the yellow-and-orange silk scarf tied at her neck and adjusted the hem of her slim-cut eggplant dress. With the snug jacket, it was one of only two matching work suits she’d kept during the closet cull. She’d never thought to pair it with the old scarf—a cast-off of her mother’s—but she liked the discordant colors together. 

Once she became master of her own money again, June was determined to buy one more dress. She’d save for that and her first trip—one she hoped Ivan would take with her. A trip to the ocean. Any ocean. She wanted to see endless blue water and taste salt on her tongue. And she wanted Ivan by her side. 

The day floated by with her mind basking in the memory of Ivan. Of what he did to her, made her feel, how he teased her body to react to him. June glanced up at the clock after what had felt like only minutes and realized her shift was nearly over. 

The sun grew fat on its descent toward the mountaintops. June stared off into the golden air shining through the windows, daydreaming about being in the pool by the waterfall. Was it really only a few days ago they’d made love? 

If she closed her eyes, June could still feel the weight of him on top of her, making her bloom like a summer flower, and drink him up like he was her sunshine. She never for one second considered what they did as wrong. She and Ivan fit together—made each other whole. There could only be right in that. 

A lazy smile slipped across her face, like it had in the late afternoon sun when they’d lain together, naked, limbs entwined, murmuring about all the places they’d see together.

That’s when the idea took hold. 

The money. Take it. 

All that money in the vault. It could be theirs. No saving. No hard decisions. No waiting. They could see the entire world and never look back. No more suffocating mother and her embarrassing schemes. No more caring what the people of a tiny, unknown town thought of them. 

Go to the vault. Take it all.

With the money waiting for them inside the vault, all their problems would be solved. It was so simple.

June stared at the vault, certainty taking hold of her. As certain as her feelings for Ivan. This was for them. All she needed to do was go inside and take it. She’d be courageous, like Ivan had helped her be.

Down the way, Edith switched off the light beside her spot at the teller counter. She locked her drawer and started up the stairs to the main offices. The offices were set with windows, so the managers could watch the bank floor from above. But June knew Edith liked to work at balancing the books from a larger desk near the back, where she could neatly lay out the different ledgers.

She waited until Edith disappeared through the door, paused half a heartbeat, then strode across the bank and turned over the “closed” sign. She tilted her chin down and faced the vault.

The silver door seemed to glow in the late-afternoon sunlight. It almost pulsed with some unseen power. The steel was brushed to a dull shine, and the door took up nearly the entirety of the bank’s back wall. But just beyond that door, freedom awaited. 

During her last practice session at the mine, June hadn’t been able to move through solid rock. But now, she was utterly certain the thick steel would bend to her power. It felt inevitable—it had to be done, so she would do it.

June took two deep breaths, squared her shoulders, and ran.

Steel smacked against her skin, an angry slap that stung her cheek, her shoulder, her hands. The vault door shuddered through her, slamming against her bones and organs. June forced herself onward, grinding her teeth against the immense pain, biting back a scream.

Then she was through. The door had been an immovable object before her, and then it wasn’t. June collapsed to the floor of the vault in agony, curling in on herself and wrapping tender arms around her throbbing stomach. She clenched her eyes against the pain and pulled in frenzied breaths that made her dizzy.

God, the pain. Was this what Betty felt before everything went dark? Terror gripped at her insides, made sourness rise up the back of her throat.

What the hell was she thinking? For half a second, her thoughts cleared and she wondered if Butch had something to do with this. But she’d not seen him for hours. When he’d used his power on Ivan back in the mine, they’d been face to face.

June pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She had to get out. She had to ….

Take it. The money, take it.

And despite the pain that seemed to radiate from every bone and organ in her body, despite the fear that her power would consume her from the inside out like it had Betty, something even stronger took hold. It rooted itself in her mind and wouldn’t be dislodged. 

The money. You need the money. 

June groaned and pushed herself up to her feet. She stumbled forward and had to grab for the room’s single table to steady herself. The leg of the table scraped against the tiled floor—a screech that pricked at June’s pounding head. She froze, listening hard for any movement above her, for a sign that Edith was coming back. But the offices above remained silent.

June shook her head to try and force away the fog of pain and tentatively stood upright. She hissed with the shock of crunching joints and throbbing skin, but took determined steps away from the table and toward the deposit boxes. That was safer than simply grabbing stacks of cash. It wasn’t as if people checked they deposit boxes every day. Yes, that was a better choice.

The little silver boxes ran from the baseboards up to the ceiling, circling the vault in hundreds of little treasures, hundreds of ways to her and Ivan’s freedom.

She steeled herself, then thrust her hand into the first box, a random one toward the middle of the row. Her fingers contorted with the pain—her already tender skin and bones shocked to be put through this again so soon—but she willed them straight and felt around the unseen contents of the box.

It was empty. 

June nearly cried. But instead of wailing, she gritted her teeth, narrowed her eyes, and pulled her hand free. She tried another. And another. They were all empty. A fourth try just yielded some old, useless documents. A scream of frustration built at the back of June’s throat, threatened to explode out of her.

June took a breath, closed her aching eyes.

Box 6124. She already knew what she’d find in there. 

Her fingers were splotched with red and already starting to bruise, but June stopped in front of Mary Stewart’s deposit box and steadied herself. This was it. This was the ticket out. 

June held her hand high in a fist and punched her way through the metal. Her fingers hit diamonds, wads of cash, even a few nuggets of gold. June wrapped her hand around a fistful of the stuff and dragged her hand free, the contents of the box coming with her. June stuffed the contents of old Ms. Stewart’s deposit box into her little brown patent purse and ran full tilt for the vault door before she lost her nerve.

She bounced back. 

The steel refused to bend to the will of her power. June reeled back, stumbling over her feet as she fell. Her head smacked against a corner of the table on the way down, and she landed—hard—on her bottom. 

June rolled to her side, tears of pain and fear mingling together at the corners of her eyes. She had to get out. Had to! But she couldn’t stand the idea of passing through the vault door again—not if she wanted to survive. June was crying now, her eyes bleary and her nose running. Desperation made her jumpy, her fingers closing and unclosing around her purse, her steps small and jerky. She paced the small vault room and stared through streaming eyes at the vault door.