by LP Lovell
I take my gun from its spot on the dashboard. “Go in fast and hard. They won’t be expecting us.” He nods, palming his gun as we quietly leave the car. The powdery snow makes our footfalls completely silent. The bitter cold threatens to make my fingers numb. We follow the tree line until we’re right across the road from the truck. Two men have gotten out of it and the group of four are approaching the back of the truck. There’s the loud clatter of the roller door being lifted, and then I hear it, a tiny cry coming from the back of that truck. The cry of a baby. I’m running across that road before the men have even really registered it. I shoot two of them before a rifle is pointed my way. Gio is right behind me though, taking them out. I get to the back of the truck and look inside. It’s dark, but I can make out shelves, stacked with weapons, boxes of ammo and supplies. And in the corner, the source of that tiny cry. I jump inside and get out my phone, turning on the torch. There’s a black duffel bag hidden behind crates of explosives. I can’t think about that now though. I unzip the bag, and there, wrapped in several blankets is a tiny baby. My baby.
I pick up the scrap of paper that’s tucked into the blanket and read over the messy writing.
I cannot help Una, but she will be fine. Look after her son. He is her happiness.
I swallow the lump in my throat and scoop up my baby, my boy, holding him to my chest. I owe Sasha a debt that I can never repay. Jumping down from the back of the truck, I meet Gio’s gaze. A soft smile pulls at his lips as he glances at the bundle of blankets screaming in my arms.
“She did it,” he says.
I nod. She did and now I can only hope that this wasn’t a sacrifice. As I hold him in my arms, I’ve never loved Una more. I need her. He needs her. I will protect our son with my life until she comes home. She promised me.
“Blow up the truck,” I say, stepping over bodies as I head back to the car.
27
Una
My back hits the concrete floor with a thud that resonates through my bones. The guy presses his knee into my chest and lands three blows to my face. I lift my guard, but it’s no use. My muscles are weak from being in an induced coma for so long. My body is soft and still recovering from the baby I had only a week ago. But this is what it is to be Elite, pain and suffering, because weakness is not tolerated. Nicholai is proving a point, even though it was him who put me in a coma.
“I thought she was supposed to be the best,” he says, grunting as he goes for another punch. A few of the other Elite snicker under their breath. The kid’s arrogant and lacking in respect. I allow him to land two more blows on me, leading him into a false sense of security before I break cover and summon all my strength, punching him in the throat. His eyes go wide and he coughs, trying to suck in a breath through his collapsed trachea. I shove him off me and his face starts to turn purple.
I climb to my hands and knees, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. Normally, I would relish in being back on this concrete, fighting with newly trained Elite because no one else can provide me with a good fight. But right now, every single part of my body hurts. My face is swelling and I’m pretty sure my nose and cheekbone are broken. The ribs on my right side throb painfully and my knuckles are split open to the bone. This is what it is to meet Nicholai’s standards.
I see his shiny dress shoes step into my line of vision, and then he crouches down, much the same way I’ve seen Nero do when he wants to drive home the fact that he is the one with all the power. His finger presses under my chin and he lifts my face. I make a conscious effort to wipe all trace of thought or emotions from my expression as I look at him through swelling eyes.
“You were once the best, Una,” he says, disappointment painting his features. I say nothing and he simply shakes his head, walking away. I watch him walk out the door. Sasha is leaning against the wall beside the doorway, his thick arms folded over his chest. His blond eyebrows pull together in a tight frown as he pushes away from the wall, moving past me. As soon as he stands in front of them the Elite all stand to attention.
“Adam, get back in line,” he snaps, and the kid who just beat the shit out of me gets to his feet, clutching at his throat. “Take note. You underestimate her because you see her as weak, and she is right now. But…” He steps back until he’s beside me. “Una Ivanov is the only soldier to ever be awarded the name Ivanov. She is feared by men much more lethal than any of you. By all means, take advantage of her weakness, it is what a good fighter does, but do not disrespect her. Even at her weakest she still bests you, Adam.” I bristle at the fact that he is continuously calling me weak. “Dismissed.” They peel away, heading to the barracks at the back of the training room. He turns and looks at me, his eyes touching on various points of my body. I know he’s assessing injuries. “You’ve gone to shit,” he says.
“I just had a fucking baby,” I growl, even as I know it’s no excuse. Not in this place.
He sighs and tugs at the neck line of my tank top, revealing a deep and ugly bruise that I know is settling into the deep tissue of my shoulder. I’m pretty sure I’ve torn a ligament as well, but honestly, between the broken bones and concussion, I think it’s the least of my worries. “Come on.” He turns and goes to the door, entering a code on the pad before stepping into the corridor. I follow him to a door down the hall. When he opens it, I want to turn around and walk back out. “Sasha,” I groan.
He whips around, a stern expression on his face. “This is day one. If you don’t shape up fast, he’s going to let them kill you, Una. You will only get back into his good graces if you become what you were.” He cocks a brow. “You must be the best.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. He goes to the enormous metal tub and turns the water on before going to the massive steel chest freezer in the corner and opening it. He scoops several buckets of ice into the water and holds his hand out to me. Stripping out of my clothes, I step up to the tub and take a deep breath before I grasp his hand, throwing my leg over the side. The easiest way to do ice baths is to do it fast, so I quickly step in with both feet, sucking in a sharp breath before I drop below the water.
“I think I’d rather have the electrocutions,” I say through tightly clenched teeth. The freezing cold only adds to the throbbing pain rippling over every inch of skin.
He smirks, sitting on the edge of the metal tub. “You’ll go numb in a minute.” I nod. “Has Nicholai mentioned anything about your child?” he asks, causing an entirely different kind of pain to settle deep in my chest.
“No,” I say and he nods slowly. “Why?” His bright green eyes meet mine and he hesitates for a second. “Why? What’s happened to him, Sasha?”
“He has been taken. Nicholai can only surmise that it must be a mole, someone Nero Verdi has paid off.”
I think about that for a second. What if it isn’t Nero? “Why does he think it’s Nero?” His eyes dart around the room and I know what he’s thinking, nowhere is safe in this place. Everything can be heard.
“Your Italian has been making quite the nice little bloodbath. He declared to Dimitri that for every day he did not have you and his child, he would kill a Russian woman and child. Though he stopped after I tried to kill him. We can only surmise that he fears the repercussions of his rash actions.” I fight a smile. Nero fears nothing and would welcome repercussions. Sasha made a deal with him. It’s the only plausible explanation. Which means Sasha helped get my baby out of here. He lied when he said he wouldn’t help me.
I sit up in the ice bath and pull him into a loose hug. “Thank you,” I whisper against his ear.
When I pull back he nods. The idea that Nero has our baby, that he is safe, has that ache in my chest diminishing. And without it, the physical pain feels like an easy burden to bear. Now I must focus on my mission here. I must immerse myself in the Elite again, become the best, earn their respect, and then, with Sasha’s help, I am going to bring Nicholai down, surrounded by the very soldiers he trained.
“Okay, get out. We’re go
ing to train,” Sasha says.
No pain, no gain, right? This is going to be plenty painful.
28
Una
I close my eyes and grit my teeth, waiting for the touch to come. My entire body is trembling, demanding I react. I’ve been here before, back when I was trained, but that was to purpose, for a reason. This…this just feels like punishment and slowly, piece by piece, it is shredding my humanity.
I hear the shifting of feet. A palm slams around my arm, the cool metal of the glove touching my skin before unloading a massive electric shock. Kill, kill, kill. It’s my only thought, over and over until I can comprehend nothing else. My mind shuts down, completely blank. I react, instinct overriding everything. It’s as though I’m watching a TV, watching someone else break the man’s arm and snap his neck with such force that his lower jaw comes almost completely loose. Another Elite moves towards me and I watch as I go hand to hand with him. He raises a gun and I shove his wrist to the side, snapping his arm until the gun is pointed at his own chest, then I squeeze the trigger twice, ending him. Another starts to approach…
“Enough!” Sasha’s voice booms through the room and I swing my gun in his direction, then at Nicholai standing against the far wall. “Una, drop the gun.” It’s Sasha. I try and force my body to obey, my fingers to release the gun. My hand shakes. He moves closer until the barrel of the gun is against his chest. “Una, look at me.” I look at him and he wraps his fingers around the gun, careful not to touch me. I slowly release the gun and stagger back a step. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to force the red mist from my mind. I drop to a crouch and press the heels of my hands against my eyelids. “You push her too far,” Sasha says.
“I give her what she needs,” is Nicholai’s cool response.
“She will break. Her skills are unparalleled, but if you break her mind, she will be of no use to us. If you wish to punish her so, just shoot her already.”
“You forget your place,” Nicholai growls.
“I train the soldiers. And she is my best.” I hear the heavy steel door open and then close again. “Una.” I open my eyes and glance up at Sasha who is towering over me. The floor around him is covered in blood. And two mangled bodies lay at the center of the mess. “Go and get cleaned up.” He jerks his head towards the door and I stand, walking numbly down the hallway.
I can’t take much more of this. He’s been doing this for a month straight, forcing me to endure and kill. It’s simple, instinct and lack of conscience are what make the perfect killer. Touch conditioning hones in on the most primal of instincts, forcing the things that make us fundamentally human from our mind, and without that, emotions—affection, love—they are all inconsequential. He’s turning me into an animal and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
29
Una
One month later
I grip the smooth length of wood, wrapping my fingers around it. Vadim stands across from me, his arms braced wide as he grips his own bo staff. A small smile touches his lips as he watches me through the dark hair which has fallen over his face. He’s a few years younger than me, but he’s good.
I shift to the left and he does the same, mimicking my movements. I study the way he glides over the ground, and he does the same to me. Suddenly, he breaks away, coming at me. The two sticks crack against each other, moving so fast that it’s nothing more than a series of clicks. He strikes forward, but reaches too far. I manage to maneuver to the side, slam my stick across his shoulder blades, and step on his foot, sending him crashing to the ground. I walk off to the side of the improvised ring, cracking my neck to the side. Sasha is standing close, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he watches me. He has grilled me constantly for weeks, and finally, my body is what it once was. To attack and kill is again as instinctual to my muscles as breathing. I hear Vadim get to his feet, and then he’s rushing me. I smile. Stupid boy. Sasha’s eyebrows raise a fraction and I bring my knee up, cracking the wood over it. In a split second I whirl and launch the splintered piece of wood like a spear. It hits Vadim in the shoulder so hard that he ends up on his back on concrete. I walk over and stare down at him, clutching at the piece of wood protruding from his mangled shoulder. That familiar sense of satisfaction washes over me, power and the sheer thrill of violence are like a drug.
“That wasn’t a fair fight,” he says, panting.
I offer him nothing as I place my boot on his chest. “There is no such thing as a fair fight. Use the weapons you have. Be smarter than your opponent.” I lift one eyebrow and grab the wood, yanking it out of him. He grunts in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. “And be grateful I aimed for your shoulder and not your throat.”
Sasha comes to stand beside me, waving over someone to help Vadim. “Take him to medical.”
The room fills with the sound of a slow clapping and both Sasha and I turn to see Nicholai walking across the training area, a wide smile on his face. “Ah, little dove, you have become yourself again. So merciless.” He smiles. “I have a job for you both. It seems Rafael D’Cruze would like your sister, little dove.” I give him no reaction. He hasn’t mentioned Anna since I’ve been here, and he hasn’t mentioned the fact that he is no longer in possession of my son. Perhaps he wants me to think that he is. After all, the easiest way to keep the mother’s loyalty is if you hold the child. Or perhaps he thinks he’s rid me of such loyalties. Maybe he has. Truthfully, Nero, the baby…it all seems like some distant lost dream that I can’t quite fully remember, but that feeling of having him for only a brief second is branded on my heart, in my soul, even if my mind forgets. “He offers some much needed trade, now that the Italian has made it very difficult to move anything in and out of America.” His jaw clenches and his eyes flash angrily.
“You are meeting with him?” Sasha asks.
“Yes, and you will both come with me, but first.” A twisted grin pulls at his lips. “He does not believe that Anna is still alive. He wants proof of life. You will go to her, little dove, and you will cut off her little finger.” She has a tattoo on it does she not? She has a slave number tattooed down the outside of her little finger.
“Okay.”
He tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at me. I know he’s looking for any sign of weakness, but he won’t find it. I have steeled myself and prepared a long time ago for the fact that both Anna and I will probably die in here. Is it a fair sacrifice? No. But I can’t save everyone, and I’m tired of trying to. If taking her finger buys her freedom, then it is a small price to pay.
“Go with her, Sasha,” Nicholai says, handing me the key to her cell. “I want to trust you, little dove, but I will be watching. Always.” He strokes my chin and my body locks up, the urge to kill him roaring through my head like a drum beat. It’s worse than ever before. The thought of human touch makes me feel sick now. Bloodlust pumps through my veins like pure adrenaline. I have to fight with every last shred of my restraint not to lash out.
He smiles and drops his hand, signalling us to go. Sasha walks beside me and we wind down corridors until we come to the elevator, getting in. I can feel Sasha’s eyes on my face but I refuse to acknowledge him. I remain cool and calm, distanced. It’s just a finger.
When we’re outside her cell, I expect to feel something, a hint of anticipation or fear, but I don’t. I feel nothing. The door opens and I see her huddled in the corner of her bed. Dirty blonde hair hangs in her face. Her plain grey hoody and tracksuit bottoms seem to make her look paler, more sickly. Of course, this is the first time I’ve actually met Anna face to face since we were children. Those deep blue eyes slowly meet mine, and I see the slightest spark of hope in them. For a second, I am that thirteen-year old girl, clinging desperately to my eight-year old sister as they try and drag me away from her. I see the tears tracking down her little pink cheeks and it jolts me for a moment. But I force all those thoughts and feelings back. Right here, right now, she is nothing to me.
“Hold her down,” I say.
“Lie still. This will be over soon,” Sasha tells her.
I steel myself and bring the razor-sharp blade down on her finger quickly. The blade bites through bone and she screams. Blood soaks into the mattress beneath her, and I grab the blanket, wadding it up and pressing it against the wound.
“Hold this,” I instruct her. She clutches it with a shaking hand as hysterical tears pour down her cheeks. I pick up the finger and walk out of the room, unable to look at her. “Get someone to stitch that,” I say to Sasha.
I stand to one side of Nicholai and Sasha stands on the other. Across from us, Rafael is flanked by two of his own men. The snow is melting now and a layer of slush covers everything. We’re on the roof of an abandoned parking deck, and everything around us is bleak and gray, reminiscent of the Russian winter.
Rafael’s eyes meet mine and I stare back at him. His expression becomes pinched. His shoulders hunch with tension before he glances back at Nicholai. “I offer you reasonable terms, but I want proof of life.”
Nicholai throws his head back on a laugh. “You are demanding for a nobody,” he says arrogantly. Rafael is a powerful cartel boss, but Nicholai thinks himself a god surrounded by his Elite. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and throws something to Rafael. A plastic Ziploc bag, and in it, is Anna’s finger.
His thick black eyebrows pull into a frown as he stares at the plastic bag in his hand. “Is this a joke?”