Shadow

by Nadine Nightingale

  Bones found him, Deveraux wrote.

  Bones, the hammer-killer. Bones, the second-best freelance hitman. Could he have done what I couldn’t? Did he find Shadow? Catch the un-catchable? Bring him to the warehouse, which Shadow himself infiltrated so easily?

  Serious doubts form tiny knots in my stomach. Bones is ruthless and violent. He kills with a hammer, need I say more? So, yeah, he’s good and all. Shadow, however, is the best. He wears the crown of the assassin emperor, rules the kingdom of death like no other. Shadow evaded the Russians, the Americans, and God knows how many law-enforcement agencies for a very long time. Now, he’s captured by some wannabe Arnold Schwarzenegger with bad taste in tattoos?

  Odd. Really. Fucking. Odd.

  The front door is locked. I could shoot Deveraux a text, alert him I’m here, but I head to the secret back entrance instead. The one Shadow used to steal the merchandise. God, after everything Karl told me, the “merchandise” lived, breathed, and cried. I wonder what Shadow did to them after he got them out of there. The easy answer is he killed them. Any other option, I refuse to consider.

  Anyway, I proceed down the stairs. Using the flashlight of my phone, I move through the dark hallway, straight toward the security panels. I don’t need Alexei’s thumb. All doors are wide open and unlocked.

  “Hello?” I shout. “Deveraux, you there?”

  Nothing.

  Remember the haunting feeling something is off? It’s back. Scratch that. It’s taking over, flooding my system with adrenalin and a sense of danger.

  “Anybody hear me?” I yell, louder. “It’s me, Boulder.”

  Not a single word.

  Sure this isn’t a trap?

  For all I know, Shadow could have gotten Deveraux’s phone, luring me to this abandoned warehouse to finish me off. Just because he let me live twice, doesn’t mean he won’t kill me now. According to the files Karl gave me, rescuing me ruined his goddamn life. It got his sister killed, for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t even be mad if he wanted my head for this. I would, if she were my sister.

  “Deveraux?” I’m on edge, ready to kick that goddamn door down if I have to. “Are you in there?”

  “Boulder.” Deveraux’s voice streams through the hallway. “Come on in.” So this isn’t a trap after all, huh? I should get my instincts checked; they’re not what they used to be.

  Hand clenched around the metal doorknob, I draw several deep breaths. This is it. This is my chance to confront Luke’s killer. And I got this. I fucking do.

  I push the door open.

  What the—

  “Markus Boulder,” Viktor says in his broken English. “You late.”

  I’d ask him what he’s doing here, but I’m a little preoccupied gazing at the barrels of his guys’ guns. They’re pointed at me. Trust me when I say some of those guys are eager to shoot—amongst them Lev, Pavel, and Boris.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask Deveraux.

  Hands shoved in his pockets, he stands next to Bones. The hitman is armed with a sledge hammer. “Don’t act all innocent, Boulder.” Deveraux’s baby-blues are colder than ice. “We know everything,” he says, straightening his dark-blue Gucci suit.

  Everything? That’s a very broad definition. Could mean all or nothing. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Just because some assholes point guns at me, doesn’t mean I take shit from them.

  Bones approaches me, swinging his hammer like a lasso. “You can drop the act.” He flashes me his teeth. “You ain’t lying your way out of this one.”

  Did I step into the wrong movie? Sure as hell feels like it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” My gaze darts from Viktor, to his men, and back to Deveraux. “So why don’t you tell me why you lured me,” I spot the cages, the iron bars, the fucking prison cells with filthy mattresses, “down here?”

  Deveraux pulls up a chair. “Sit.”

  “No.” I cross my arms.

  Viktor nods at young Dolph Lundgren. He moves into one of the cells, coming back out with—

  “Tiffany?” They cuffed her, gagged her, and beat her up pretty bad. “What the fuck—”

  “Sit,” Viktor orders. “Or she dies.”

  The barrel of young Dolph Lundgren’s gun presses against the back of my assistant’s head. The terror in her eyes stabs right through my heart.

  Bones presses the sledgehammer against my back, forcing my feet into action. I’m unarmed—except for the small Walther hiding around my ankle—and outnumbered. For now, I’ll take the smart route and sit my ass down. “Just don’t hurt her, okay?”

  “We won’t,” Deveraux says. “As long as you tell us the truth.”

  “What fucking truth?” I’m out of patience.

  Bones grins. “He deserves an Oscar,” he says to Deveraux. “Sounds so fucking convincing, even I’d buy his act.”

  Blood rushes in my ears. “What the hell are you talking about?” I feel like a broken record, repeating the same fucked-up question over and over.

  Viktor stands in front of me. “Ten’?”

  Shadow? “What about him?”

  Bones gets in my face. “Did he not save your sorry ass in Damascus?”

  I squint. “What are you getting at?”

  “Are you working with him?” Deveraux asks, no beating around the bush.

  I laugh. So hard, my belly hurts. “You think I—” Sorry, this is just hilarious. “Are you guys high or something?”

  “Answer the question,” Tiffany’s captor barks, trigger finger trembling.

  “No,” I yell. “I’m not working with Shadow.”

  Bones grips the edges of my seat, caging me in. “We know everything, Boulder.”

  I narrow my eyes, not sure what he means. My affiliation with the USSS? The fact I know what they’re selling? What do they know? “You already said that. Care to elaborate?”

  “How long have you and Shadow worked together?” Bones smirks. “Since Damascus?” He shakes his head. “Nah, I bet it happened in Afghanistan, when you saved Shadow’s ass from that child-terrorist.”

  Saved Shadow’s ass from a child-terrorist? Who? Me?

  No fucking way. The only child I ever took out was that ten-year-old boy. His mother wanted to blow herself up in the midst of a bazaar near Kabul. All the while her ten-year-old boy fired his automatic weapon at any and every one in his way. By the time I got there, he’d already killed a dozen people. Some were kids no older than him. The boy was about to shoot a woman in a burka approaching his mother when I took him out.

  I exhale my frustration and look up at Deveraux. “Look, I have no clue what this,” I cast Bones a nasty look, “asshole told you, but I promise you, I am not working with Shadow. Nor did I ever save his ass.”

  Viktor pulls his brows up, not buying what I’m selling. “You say it’s coincidence show up here to fight?” Could he form a coherent sentence for fuck’s sake?

  I keep my eyes on Deveraux. “I already told you why I’m in Miami.”

  Deveraux crosses his arms. “Because you want revenge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like Shadow?”

  “No.” I sigh. “I mean, yes…but I’m not here to kill you.” Okay, maybe I want to kill him now. He’s a pervert who likes little girls, and he beat up my assistant. Can you blame me? But I sure as fuck didn’t start out like this. “I was hired by the Secret Service,” I admit, aware my chances of survival are getting slimmer and slimmer. “She,” I tilt my chin at Tiffany, “is a USSS analyst, you idiot.”

  “The Secret Service?” Bones laughs. “Lame excuse, don’t you think?” His gaze roams Tiffany. “This one doesn’t look like a nerd, either.”

  I ignore him, focusing on Deveraux. “London hired me. She knew you’d never let a Secret Service agent into your life. So she fabricated my fighter story hoping I would earn your trust.”

  Deveraux’s wheels turn. “Why you?”

  “Because I thought Shadow killed my brother. London knew how badly I wa
nted him dead.” No point lying.

  “And now you don’t?”

  “Huh?”

  “Think Shadow killed your brother?” I’m perplexed, and he adds, “You said you ‘thought’ he did it. What changed?”

  Wow, did I use past tense? Shit. “I don’t know.” I draw a deep breath. “And it doesn’t matter because Shadow is still a fucking killer who needs to be stopped.”

  “Is that so?” Deveraux pushes, grinning like the devil.

  I nod.

  He faces Viktor. “Well, what do you say, Viktor? Should Boulder do the honors then?”

  The honors?

  “Oh, did I forget to mention Shadow will be here any minute?” Deveraux says, sounding so fucking cheerful it’s scary.

  “You…you know who he is?”

  Deveraux smiles. “Oh, you do as well. Shadow is coming to save you, after all.” He reaches for a gun and places it on the ground. “And we will gladly watch when you take your revenge.” He sighs. “Until then, you’ll stay right here. Move, and they,” he points to Viktor’s armed guys, “will kill your little friend, understood?”

  “Let’s end this once and for all, shall we?”

  Shadow

  You think you’re so smart, huh?

  Hate to disappoint you, but you’re really not, William.

  That trap you and your friends set? The only reason it’ll work is because I’m voluntarily walking into it.

  It’s exactly how I planned for this to end. How I planned your end.

  Come on, now. Let’s end this once and for all, shall we?

  “If Shadow truly shows, I’ll have to pick up that gun and kill him. Or they will kill Tiffany and me.”

  Markus

  Those motherfuckers truly think I’m friends with the monster, that I helped Shadow kill Gleb, Dimitri, and all the others. Fuck, they assume I was going to assist in the execution of the president’s son next. Commit treason. Me. The guy who would have given his life for his country, who lost his whole family to war and its side-effects. How fucking ironic is that?

  Part of me still waits for a cameraman to jump out and say, “You’ve been Punked.”

  I don’t have to mention it never happens, do I? Neither the Russians, nor Deveraux, nor Bones are joking around. This isn’t a game. It’s a test of loyalty. My loyalty. If Shadow truly shows, I’ll have to pick up that gun and kill him. Or they will kill Tiffany and me.

  I look at my assistant. She’s never been in the field, never faced death. No wonder she shakes like crazy. They also did a real number on her. Her left eye is swollen, her skin cut. Motherfuckers.

  I can’t let them kill her. I will have to pick up the gun and kill Shadow instead. Which means, I will never learn the truth about what really happened in Damascus.

  Shit, man. What if Shadow didn’t kill Luke and the rest of the squad? What if all this time I’ve been chasing the wrong ghost?

  Shadow is still a killer. I recite the words I tossed at Deveraux’s head. He needs to pay for his sins. I’m no longer sure death is the right punishment…

  I scan their faces. They’re so sure I’m a traitor. Why? What do they know that I don’t? Might as well ask them. “You think I work with Shadow, right?”

  It’s Viktor who abandons his conversation with Deveraux to answer me. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  The Russian laughs. “You don’t know?”

  I shake my head.

  He nods at Bones, giving him the green light to enlighten me. The hammer-killer doesn’t lose any time. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been searching for Shadow? How desperately I tried to put a face to the son of a bitch who stole my clients?”

  “Someone’s holding a grudge,” I grumble.

  He disregards the comment and continues his little tale of envy and jealousy. “Ever since that bastard stepped foot on American soil, I tried to find him.” He shrugs. “There can only be one master of the trade, right?”

  He talks about murder as if it were art. “If you say so.”

  “The problem with a hitman as good as Shadow?” Bones caresses his hammer, stroking it absently. “They don’t leave trails. No motive. No killer. But—”

  “You found a motive this time around,” I cut in. The kills are personal. He’s avenging his sister. And the sister is how they must have found him.

  “I did,” Viktor chirps in.

  I cock a brow. “Let me guess, the sister you enslaved?”

  “Took us a while to put together.” Viktor smirks. “Bones added last piece and I made calls.”

  His English messes with my head. So I ask him, “Kak naschet russkogo yazyka?”

  “As you wish,” he replies in Russian, and for the first time I understand what he’s saying without needing a translator. “Sometimes our merchandise is gifted to us. The girl that hung herself? She was a special delivery from an old and dear friend of mine. Ten’ killed him, but his friends were eager to help me out when I contacted them.”

  “So what did you find out?” I inquire, trying to find a way to get Tiffany and me out of this mess. Unfortunately, there’s only one way in and out. We’re stuck.

  Viktor closes the gap between us. He points at Deveraux. “Turns out, the girl he liked to fuck was the sister of an ex-SVR agent who committed treason, by…” He pauses. “Saving you, Mr. Boulder. My friends believe you and Ten’ worked together. That you corrupted Ten’, turned him against our country.”

  “You think I corrupted Shadow?” I shake my head, done with his crazy. “You do realize how completely insane that sounds, right?” Shadow is a monster. I have a hard time believing he could be corrupted by the devil himself.

  Viktor laughs. “You saved his life. The assassin owes you.”

  “I didn’t save Shadow,” I yell.

  “Yes, you did.” He sighs. “Anyway, I explained the current situation to my Russian friends, and they were eager to share Shadow’s real identity.”

  Really? That’s kind of weird, considering his identity wasn’t even in the files Karl gave me this morning. But I indulge him. “So who is he?”

  “He?” Deveraux bursts into laughter. “You mean who is—”

  “Will?” Dasha’s voice floats through the hallway. “Will, are you here?”

  What the fuck is she doing here?

  Deveraux moves to the metal door. “Come on in, my love. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “The final showdown.”

  Shadow

  So this is it, huh?

  The final showdown.

  Ready to die, William?

  I’m sure as fuck ready to kill—you and anyone else standing in my way.

  “Why don’t you ask his daddy?”

  Markus

  “What the fuck is she doing here?” I jump up, ready to aim my fist at Deveraux’s face. How dare he drag Dasha into this? She’s his goddamn girlfriend, and he invited her to the murder of the hitman? There’s something wrong with this dude. “Tell her to go home.”

  Bones pushes me back down. “Sit your ass down. Now.”

  Deveraux lets Dasha in, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

  “Will?” She walks in. “What’s going on? Your text scared me.”

  Deveraux throws his arm around her, leading her to the center of the makeshift dungeon. “It did, huh?”

  “Yes, it did.” She scans the armed dudes, Bones, Viktor, Tiffany, and eventually me. “What’s going on, here? Why are they pointing guns at me?” And they do. Point their guns at her, I mean. All of them.

  What the actual—

  “Don’t you think it’s time to drop the charade?” Deveraux moves a few steps back from Dasha, eyes narrowed and full of…is that fear? Yup. But why would he be scared of Dasha?

  Deveraux holds the goddess’s gaze. “We know who you are.”

  “You do?” she replies, smiling innocently.

  “Yes, Shadow.” He exhales sharply. “We do.”

  Did he just call her Shadow? Okay, s
omeone must have dropped a hammer on his head. Dasha could never be Shadow. She—

  Said her family died. Her sister, like Shadow’s sister, committed suicide. She was the last person to talk to Gleb—I saw her approach him, moments before she bid on me. What was it she said? Something about if it was her sister who had been murdered, she too would seek revenge. Could she—

  Bullshit! Dasha is five foot two. How the fuck would she have gotten Alexei’s body in the trunk of that car?

  She is small and fragile, but so is Shadow, remember?

  I never saw his face, but the guy who refused to fight me when he stole Dimitri’s “merchandise” wasn’t tall. In fact, he was so petite, I doubted it was the notorious assassin at first.

  Could Tiffany have been right? Did I underestimate Dasha because she’s a woman? Did I sleep with my brother’s killer?

  No! Just no!

  I look at Dasha, wait for her to laugh, to question why he just called her Shadow. She does neither. She just stands there with a smug smile.

  If she doesn’t tell Deveraux how mad this sounds, I will. “You’re crazy if you think Dasha is Shadow.” I face Deveraux. “Look at her, she’s petite.” That right there earns me an eye-roll from Dasha. I don’t care. She isn’t the world’s most feared assassin. Period.

  Viktor steps forward, paying no attention to my lame attempt to defend the goddess. “Hello, Natalia.”

  Natalia? Who the fuck is Natalia?

  “Viktor,” Dasha replies. “I hear you’ve been asking around for me?”

  Wait. What?

  “You,” he says in Russian. “Cost us a lot of money and some very good men, myshka.” He puts a lot of emphasize on that last word.

  Dasha’s face is like stone, no emotion whatsoever. “The last person who called me that is rotting with a knife stuck in his brain.”

  “Nikolai,” Viktor says.

  Nikolai? Why does that name ring a bell? Ah, right. Nikolai Alexeev, the agent in command in the files Karl gave me. But that would mean—

  “Nikolai had it coming.” Dasha flashes him a mesmerizing smile. “Just like your little boy Dimitri and all the others.”