As soon as the train began to move away, I knew I had made a big mistake. I’ve wanted this for the longest time but it just doesn’t feel right. It doesn't feel right to leave my family: my mom and dad; three older brothers named Zach, Henry, and Jason; Oliver and Ginger, my dog and cat.

  The train starts to move at a swift velocity, making the wheel scratch against the tracks loudly. When I look outside of the train’s window, I see trees with green leaves turning orange, brown, and a bit of red brushing past us as the train glides. Before I knew it, the vehicle on the tracks already left my town, my home.

“Um…hello. Do you mind if I sit here?” I turn my neck back to see who is questioning me. A man. A man with a heavy European, possibly Russian, accent. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, several inches taller than me. He has dark brown hair, a thick, scruffy beard with a few lighter strands. And his...his shirt looks like he was in a fight; there are rips and tears, and some splotches of something red that looks like blood.

God, I REALLY hope it isn’t blood.

Being scared and immediately regretful of my decision, I give him the all-clear to sit right next to me.

“Thanks. This was the only seat I find on a ridiculous train. I really appreciate it.” The emphasis really makes me want to squirm in my seat but I hold myself back.

As he eases himself into the seat, a scent of something I can’t quite determine radiates from his body; a lingering smell of alcohol and bleach. I, involuntarily, crane my neck and body back towards the window to look at the plants for the last time.

“So where are you headed to?” He asks gently.

“The city,” I say quickly. This guy is giving me an uneasy vibe of someone who’s unstable. I shift in my seat again, trying to get this feeling out of me.

“How about you?” I inquired to this mystery man.

“Just traveling out of the country for some…financial matters.”

“Fun.”

“Yes, very fun.” I feel my seat move a little bit and it’s not from the train’s fast speed - it’s from his laughter.

I rotate myself so that I am facing him. Since he is sitting next to me (and I am now looking directly at him), I notice that he has a significant gash starting behind his ear going all the way down his neck, ending at his wrist. Before I can think, my index finger is up in the air, tracing the scar from the space between us. I imagine and map out all of the possible routes that the cut could have traveled from his neck to this arm.

 My body shifts back to face the window. I pull my hoodie over my head, pull the strings to close it, and shove my face into my arm. My mind starts to wander as to where he got that large scar from.

Did his cat scratch him? His dog? Did he get into a big bar fight and someone cut him with a glass bottle? Is he an undercover agent? Is the scar even real?

I shake my head to let those thoughts fall out of my head.

He looks like a regular person except for his t-shirt with a bunch of lacerations and blood and that scar on his neck.

This guy is so eerie.

I prop my head onto the wind and stare out to see the Brooklyn Bridge congested with cars trying to push past each other. 

We finally made it to the city.

The train makes a series of sharp turns around the hills, causing us to be on the edge of the hill.

“Dear passengers, we will be arriving in New York in 15 minutes. Please refrain from getting out of your seats or packing/grabbing up your belongings off of the shelves above until we come to a complete stop. Thank you for riding with us today.” The connection cuts off as the attendant finishes talking.

I reach for my bag next to my foot and seize my glasses without looking at the guy next to me. The thought of looking at him gives me a sickly feeling in my stomach. For the rest of the ride, I stare out of the window, viewing the new surroundings of the place I’ll be calling home for the next few years… that’s if I can last that long here.

“Please wait until your row is called to exit the vehicle. Again, thank you for traveling with us today.” A few rows at a time are ushered out with us being the last ones because of our seating in the back. I get up and grab my bag from off the floor as well as the suitcase on the overhead bin, leaving the strange man and his mysterious whereabouts behind me.

The cool air bites my skin when I step out of the vehicle. This is it. A new chapter in my life. With a sigh, I move inside of the train station to find a ride to my apartment and get settled in.

I stop at the clerk desk in front of a lady typing furiously on a desktop. “Excuse me, Miss? Could you direct me to where I can find a taxi?”

She juts her head to the opposite side that I can from. “All the way down to the left, through the revolving doors. Out there you should see some taxis.”

Some taxis are a complete understatement. There are lines and lines of bright yellow taxis with their respective drivers waiting around like sharks after their helpless prey as they stand by for their next customer. I approach one of the men casually leaning against his car.

“Is this your taxi, Sir?” I ask, peering up at the man. He chews his gum loudly as he sizes me up and down before nodding.

“Yes. Where are you headed to?” His thick New Yorkorn accent makes it a bit hard to understand his words but I manage. I recite to him my apartment address after we place my bags in the back and pull onto the street.

The man drives a bit too fast to look around at the scenery and has a bad case of road rage which seems to piss off all of the drivers we pass. The one (and only) plus side to his driving is that we reach my place in record time; before I know it, I’m turning the knob and entering the rather dusty setting. The apartment is a decent size for it only being a one-bedroom. The walls are painted a sterile white color, the floors are plated with wood that has a dull shine from all the years of walking on scuffing.

Home.

I drag my bags with me as I navigate to find my room, passing the kitchen and cramped laundry room space on my way. The door is left open, revealing an extensive area of space with a mattress and three dressers (courtesy of my parents) on their side of the bed as well as three floor-to-ceiling windows that give the best view of the front of the building. I examine the outside from my confinement. Cars bustle to and from, people crowd the streets walking, talking, laughing, shouting to each other.

“This is good. Very good for me. A new chapter of being an adult. My own things, my own money, my own life.” I give myself a pep talk before doing a run around of the apartment, making a mental note to go grocery shopping and then unpack.

During the next few hours, I shop for food and cleaning supplies in the nearby markets, then return to my apartment to clean up a bit before packing away my belongings into their respective spots and throwing myself onto the couch with a suspicious-looking stain. My eyes close, finally letting exhaustion sink in, as I drift off to sleep.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I jump off the couch, my heart racing from the noise coming from the other side of my front door. Slowly, I move to the door, inch by inch until my hand touches the icy metal of the knob.

One, Two, Three.

The door opens to reveal the last person I expected to see ever again. The man from the train. Although, this time he has a gun pointed at me and a wicked grin to compliment it. I glance down at the barrel of the gun, gulping nervously before looking back at him.

“Did not expect to see me again did you?” He chuckles darkly as his steel-grey eyes give me a once-over. “Move.” The gun tilts slightly, making me jump backwards. He comes into my apartment rather quickly and shuts the door, fastening all of the five locks and the single deadbolt attached to it.

Okay, so I may have gone a little overboard with the locks.

“Where is the bathroom-” Another set of pounding on my door makes us both freeze.

Oh, hell.

The mystery man in front of me motions for me to get up and answer it. And I only do because my legs are achy from sleeping on the couch for so long.

Right…so it’s not because a big man with a gun is basically holding you hostage in your own home while other people, who undoubtedly know this man, are about to split your door into two. My subconscious voices to me. I shake my head to let go of the snarky comment.

The mystery man takes his stance by the side of the door out of our visitors’ line of sight; I can still see him and the gun pointed at me from our minor distance apart. “If you do anything stupid, I will put a bullet in you.” He mumbles, eyes trained on me and my next movements. My legs wobble and my hands tremble a bit as I unlock the locks and open the door.

 Two men wearing matching suits - white suit shirt with a black tie, jacket, and slacks. Their faces are covered in black aviator glasses and set into grim scowls. If they didn’t have slight smearing of blood on their crisp shirts then I probably would’ve thought that they were secret service, but from the recent change in events, I know better.

“Good evening, gentlemen. How may I help you?” I give them the most casual smile one can muster when they’re being held at gunpoint. The mystery man’s hand twitched slightly as he remains as still as stone.

Both of them share a look. The one to the left speaks up first. “Good evening, ma’am. We’re looking for a fugitive. He escaped from his confinement about a few days ago; we were chasing him and he just happened to scurry up to this floor.”

“That’s terrible. What does he look like?”

“He is quite tall. Looks to be in his thirties, has a beard and grey eyes.”

He’s in here you idiots. Just step inside. He has a freakin’ gun to my head for crying out loud.

“I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description, but if I do I’ll surely let you know.”

“If I may ask, who else lives here with you?” The second man inquires, looking as if he doesn’t believe anything I’ve just told them.

“Just me and my…my husband. He did a quick run to the store to get my digestives. You wanna hear how we met? You know what - I’ll tell you anyway. He and I met at an ice cream parlor, you know one of those small, dainty ones where all the kids hang out. He was just turning to go sit after receiving his ice cream and then bumped right into me while I was munching on a fresh pack of those tasty digestives. It was love at first sight.”

“Would you guys like to meet him? I can brew a pot of coffee so we can enjoy it with the digestives. It tastes better than it sounds.” I sigh and rub my stomach dreamily. Even though the men are wearing glasses, I can see them giving me a strange look as if I told them to come and drink my favorite flavor of frog liver juice.

“That’s alright, miss. Just call us if you see or hear anything about this man.” The first man hands me a business card and then dashes back down the stairs with the other man in tow. They’re gone before I can close the door. Correction: They’re gone before he can slam the door.

 For someone who is not trying to get caught, he’s doing a fantastic job at making his presence known. 

“Turn around and sit on the couch.” I do as I’m told.

Now that I can get a good look at the man, he’s quite handsome, even more so if he didn’t have a gun pointed at me. I guess you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

“Sir, if I may ask.” I hesitate, eyeing the gun warily. He waves it in my direction, eliciting an eye roll with it.

“Why are those men after you and why are you in my apartment? I’m sure there were plenty of others to pass on the way up to this floor. And, another thing. How did you find me? Are you stalking me? Are you some crazy, fugitive ex-CIA agent on the run from the law?” I blabber until the air in my lungs runs out. The thought of him being a fugitive sends an unsettling feeling through me even though the idea is very, very cool in my book. The only thing not cool in my book is the fact that he’s holding me, hostage, in my own apartment.

“Those men,” He begins, “Are very bad and want me dead. I am in your apartment because one, I knew where you lived before you knew yourself and two, yes, I passed plenty on the way here but I had to specifically come to yours.” With each answer to my list of questions, he steps closer to me in my direction.

“I found you because I was following you in another cab a few cars behind.” Step.

“No, I am not stalking you. Stalking consists of me repeatedly watching and or following you to multiple destinations - I have only followed you to one.” Step.

“And no, I am not some ‘crazy, fugitive ex-CIA agent on the run from the law.’” By now, he’s right in front of me. His wide frame-blocks my view from anything on the left and on the right; I can only view him by tipping my head up in a very uncomfortable way.

“Then what are you?” I whisper, my lips barely moving.

He ducks down until his face is a mere few inches away from me and sends me a wicked grin that tells me to run (that’s if I had the chance) but I stay rooted in my spot.

His breath fans over my face like a gentle breeze once he speaks. “Your worst nightmare.”

I snort. That’s probably the most cliche thing I’ve heard in my whole 18 years of living.

“If you say so, sir. Now, another question: Why are you running from those men? They seem to be very eager to have you in their confinement.” 

He eyes me a bit before moving back to stand a few feet away, finally giving me some space. “If I tell you, I may have to kill you when this is all said and done.”

I scotch back in my seat. “If that’s the case, then I don’t want to know - forget I asked.”

His lips curve into a smile, a genuine one with no traces of evilness lingering. “I am still going to tell you.” I shake my head, but he still continues. “I am a made man and the Head of the Russian Bratva. My brother tried to take my place by turning all of my men, including the ones that were just at your door, against me. I have to hide or else if they find me, they will kill me with no hesitation. I am sorry if I came off a bit…” He trails off, trying to find the appropriate word for his previous demeanor.

“Brutal. Aggressive. Callous. Barbaric.” I huff and cross my arms over my chest. He chuckles lightly and places his gun into the back of his pants before taking a seat right next to me.

“Yes, those adjectives. I was too concerned with finding your space to even introduce myself properly. Where are my manners? I am Nikolai Stepanov.” He extends his hand out, supposedly, for me to shake.

Two things: one, he is very right about being too concerned with looking for me, and two, he did forget to mention his name. Probably because he was too busy waving his gun in my frickin’ face.

“Okay,” I drag out the letters “I’m Mindy...now what?” That's what's really on my mind, probably because housing a fugitive Russian Bratva is the last thing on my to-do list.

“Well, I cannot leave. They are still waiting for me to act stupid and walk out like a free man. I have to wait, at least, until morning.” A sharp intake of air ceases within my lungs.

Great, just what I wanted.

I bite my lip. “Are you sure you have to stay here? I mean there are plenty of other places to stay. And besides, you wouldn’t want to stay in my apartment - it’s too small and cramped for a man like you.” For a really big man like you.

My apartment is just the perfect size for me alone -  having the extra person congesting the rest of the place makes it seem too small and claustrophobic to even think about living in. Although, he does make the place look quite nice with his presence.

He eyes me as if I’m a little lamb and he is an evil fox looking for his next meal. 

“Well, it is not like I can just walk out of the building like a man not wanted. They will catch and skin me like a little lamb.” Nikolai walks away into the side of the apartment with my room and just so happens to walk right in as if he knows exactly what each room is for.

Creepy, but, nonetheless, I follow on his tail. When I enter the room, the mammoth man is lying on his back, hands behind his head and his gun gently resting on his chest, rising and falling whenever he breathes. His eyes are shut and his lips are set into a thin line.

If I hadn’t seen the murderous side of him, I would’ve thought he looked beautiful (maybe even pretty) as he let his soul wander into the hidden crevices of his mind.

“Are you gonna watch me sleep or are you gonna ask me what my plans are?”I jump back, hitting my back against the door at the sound of his voice. Nikolai smiles and peaks through one eye to watch me and my shocked face.

“I thought you were sleeping.” My hand comes up to my head and rubs to soothe the dull ache.

“I do not think that is an excuse to watch a man sleep.”

“It does when said man is sleeping in my bed without permission.” I huff and stop to my near-empty drawer for a pair of avocado pjs.

“Still not an excuse, but I will let it go.”

“Do you ever use contractions when you speak?” I slam the drawer closed and twist to glance at his figure which is now sitting up with his back resting against the headboard.

“No, I do not. Now, about the plan. We will leave at 6am on Friday of next week to take a flight back to Russia and take back my throne from the spawn of Satan. I have men who will assist us once we land.”

All the while, I’m staring at him like he has grown another 15 heads and 37 legs. Basically, I’m baffled that this demanding Russian Bratva man is informing me of plans that he and I will partake in for who knows how long. And here I thought I was going to live like an independent college Freshman.

Be careful what you wish for, I think to myself.

My hands raise up in the air in the most dramatic way possible. “Wait, wait, wait! Who in here said I was coming with you to fight some, very deadly might I add, men in another continent?”

He shrugs and dangles his gun in the middle of his thumb and forefinger. “I did. You have no choice, little girl, or I will put a shiny bullet in your pretty head.”

I purse my lips and head into the bathroom to quickly switch my clothes and do my business before stomping back out and standing right in front of the man. His head tilts back to thoroughly look me up and down and grins as he shakes his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m wearing avocados. Get over it.” Forget about intimidating him. I, again, stomp to the opposite side of my bed and hop in, tucking the new sheets right under my chin.

“Good night and I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

I was wrong and boy did I find the hard way.

The next few days leading up to our big battle, sarcasm intended, were filled with Nikolai invading my space and limited movement out of the building, for security purposes. He only let me go out when we were very scarce on food (because he has the appetite of bigfoot) and when I did go out, he made sure I reported any and everything I saw, breathed, smelt, touched, and even tasted to him. Talk about being through. When the days really started to pass, I got anxious because there was no way I was going to Russia when I start college in two weeks. I didn’t know one soul in this part of New York, my parents and siblings would be worried sick (especially if I had to call them from a European number), and well… I don’t want to die on foreign soil. I know that’s very dramatic, and even vain, but it’s true.

You should probably be a bit more concerned with how you’ll die instead of where, but live your life.

“Mindy, get up. Our flight is being called.”
I may have forgotten to mention that today is Friday and I, unfortunately, did get forced to go to Russia with Nikolai only because this man cannot be swayed by my pout or crocodile tears.

Not that I blame him anyway.

With a sigh, we get up and have our tickets and passports checked and scanned before we can go through the jet bridge. We claim our seats next to each other - Nikolai by the window and me in the middle. I stare out of the widow as I process how the hell his crazy Russian plan even worked.

When Nikolai told me that we would have to go through the main entrance of the building to get out, I almost had a stroke. He had us hiding away inside of my apartment like vampires only for us to walk into plain sight a few days later. Well, I can't exactly say plain sight, he did a very good job of looking less of a brute and more of my digestive-fetching husband that those two men know about.

It was actually my idea for him to be my husband and me his perfect little American wife who is very eager to see where he grew up. In my defense, he had the rings already (I asked him how and he just shrugged me off) so it worked out perfectly. We snuck out around 4am unnoticed by anyone, not that they cared but still, and drove off to the airport. Fast forward about 10 hours to right now, we’re grabbing our carry ons and jetting off the plane, no pun intended.

After going through the usual 300 security checkpoints with rough, Russian speaking men who can only do one bodily movement - nod - , me and Nikolai are finally being escorted to the back of the airport.

I didn’t even know that there was a back to the airport. Well, actually, no, I did, but I just didn’t know if we were allowed to go back there. Then, I remembered who I was entangled with and everything finally made sense.

The walk to the back is silent either because of my constant nervous thoughts and jitters or the men in all black who remind me of the Men in Black circling around me and Nik as we head in the opposite direction of the flowing traffic of the arrivals and departures.

A small black door opens to reveal a line of at least 10 escalades lined up, back to back. Nikolai grabs my bag and slings it over his broad shoulder before entertwining our fingers together.

At least he plays the part right.

Nikolai drags me to the door, opens the door and waits for me to slide in before shutting the door behind him. His fingers press against a button, bringing down the partition between us and the still-as-stone driver.

He turns to look at me with a grim smile. 

“Are you ready?” His thumb grazes over my cheek in a gesture that would have been sweet if we were not in such a complicated situation.

I place my hand over his thumb, locking it into place. “Do I have a choice?”

“No, no you don’t but still. Thank you for not running away.” With a single rasp of his knuckles against the tinted glass partition, we head on our way to our fate.

Together.

Me, an 18 year old girl with a small, suburban family.

And Nikolai, my callous fugitive Russian Made-Man.

Forty-five minutes later, we arrive at a small dacha (cottege in Russian thst Nik told me on the drive) made of purely cherry wood. The outside two stories of the house are decorated with wood carvings of various people and their families and trees in every direction that one could possibly turn in.

It’s simply beautiful.

“Mindy, let us go inside.” My dear husband calls from somewhere behind me before his bulging arms wrap around my waist, pulling me into his front and inhaling my scent. 

Strange. He’s been doing that since we landed in Moscow.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right? There’s no one watching us.” I breathe out.

He laughs into my neck. “That is what they want you to think, liybimaya.” (my love)

Another strange thing he’s been doing since he has been sleeping at my place. It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just too romantic for me, especially since we aren’t actually together romantically.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go inside so we can discuss.” With one last glance at the scenery, we pass the guards as we stroll into the house and lock all of the doors before heading to our bedroom.

Our bedroom as in the one we have to share… together.

Nik opens the door and clicks the lock shut after we enter.

“So what now, Nik? We can’t just hide in here, much to my distaste.” I start to pace up and down the room.

“Thst is why I have a plan. Tomorrow we will ambush the house that my brother and his men live in one by one. When they get the memo of our previous attacks, we will charge through the main house as our last battle.” He nods at me firmly.

My face begins to get to heat up and my pts begin to sweat. My pacing grows quicker and quicker. “Are you sure we can pull this off? I mean, this is big - really big. This is life or death. This is-”

“Going to work and play out smoothly, liybimaya.” He interrupts, getting up from his seat on the edge of the bed and stalks towards me with pride and certainty etched in each step. His big, rough hands cup each side of my face.

“Mindy,” he chokes out. “We will win this and you will make it out alive.” Our noses rub against each other.

I frown. “What do you mean I will make it out alive? Nikolai, we’re gonna get through this together. Me as your American wife and you as my bulky Russian Bratva Husband.”

Nikolai may not think we will make it out, but we will. Even if we die, trying.