VOLKOV’S OBSESSION

Jennie's POV

It was raining outside.

As always, Dad's coffee shop was empty—no customers.

I sighed as I sat behind the counter under the dim lights as I gazed at the empty seats. We hardly had any customers, but Father wouldn't close it because of Mom; it was her idea to open it before she died, and it felt that it kept her presence around. 

I missed Mom as well; she had died when I was just five years old. I hated that the only memories of her I had were fading away. 

I wouldn't know what she looked like anymore if it weren't for the photo albums in the house. 

Maybe if cancer hadn't taken her from us, everything would be better. 

Dad worked as a professor at my college; the pay wasn't good, but having a night liquor shop where he'd also have to pay rent was a weight on our finances. 

I came every night to help him sell since we obviously couldn't afford waitresses. I looked out at the empty road through the glass windows; nobody would come out in the rain to get a drink. 

I looked at the clock on the wall; it was 9:30pm. Maybe it was best to lock up, as I had to attend classes in the morning.

I slid down from the chair, tucking my black hair behind my ear, and I grabbed my purse and walked to the door.

I reached for an umbrella beside it, but as I pulled the door open, I stumbled backwards as I saw a towering figure before me.

It was a man dressed in a black suit; a black overcoat hung on his shoulder; his hair was dark and damp; it stuck to his forehead due to the moisture; his green eyes narrowed; I could smell the cigarette oozing from him.

“Are you closed?” he asked. There was something about his accent; it wasn't American.

Could he be new here?

I shook my head. “No,” having at least one customer wasn't bad, right?.

"Good.” His cold hands reached for mine as he placed a bundle of five dollar bills. "Three shots of tequila. I'm assuming you also sell that here since your sign says coffee and liquor."

I looked at his hand; he had a few bruises on his knuckles as if he had punched something hard, and it was bleeding.

I moved out of the way and let him in. 

I quickly placed the umbrella back where I had kept it and moved to get his drink; I couldn't get my eyes off him. Had he gotten into a fight?

He looked to be around thirty-five years old; wasn't he too old to be getting in fights?

I froze. Wait, I had heard about dangerous gang behaviors around New Orleans; I had never seen any around here before. Had he gotten in trouble with gangsters?

I carried the tray in my hand and walked to him; his gaze was fixed on his pocket watch. “I'll refund your change,” I said as I placed the drinks back on the table. He finally looked up to meet my gaze. “A shot of tequila is only eight dollars; you overpaid.”

“Keep it.” He grabbed a glass and chugged it down his throat.

My brows pinched together; didn't it burn his throat? 

My gaze lingered on his injured hand before I turned around and walked off. I watched him silently as he chugged down another glass.

What a mysterious man he was. 

“And what was his obsession with that pocket watch?” I thought as he checked it again. 

My brow rose as I suddenly remembered we have a first aid box around. I quickly stood up and reached underneath the counter; my footsteps made gentle thuds on the ground as I walked to him.

I placed it beside him and opened it, bringing out cotton wool and an antiseptic. As I looked back up, my heart jumped; he was staring at me with those cold green eyes. “I…I wanted to treat your wound,” I stuttered. 

Something flashed in his eyes, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. “Don't need it." He looked away. “Three more glasses of liquor will do." He chugged down the last glass. 

I ignored his words as I poured the liquid on the wool and reached for his hand. “My father always said if you don't treat your wound instantly, it bruises,” I said as I wiped his wound. His gaze was now fixed on me; he tilted his head to the side as he scanned my face. 

A few seconds of silence lingered before I finally spoke. “You shouldn't come out so late; there are so many bad people on the streets. Come in the afternoon next time.”

His hand suddenly gripped mine. I looked up at him as he drew closer. “How do you know I'm not a bad person?”

I grinned. “A bad man wouldn't pay for his drinks.” I pulled my hand away from his and continued to clean off the blood. “How do you like it here in the states? Did you come here to visit?”

"State?” His tone was inquisitive.

"States?” I looked up to look at him, his eyes filled with uncertainty, as if he didn't know what I meant. “The United States? The country you are in?”

“Oh…, Not good, not bad either.”

He didn't seem to be very good with English. 

I closed the bottle of antiseptic and placed it back in the box. “Where are you from?”

I looked at the hand I had just cleaned. “I’m from Russia,” he breathed. 

Oh…it was a Russian accent.

“Are you new here?”

“Only been here for six months." He stood up. 

I quickly stood up as well. “Are you leaving?”

His head flung in frustration. “You ask a lot of questions, little American girl,” he hissed in frustration. 

“I'm twenty-two, not little,” I corrected.

I picked up his watch from the table and began to walk to the door. “Come again!” I shouted.

He halted and turned to face me.

Without a word he turned back around and began to walk to the door.

I wanted to ask what his name was, but he had already gotten mad at me for asking too many questions.

As he walked out, I quickly grabbed my purse and moved to the door to get my umbrella. The rain had stopped by now. 

I stood out and closed the store.

As I walked down the empty street, I felt a wave of discomfort; the streets were out, and only the ray of moonlight that bathed the streets could be used to see. The heavy smell of rain lingered in the air. 

I could see a car speeding off into the distance; it seemed to be in a hurry. 

I quickly took a left turn, but I suddenly halted as I heard a low groan. 

I looked beside me, and I squinted, my hand flying to my mouth as I saw a figure. 

I could hear him gasping for breath. 

My legs trembled; I wasn't sure if I should run off or stay.

“Argh…,” the voice groaned in pain. 

I recognized that voice instantly; it was the man from the liquor shop. 

I quickly rushed to him and knelt beside him. My heart almost jumped out of my chest as I realized that he had been shot in the stomach. 

I stumbled back; I had never seen a man with a gunshot wound before.

I looked around. The people who had done it, were they still here?

Was I in danger as well?

I quickly slid out my phone; with trembling hands, I swiped it open. “I'll call an ambulance,” I said shakingly.