“American!” the man leading me shouts into a wireless microphone, tugging me around in a circle. “Thirty-three!” he shouts then switches off the microphone and tosses it to the floor. I know exactly what he is doing.
This is the auction ring. Just like cattle at a livestock sale, I’m being lead around and studied by the potential buyers.
My eyes are finally conditioned to the light to fully see where I am. At first glance, it’s horrifying.
The space is octagon-shaped with eight windows all around. Behind the glass are the sectioned off spaces with partitions separating the buyers from each other, but they are easy to access if needed with the backs missing from each section. Two or three men are in each section, and they are in deep discussions. They are bidding.
My gut stirs with a sickening feeling. I want to throw up, and when I look in the corner, I see a small pile of vomit.
Then I begin to speak under my breath. It’s quiet enough for only me to hear, giving me the strength to stay alive. I recite, “Get it together. Look. Look at the men and find one you can sell yourself to. Find the weak ones. You have experience reading people; now read them and get yourself out of this hell hole.”
I finally muster up the courage to look at the buyers in the windows. They all have the same look: evil and cold. Their eyes are just like all of those killers I pursued: crazed and malicious. Most of them appear Middle Eastern and Asian. There are a couple of white men, as well. I can’t hear voices; I can only see them, and they all look exactly the same.
However, when we circle the final window, there is only one man sitting in the last section. He is wearing a fine suit, threads similar to what Nikolai would wear. His grayish-blond hair is combed nicely to the side, and of all the men, he doesn’t have coldness in his eyes. He looks scary as hell, but not crazy. Then I look at his hands.
Tattoos.
What did Nikolai say about the tattoos on his fingers? He had one in particular that was a symbol of the Vory V Zakone, but which one was it?
I hold my breath and start looking to the past. We were riding to San Francisco. He had just told me about Vlad and his involvement the night my family was killed. I remember the invasion of sorrow. It burned every inch of me from the inside out. Soon after, I fell asleep from my emotional overload and awoke several hours later. That was when I asked him about the tattoos and if he is religious.
I can picture it in my head, the cross … his middle finger. It doesn’t signify religion at all, but his loyalty to the Vory V Zakone.
The man sitting across from me has the same markings on his middle finger. The aura surrounding him screams Vory V Zakone, and if he’s here, then maybe he works for Stravinsky. I don’t know if Stravinsky is the only leader of the thieves, but that is the impression I got from Nikolai.
I don’t know if Nikolai is alive or dead, but if there is a slim chance he is alive, then getting sold to a member of Vory V Zakone is the best way he can find me. He’s reminded me on many occasions that I need to trust him, and before I split from him in Russia. He said, no matter what, he will always find me.
As his name passes through my thoughts, the wolfish, icy blue orbs shine through the blackness behind the buyer. Nikolai.
It’s him. I knew he would come. He wasn’t lying when he told me he would always find me, and this proves how much I need to trust him. Days later, in this hell hole, Nikolai found me and is here to rescue me. I have to get to him. I have to fight myself free and go to him.
Making a bold move, I jerk back on my leash. The man tugging me along stumbles back, getting rocked off his axis. I fall to the floor, crawling over to the window. The buyer’s eyes widen with happy surprise, but it’s not his eyes I want to see.
The man on the other end of the leash is livid. His eyes transform, becoming hooded in darkness while I keep scooting backward on my butt and hands, trying to get my way over to the Russian.
The leash is jerked, causing my neck to surge forward and for me to land on my hands and knees. The man comes over to me and then raises a bullwhip in the air. Before my mind can register what is happening, the whip comes down on my naked back. My flesh ignites with a burning pain I have never felt before. I yelp out in pain, but something else lights within me—my sheer and utter will to survive.
I swing around, spinning in a one-hundred-eighty-degree half-circle and sweep the legs out from under the crazed man. He falls with a booming thud, and I scramble over to his stunned body and slam my fist in his groin. He cries out in agony, rolling to his side, exposing his pistol. Then I punch him again for good measure before jerking the gun from his waistband.
I unclick the safety and squeeze the trigger. Blood stains the floor, draining from the back of his skull.
I pull the chain from his grasp and feel around the collar. I won’t be able to escape this place if I have this damn thing around my neck. I see the keys dangling from his belt loop and quickly locate the lock on my collar, unhooking myself. I know the buyers are seeing me. However, all I can think about is getting to Nikolai.
Desperation is fueling me now. It has taken over every action and emotion as I attempt to break free.
I back up toward the window where the man with the Vory V Zakone sits; only, he’s not sitting now. He’s standing, watching me intently as I fight for every breath in my body. And peering over his shoulder is the man who is here for me and me alone.
Nikolai stands his ground, watching me fight for my life.
I run to the glass and slam my palms against it. Then I scream, “Nikolai!” My throat protests from the bloodcurdling sound. “Help me!”
Can he even hear me? The glass is so thick, soundproof maybe.
The door unclicks behind me, and I turn on my heels. My eyes snap to the frame as five men flood in, their guns are drawn while mine points back at their heads. I will shoot every fucking one of them if they come any closer to me. I’m sure they are thinking the same thing.
If I take another shot, they won’t hesitate to kill me. The odds are against me, but the will to fight for my life still surges through my veins. He won’t let them kill me. He can’t. He needs me.
As they slowly stalk their way inside the ring, two flank me. Their circle tightens as one man shouts, “Down!”
I back up until my spine is flush with the window behind me. I glance down, hopelessness flooding in. The buyer on the other side is no longer there, and neither is Nikolai. He left.
I lower my hand just as the shock of electricity jolts me. The pain overtakes every feeling in my body as the prick of a needle pushes through my skin. Then it all goes black again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nikolai
August 22, 2015 9:41 p.m.
Cubby and I finally make the decision to crawl out of hiding in the cargo hold of the plane. The trip was excruciating, lasting more than a day. We are tired, cramped, and hungry. What fuels me now is getting to Josslyn. I need to see if she’s alive.
Josslyn is Josslyn, and when she’s face-to-face with danger, she doesn’t back down. She fights back, and she will do it at the cost of her own life. This is the exact opposite of what I want her to do. I want her to fight, but not at the expense of herself. No one deserves to live or die in the conditions she is surely experiencing now.
At this point, however, once we see Stravinsky’s buyer, Josslyn will have fulfilled her purpose.
Cubby unfastens the door hidden in the belly of the plane and pulls it back. The fresh air floods in, awakening my tired eyes and stirring the adrenaline inside my blood. I’m ready to get this over with.
Cubby leans down head first, checking to see if the coast is clear, and then he jumps from the plane, his gun drawn. He turns, looking at all points around him, and when it’s clear, he motions for me to get out.
I stand as much as I can in this damn cargo hold and jump through the opening. It feels good to be fully upright. I twist at the waist, cracking my spine, and roll my neck. Cubby does the same, and then we
take in our surroundings. His contact gave him the location of the auction tonight, so now we just need to figure out exactly where we are so we can get there before it’s over.
Due to the heat surrounding the underground, auctions never last long. An hour at most before it’s dismantled and any merchandise left will be shot or transported to another auction. The life of a slave is not a glamorous one, and many of the girls die within a year of being captured if they are not sold. Tragedy at its finest.
“We need a car,” Cubby whispers, yanking me back to the present. “Let’s look over there.” He points to a steel building across from where we are.
“Come on,” I reply, moving toward the structure. I crouch down slightly as I run toward the structure. The night has almost overtaken the sky, but there is still a little sun left. We won’t be fully guarded by the night and will need to watch our backs.
It only takes a few seconds to make it to the building. I press my back to the unforgiving steel and wait as Cubby follows suit. I look left then back to the right, checking again if the coast is clear. Then I motion with the end of my pistol, and we begin to step alongside the building.
Adrenaline goes from a slow boil to a surging ocean in a mere second. My body is tight, ready for anything as we make it to the edge of the building. I take a deep breath and extend my arm, my pistol in front of me, ready to fire. The door is wide open, and the dirty air is motionless.
My gut starts to stir, knowing someone is in here and will be popping out very soon.
I take another slow, calculated step deeper inside, scanning every inch of the darkened building. Cubby’s prediction was right. Our salvation lies on the opposite side of the room where a Jeep is spotted. Hopefully, it will get us out of this place.
Just as I step forward again, a rustling on my right triggers me to pivot, pointing my gun in that direction. A man stands just as he fires his weapon. I duck down, and Cubby and I separate, looking for cover. I hunch down behind a loose piece of steel. The bullets ping off the metal; luckily they are not armor-piercing rounds.
He stops to reload, and I stand, ready to fire as Cubby pops up from the side, pressing his gun to the side of the man’s head.
I slowly walk over to them, looking around for more men to pop out of nowhere. Cubby stands behind the guy, his hulking size adding that much more terror to the situation. The man concedes, dropping his weapon and holding his hands up.
“Are you alone?” I ask, hoping like hell he understands English.
He only looks at us.
I swallow down the desire to plunge my Bowie in his skull and look up at Cubby.
He just smirks. You would assume a man of his stature and physical ability was only used as muscle, but Cubby is a genius. He is fluent in many languages, Bengali being one of them.
It does come in handy as an international criminal to be fluent, but that isn’t my thing. I only know Russian and English. I’m not stupid by any means, though. I have street smarts and the ability to predict the criminal’s next move.
“Are you alone?” Cubby asks in the man’s native language.
“Yes,” he answers.
“Do you know where the men took the girl?” I ask, waiting for Cubby to translate.
The man is sweating, frantic to answer the question the right way. If he was smart, he would know that, once we get what we need from him, I will shoot him then move on. It’s a no-win situation.
I don’t have time for this. If this motherfucker doesn’t concede soon, I will lose the fine thread of patience I currently possess.
Expelling an irritated breath, Cubby reads my agitation and threatens him. I have no idea what he’s saying, so I watch as the man’s eyes tear up. The unpleasant smell of urine passes through the air, and I look at Cubby, who leans to the side and down while keeping his gun trained on the man’s head.
The corner of my mouth lifts up, and I give Cubby an impressed nod. Now I really want to know what was said between the two.
Cubby jerks the man to the side, pulling him over to the truck. “Come on. He’s offered to show us the way.”
The man is still whimpering as we all pile in the Jeep and drive out into the muggy summer night.
.*.*.*.
August 22, 2015 9:51 p.m.
We inch our way from the side street and into the dark alley behind a restaurant. I quickly wipe the blade of my Bowie on an old piece of cloth found on the ground then tuck it back into my sheath.
We abandoned the Jeep and the man moments ago. For his contribution to our mission, I rammed my knife deep and hard in his chest, killing him instantly. It could have been a lot worse if he chose not to cooperate.
The auction is happening in the basement of the restaurant, which tells me the business is merely a front. The building is huge from the outside, easily three stories. The top two floors appear to be apartments, and the main level is the restaurant.
The alley is free of cars, but it doesn’t concern me. Typically, the buyers are met at one place then taken to an undisclosed location. This helps keep the police from tracking the locations and gives the buyers equal time spent viewing the merchandise. It’s a very well planned and sick business.
Cubby takes the lead as we slowly creep through the back entrance. The smell of Curry and grease encases me as we stand at the threshold to the kitchen.
I look to the side and note a long, bleak hallway. I motion with my gun for Cubby to follow me, and we both take slow, calculated steps into the tunnel of darkness. A creaking noise comes from below my feet as I inch my way deeper into the hallway. There is nothing to the sides of us. No doors, pictures, window—nothing. The only thing that exists is a door at the end of the tunnel. Like a creepy horror movie location, every inch of this feels dangerous, which confirms we are in the right place.
My gut stirs with a random concoction of emotions. Each one is fueling me with intensity. My jaw is clenched, and I know it will be hard to see what is happening to Josslyn, but succeeding with the retribution is of the utmost importance.
I look back one more time at Cubby, and he nods, telling me he’s ready for whatever happens behind the door. I turn the rusted knob then slowly pull the door back. I press my back to the wall and slowly descend the stairs, gun drawn. My shoes crunch the grit covering the concrete steps as I make my way deeper into the lair. There is only a muted orange glow coming from the bottom of the stairs and the smell of desperation dripping down the filthy walls.
Cubby’s heated body is flush with the wall, his shoulder brushing against mine, and I can feel that his muscles are poised and ready to kill, just like mine.
Left is the only option we have after we come off the last step. I keep my back to the wall and move around the corner slowly. I peek around the other side of the wall and see a man standing against it. He’s strapped with a machine gun, and by the bulge displayed down by his ankle, he has a gun tucked there, too.
I silently tell Cubby about the man, and he nods once. Unfastening the button on my suit jacket, I pull my Bowie knife from its sheath and tuck my pistol back inside the holster. I swallow down the adrenaline and pull myself out of the safety of the stairway. When I round the corner, I’m not slow and calculating. I get to the man in three large, aggressive steps. He’s stunned only a moment before he reaches for his gun.
I lunge forward, plummeting my knife expertly between the ribs on his side and straight into his lungs. I only smile as he withers to the ground with wide eyes.
I stand behind him and wrap my hands around his fat neck. With a violent jerking motion, his bones crack and he goes limp in my hands. I find a door adjacent to where he was standing, and Cubby reads my unspoken words, clearing the room before we both drag the dead man inside. Then we continue our way through the dungeon-like chamber.
The dirty air is stagnant. There are at least six rooms off this corridor. Josslyn may be behind the doors of one of these rooms, but the time and risk it takes to search them would be too great. I have to tr
ust she is alive and fighting for every breath she takes. I can’t think of what she’s experiencing right now. I can’t let it fog my mind and skew my judgment. There is nothing I can do to help her right now, and why should I help her? Yet, my instincts are telling me I should go to her. My mind and gut are being pulled in opposite directions. I don’t want to leave her here, but she is here because I need to find Stravinsky. Why do I keep toggling back and forth with my thoughts? I find it distracting that I have to keep reminding myself that she is my bait.
Cubby grabs my arm and pulls me inside a room where a girl is restrained in a chair. She’s young, probably yet a teenager, and blindfolded. My gut is plagued with fury beyond my mind’s comprehension. I knew what this was about when I worked with Stravinsky, and I even helped scout the girls, but I never stepped foot inside the auction. It was Boris who did that. He was the one who would break them in if needed, and he was the one who would present Stravinsky’s merchandise. I may be a lot of things, but a rapist and molester are not among them.
Whispering, Cubby says, “This is taking too long. We need to find Stravinsky’s buyer and get out of here before we are seen.”
The girl whimpers in the background, distracting my thoughts. All I can think about now is Josslyn in this very situation. And I can’t. Her face shouldn’t pass through my mind.
“Hey.” Cubby slugs me in the arm, getting my head back to the current moment.
I shake my head and picture my family—my brother’s face blown away, blood pooled under his disfigured frame. I think about my daughter, innocent and violated beyond imagination. I see their bodies, the people I was supposed to protect and didn’t. All at the hands of Stravinsky. For my family, I must forget anything except the massive and festering rage intertwined within my blood.
Madness (Revenge Series Book 3) Page 12