Hurt

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I accelerated, allowing my engine to roar, making sure my presence was known. If I didn’t have the element of surprise in my favor, the second best was to act as if I was bulletproof.

  Which I wasn’t — the dull ache in my leg attested to that fact.

  The building grew larger as I approached, and I parked the bike then paused to take off my helmet. After setting it on the seat, I strode toward the corrugated metal building. A smoky street light illuminated the front entrance. It appeared abandoned and locked up tight — but that was the intention. Security was always tight in places like this with cameras everywhere.

  Sure enough, as I approached the door, it opened. Without hesitation I entered, hands up to show I held no weapon.

  Which was a total lie… but they didn’t need to know that.

  “Ah… Konstantin.” Some guy spoke my name with a mocking tone. In the darkness, I felt him shove me toward a dimly lit hall with an elevator at the end. They spoke in Russian, talking about some cocaine they had found and who had lost last night’s poker game. Apparently, they didn’t think I spoke the language.

  Interesting.

  One of the guards pushed the down button while the other pressed a gun to my back. Apparently they thought the gun at my back was enough security to not give a pat down.

  The elevator dinged, and they pushed me on with a shove of the gun’s end. After pressing the B-level, one guard lit a cigarette and offered it to the other. Smoke swirled around the small room, and I took the opportunity to study my apathetic guards. They were cocky, obviously sure that I was as good as caught — or dead. As one lit another cigarette, I noticed a sickle tattoo at the wrist. The guard noticed the direction of my gaze and swore in Russian, shoving me, and then covering up the inked design.

  The same one I had on mine.

  The same one that had cost my father his life.

  These were Petrov’s men. It was his calling card — his stamp.

  If someone wore that tattoo — he was owned… by him.

  No exceptions.

  It wasn’t blood in… no out.

  It was death the moment the tattoo was finished and a living hell waiting for it from that moment on.

  The tattoo that would be re-carved in blood on my dead body if I didn’t get this right.

  No pressure.

  The elevator doors opened onto a marble tiled hallway with white pillars and soft Russian music playing. The lights were brighter but still dim by most standards. The guards led me from the elevator to the hall and escorted me past several business desks, all vacant. We moved through a large wooden door carved with a Dragon looking to swallow a depiction of the Kremlin. The floor changed to plush carpet, and that led to another large wooden door. One guard knocked, and I turned slightly to see his sidekick. The guy’s face had gone pale, and he straightened himself, as if trying to appear bigger.

  The door opened silently and exposed a large mahogany conference table. I counted eight men, all watching my approach with several degrees of arrogant derision.

  “Khan… how nice of you to join us… electively at that.” Petrov stood at the far end of the table — the head. The expensive suit sported a red tie that was the color of blood. He was a formidable man, just by his sheer size — not the good kind either. While he was tall, he was also very wide.

  Not responding verbally, I nodded my chin at the guards then back to Petrov.

  “A formality.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  “Lose them,” I growled, glancing with disdain at the guards.

  Petrov tilted his head as if evaluating my tone. “Идти.” He commanded them to leave, and, like sheep, they scattered, closing the heavy door behind them.

  “I was quite surprised by your proposal.” Petrov walked around the table.

  Watching, I studied to figure out how he was reacting to each breath, each shift of the men in the room. He was aware, far too aware, and I knew I had to be on my game.

  You didn’t cross the Pakhan and still breathe.

  “If you want to survive to see daylight again, I suggest you speak, Kassir.” He raised a brow as he spoke the title that had once belonged to my father.

  Shit, I hated that name.

  But I couldn’t let him bait me.

  “You failed, Petrov.” I waited as he paused mid-step, and fury ignited in his gaze before he pulled a mask over his expression.

  “Oh?” He shrugged. “How so?”

  “You accuse me… my family… of working for the feds when you can’t even get the smallest drop correct. Is that why you have so many others do your work for you? Incompetent in your old age?” I walked around the table till he was directly across from me. The men in the room shifted in their leather seats.

  “One word, and you’re dead, Konstantin. You had better bite your tongue before I cut it out for you,” Petrov replied with deadly calm.

  “One word is what you want… the list.”

  “It earned you a bullet… sadly not one that was lethal. I tire of this conversation. Your father, he was a good man.” Petrov nodded sagely. “In honor of his memory, I offer you one final chance. I need it.”

  The tension in the room was thick.

  “I have it.”

  “Good.” Petrov nodded, cocky as hell. The bastard made me so angry I could hardly keep it together. “Is this one as… friendly… as the last?” He held his hands behind his back as he took a few lazy steps.

  “No… this one’s a bitch, but I don’t think you’ll mind,” I replied, hating every passing moment.

  Petrov laughed. “So much like your father.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Actually… not so lucky.” Petrov pulled out a gun and set it on the table, spinning it on the glasslike finish of the wood. I watched as the metal blurred. He slapped the table, and the men in the room all jumped. I glanced up to meet his sharp gaze. Still watching me, he lazily fingered the length of the gun as if teasing me on whether or not he planned to shoot me.

  Cocky bastard.

  “Your father made a fatal error… one I think you can stand to learn from.” He stepped away from the gun. “The list… now.” He snapped his thick fingers, and one of the men at the table jumped up and approached me while buttoning the bottom two buttons of his black suit. “If you please?” the man asked, holding out his hand.

  “What makes you think I have it with me?” I asked, crossing my arms.

  Petrov’s face began to turn the color of his tie, till a vein in his neck pulsed through the fat collected there.

  “After all, what… assurance do I have that you won’t shoot me once I’ve delivered what you need? None. I take it you didn’t think I was that intelligent.” I shrugged. “Your mistake.”

  “You are wasting my time!” Petrov withdrew another handgun from his considerable suit coat, aimed it at me, and fired. Searing pain slicked through my shoulder, knocking me back a few steps, but I held my ground, gritting my teeth so tight I thought they’d shatter. But I couldn’t—I wouldn’t show him the fear, the pain.

  He’d feed off it.

  “You kill me, the list is delivered to the feds with your name all over it.” I swallowed my agony as I watched Petrov’s body shake with rage. “So let’s try this my way. If you’d be so kind?” I gestured to the door.

  “You’re insane,” Petrov spat.

  “No… just distrusting.”

  His cold eyes regarded me for a moment as he worked his jaw, causing his jowls to jiggle like a Saint Bernard.

  I held back a shudder of disgust.

  “What do you propose?” He took a few steps toward me.

  “You send two men with me. I’ll deliver the whereabouts of the list once I’m clear of your territory, but…” I waited, pausing for him to give me his full attention. “… I’m out. I’m done. This concludes all our business.”

  Petrov chuckled then turned to the men in the room. “He wants out.” His chuckle turned into a belly laugh as the m
en nervously joined in the amusement.

  “Happy to entertain you.”

  Petrov approached me, still chuckling with a smart-ass grin on his face, till he was close enough to need to sidestep the blood I was leaking on the carpet. “You can swagger in here, make demands like a little bitch, but don’t misunderstand this one thing. I own you. I own your family, your sister, your mother — they are mine. My blood to keep alive or to kill at my leisure. You cross me, I cross them off. Get it? Oh… and that sweet little piece of ass you finally have the balls to chase after? I’ll get her too.” The putrid stink of his rotten cigar breath assaulted me even as the blood roared in my ears, and I tried to keep from losing control.

  “Resorting to threats?” I tsked my tongue. “Fine. Have it your way. I’ll stay.” I shrugged.

  His gaze narrowed as if trying to figure out my angle.

  “I’ll stay and be a thorn in your side every moment of the day, because I’ll always have the one thing you need… the list. And on that very precious document is the very evidence you need to keep out of jail… isn’t that right?” I took a step closer to him, not blinking as I was practically nose to nose.

  “Ivan,” Petrov growled, his breath assaulting me once more.

  “Yes sir.” A huge man stood from the table, his sheer size dwarfing Petrov, which was impressive since the man had to be well over three-hundred pounds.

  “Follow this man.” With that, he turned and gave me his back.

  “Then we have an agreement?” I asked, trying not to hold my breath.

  “Yes.” Petrov turned and nodded once.

  Exhaling silently, I turned and walked from the room with Ivan at my back. In my pocket, I felt the slight vibration of the countdown finally ending. Immediately, the lights went out.

  I ducked and rolled out of the way, wanting to keep out of the way of whoever was heading in my direction.

  Semi-automatic gunfire reverberated throughout building, and I could hear marble crunching as bullets hit the pillars and crumbled pieces away. Petrov yelled for his men to take up arms, but that was the last I heard of his voice.

  It was probably less than thirty seconds, but it felt like forever till the lights flickered back on, and I saw the room littered with Russian blood and bodies as three men dressed in black kicked the corpses over to ID them.

  “Shit… it’s not him either.” One kicked the body and turned to the other guy in the room.

  “What about him, Ax?”

  “No.”

  “Petrov?” I asked, searching the floor as well, not seeing the mammoth man among the assassinated.

  “Yeah… you’re Khan?” the one asked.

  “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “Good, nice to know we didn’t get ya.” Ax jerked his chin at me, joking, but yet… not.

  “He must have—“ His words were cut off by a gunshot.

  Turning, I only caught a glimpse of Petrov’s smoking gun as the elevator doors started to shut, deflecting the shots from Ax and the other guy. Searing pain stole my breath as I slid to the floor, hating the triumphant grin on Petrov’s lips as the last few inches of elevator door closed.

  Then the world went black.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Daphne

  IT WAS THREE DAYS. THREE DAYS of complete torture because we hadn’t heard from Khan. And I knew that if he could have… he would have already contacted us.

  Which meant one of two things.

  Either he couldn’t, because he’d been captured…

  Or he couldn’t because he was dead.

  The house seemed suffocating as the walls closed in. Jude and I had already called our parents and told them that Sophia’s family had some sort of emergency, and we needed to be there for them.

  They were understanding, but the truth of it was enough to cripple me.

  It wasn’t just their family…

  It was our family.

  A week ago? I’d been just a normal nursing student, keeping my nose in a book and trying to keep my clinicals straight.

  Now?

  Now I was waiting at my boyfriend’s house, wondering if he was ever coming back.

  Because he was a frickin’ mob boss and in deep with the feds.

  Yet, even as my heart fractured further with every second, I wouldn’t chance it.

  It was true what they said. It was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

  And I wasn’t sure I had lost that love… maybe it had just been detained.

  Hope sprang eternal.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Khan

  BRIGHT LIGHTS BLINDED ME AS THE world came into focus then began to fade again.

  “Nope, not an option.”

  I felt a sharp pain in my arm, and my eyes flew open as I growled in pain.

  “Much better. Nice to see you awake, Mr. Agron.” A smooth voice spoke my name with a barely discernable Russian accent. Narrowing my eyes, I brought the man’s face into focus. His gaze was sharp and focused, almost mechanical as he studied me. Cold fingers tested my pulse, and his white coat gave him away as a doctor.

  “Who are you?” I croaked, not my finest moment.

  “Nikolai… but it’s not important. What is important is the fact that you’re still among the living. Especially since it looks like you’ve suffered multiple bullet wounds recently.” His voice was almost detached, bored as he raked my body with his intelligent gaze.

  “Yeah…” I sighed. “Not exactly my idea of a good time.”

  He chuckled, but it was forced, as if he was laughing because he knew he was supposed to, not because he found any amusement in anything.

  “The good news is that the bullet missed your heart. You did nick an artery, but not enough to cause a quick bleed-out. Your… companions… were quick to get you assistance.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank them,” I replied, my tone weak to my own ears.

  “That would be kind.” He held up a syringe and tapped it before squeezing out a small fountain. “This will help you sleep. When you wake up, you’ll be in the care of someone else. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Agron.” He injected the medication into my IV, and as the cold fluid traveled through my veins, I almost felt paralyzed as the world faded again.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Daphne

  Two weeks later

  THE WARM SENSATION OF KHAN’S ARM around me pulled me from a sweet sleep. Still relaxed from a night spent in his arms, I nestled in deeper and smiled as I felt him kiss the top of my head.

  “Morning, beautiful.” His graveled voice melted my insides, and I snuggled tightly against him, thankful.

  Because he was alive.

  A week after he left, we’d woken up to find him in his room, sleeping.

  Seriously. You can’t make shit like that up. It was as if he had been there all along.

  But he hadn’t.

  He’d been gone… then he was back, waking up in his own bed.

  Sofia and I had both just stared at his sleeping form when we found him on our way to the kitchen for breakfast that morning. As the shock wore off, I ran into the room and gently ran my fingers over his sleeping body, just to make sure he was real.

  Which he proved when his eyes shot open, and he jumped a mile, as if severely startled.

  “Khan?” I whispered, still not believing my eyes, my hands. In the background, I heard Sofia’s soft crying.

  “Daph?” he asked, his expression confused, even as his hands reached up and traced my face.

  “When — when did you get here?” I asked, running my hands over his chest and pausing as I noticed a bandage. “What’s this?” I pulled down the covers, and, beneath the healing knife wound from earlier, was a new bandage that had been neatly dressed and had been cut with surgical precision.

  “I… I’m not sure.” Khan lay back, closing his eyes as he placed a hand to his head.

  “You… don’t know?” How did someone not remember being shot… again… or
the surgery to correct the injury?

  “Where am I?” Khan asked next, his eyes opening slightly to scan the room.

  “Home,” I answered, lacing my fingers through his.

  “How… how did I get here?” he asked, gripping my hand tightly.

  “I’m… not sure. I just found you here and— How do you not remember this stuff?” I placed a hand at his forehead. Maybe his injury had caused temporary memory loss.

  “Home?” he asked, his tone hopeful and peaceful all at once.

  “Yeah.”

  “Khan?” Margo’s voice broke through the moment, and she rushed in, sitting carefully on his bed then laying her head on his chest and hugging him gently as she cried.

  “Mom… it’s okay.” He placed a hand on her head, reassuring her.

  “How? Why did you not wake us up? Are you okay? Did it go well?”

  Khan sighed heavily as his face scrunched up slightly as if trying to remember everything… and coming up empty.

  “I don’t think he knows, Margo.” I placed a hand at her shoulder.

  “What does it matter anyway? You’re home… and you will not do this to us again! I don’t care what Petrov—“

  “Mom,” Khan interrupted, his voice stronger as he struggled to sit up then failed. “I need my phone.”

  “Huh? Why do you need your phone? You’re finally here. You do not need to be texting or posting or anything of the sort. I mean, who could you possibly need to call—“

  “Mom, now.”

  “Fine.” She stood and searched his room, finding his phone on the dresser, just where he usually put it.

  Odd.

  Khan took it from his mother and unlocked the passcode. I gave him privacy as I watched his expression go from strained to relieved.

  Taking a deep breath, he showed me the message.

  Contractor: We have the contract. Petrov thinks you’re dead. See that you don’t rise from that grave. Enjoy the afterlife. You’re welcome.

  “We’re free. Mom. Petrov thinks I’m gone. We’re free.” He practically melted into the pillow with relief.