He moves through the room slowly, stalking his way over to me with the danger of a criminal and as predatory as a tiger. As he gets closer, I get a better view of his face. He is older than me, maybe in his fifties, but it’s hard to tell. His jaw is cut and squared sharply. The corners of his mouth come up to a peak, twisting his lips up in a dangerous smile. However, it’s his eyes that tell the true story. They are black and twinkle with a sadistic gleam. To the outsider, he may appear good-looking, but I have seen that very look before. It houses a side of crazy that no sane person would subject himself or herself to. I soon realize this is not going to be easy. Not in the slightest.
He stands at my side and motions for me to get up with his fingers. I look in the other direction, blatantly ignoring his request.
I hear a small huff come from him before his crushing grip secures around my arm. My skin burns as he squeezes my bicep, jerking me to my feet. I stumble on my heels yet remain upright.
I turn toward him. I can’t show him I’m afraid. I have to be bold and strong. Therefore, I awaken my own newly found darkness and tap into its strength. I think of Nikolai and the determination he possesses. I think about how he is never scared when he faces danger. No, he is brave and strong. That is who I need to be right now.
I square my shoulders, meeting the man eye to eye. Then I murder him with a single glare. He only smiles in return.
I don’t crack my tough façade, but on the inside, I can feel the evil this man possesses.
“Tell me your name.” His voice is as dark as his eyes, sending chills down my spine.
“Fuck you,” I boldly return, knowing that is going to award me with pain.
The madness flashes in his eyes. He leans in closer, almost touching me, and the grip he had on my arm is now moved to my cheeks. He doesn’t smile; he digs his menacing stare deep into me as the pain in my jaw heightens.
Through clenched teeth, he demands again, “Tell me your name.”
I partially concede, knowing this pain won’t end until I say something. “Amelia.”
A smile snakes across his face. He lets go of me and pushes me back in the chair. Then he walks around to the opposite side of the table and pulls the champagne from the bucket of ice. The cork pops, causing me to jump, the sense of terror raking down my spine.
He pours the two glasses and sets them in front of us. Then the stranger moves around to the head of the table, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits beside me. Each move is precise, plotted, and planned and eerily reminds me of Nikolai. This man is clearly the father of all of Nikolai’s moves.
He picks several cherries from the bowl then places them on a plate before setting them down in front of me.
I do nothing. I keep my hands in my lap and my eyes trained on him, watching as he plates some cherries for himself then puts the succulent fruit to his mouth.
His teeth pull the bud from the stem, and he chews the fruit then swallows the seed and all. He repeats this action several more times while I merely observe.
I didn’t notice initially, perhaps on account of my twisting nerves, but he is wearing gloves. Black leather covers his hands, and I find it strange—a mannerism similar to Nikolai. Why? Why would he keep his gloves on?
Before I can really answer that question, the brooding man breaks the silence.
“Amelia, that’s a lovely name. However, I don’t think it suits you.”
I only look at him, ignoring the statement. To me, he has no bearing.
“Where are you from, Amelia?”
My heart thuds wildly again when I think about the fake identification Nikolai had made for me. I mentally scan the license, looking for the address, and remember it mirrors Nikolai’s.
“New York,” I snap.
“Aw, New York. I’ve always enjoyed New York.” He takes a sip from his glass and savors the beverage. “I lived there for a while back in the nineties. Whereabouts did you live in the city?”
“Manhattan,” I lie, knowing that is what’s listed on my ID.
“Yes, Manhattan is a nice place to live, but I never really liked that part of the city. I was always partial to Little Odessa myself.”
My gut sinks to my feet. Little Odessa, located in the Brighten Beach area of Brooklyn, and during the time he stayed there, it housed some of the most dangerous criminals involved with organized crime. My dad pursued …
Just as the thought comes to mind, the man starts removing his gloves.
He pulls on the tip of each finger until the leather is loose enough to slide off his hand. And that is when I see it. The tattoos. Vory V Zakone … the Thieves in Law … Brighten Beach … Little Odessa …
My mind pieces the details together as he lets out a dark, deep laugh. Suddenly, I plummet back to my childhood. I am a girl of fourteen, lying under a man while he destroys me from the inside out, and I hear that sound. Between the sound of my dad’s pain and my mother’s pleas, that dark, menacing laugh was there.
“Stravinsky …” I whisper as my heart feels the pain all over again.
He looks at me and smiles wickedly, sending me into a blind rage.
My feet project me out of my chair when the realization fully sets in. I’m standing in the presence of a killer, the man who singlehandedly ruined my family. The mission is sitting across from me, and all I can do is freeze.
He knows who I am. He’s not here to turn me into his live-in sex slave. He purchased me to finally finish what he started fifteen years ago. But how? How did he know who I am?
I don’t have time to think of that; the detail at this moment is inconsequential. I do what I do best and lunge at him.
I will kill this man. If it’s the last thing I do, I will make sure I avenge the death of my family. I will watch the light die in his eyes as I destroy his very being. I will finish the revenge Nikolai meticulously planned while locked in a dungeon due to this man.
I cock my fist back, preparing to plow it in his face, but he is quick, snatching my arm and holding it firmly. He stands as he pushes me back, pinning me to the table. He holds my hands above my head in his strong grip, and my feet struggle to keep balance as he pushes his pelvis into mine.
“I wouldn’t try that again, Miss Stowe.” He pulls me off the table just as a troop of men comes through the door. I am forced back into the chair, and my wrists are cuffed to the arms. “Now, tell me where he is?”
“Who?”
“Don’t be coy, darling. Tell me where he is.”
“Who are you talking about?” I snap, swallowing down the disdain as much as I can.
A hard crack connects with my cheek. My face is set ablaze as Stravinsky pulls the back of his hand up and collides it with my skin again.
“Don’t!” he shouts.
The pleasantries are gone, and now I am forced to make a choice. I can rat Nikolai out, telling them exactly what I know, or I can spare him and keep up with the lie.
“He’s in prison.”
“Really, and if he’s in prison, how did you know anything about me or where to find me?” Stravinsky has a smirk once again on his face, but it doesn’t stay long.
“He told me about you, you sick son of a bitch! We came to an agreement. He would provide me details to your whereabouts and access to his contacts, and I would do what I could to keep him off death row,” I seethe. “After I arrested him for killing that piece of shit cousin of yours, he told me the story of the night you killed my father! It was me who found you. Only me! And it will be me who kills you!”
My chest rapidly heaves up and down. I have channeled all the sorrow, pain, and pure hatred for this man and now allow it to consume my body.
Nikolai was right. I was able to get myself in front of the man responsible for all the loss in my life. And I am ready to settle the score.
Stravinsky breaks our stare down when the door opens up and a ghost reappears. He strolls in much as he did the night I met him. Only, this time, his face is covered in purple bruises, and his eyes are swolle
n, but his fury for me still resides inside.
“Rule number one: make sure your kill is dead before fleeing the scene,” Stravinsky mocks as the man who raped me and my mother strides across the wooden floor. “I presume you remember Vlad, darling?”
His comrade advances right over to me and puts his face down next to mine. My blood runs cold the moment his lips slam into mine. I try to turn my face, but his hands immediately clasp my cheeks and keep our lips joined. I try to capture his lip between by teeth, attempting to bite, but he’s too quick.
“Oh, that was better than I expected, detective,” Vlad coos, our breaths mingling together.
“Now, my darling, are you ready to start talking?” Stravinsky asks. He plants himself in front of me, hitching one leg up and keeping the other on the floor.
Vlad steps around behind me, his greasy, disgusting hands holding my shoulders still.
“I’m not telling you anything!” I scream back.
“Very well. Let me tell you what I know. Then maybe you’ll be ready to talk.” He stays planted on the edge of the table, his black glare ripping into mine, and continues, “Nikolai was a loyal soldier of mine. He was obedient and wanted nothing more than to please me as he moved up the ranks of our organization. He was a troubled, angry kid who needed guidance, and I was there to provide that to him.
“Fast forward several years, and Nikolai remains a trained killer. He was subservient to me, following my orders until the night his brother went missing. Then Nikolai made a choice, and it was the wrong one.” He waves his arms while he gives me a rundown of his history with Nikolai. The tone of his voice is very cool and collected, mirroring Nikolai’s to a tee. The sound is eerie because I know he won’t restrain himself once it’s time to kill me. I silence my thoughts and continue listening.
“Of course, I found out, although he did cover his tracks well. Once imprisoned, I arranged to have him killed, but being as resilient as he is, Nikolai made survived and remained undetected for some time.”
I simply stare at Stravinsky. His jaw moves up and down, words forming, sounds coming from his mouth, but I don’t really care. Stravinsky knows who I am, and sooner or later, this will get really bad. I’m just waiting to get to the part where he says he’s going to kill me. Then I will go down fighting.
“Once Boris was dead, I knew Nikolai was alive, and after a little research, darling, I knew who you were. And my loyal man here”—he motions to Vlad who is still holding my shoulders with his sweaty, firm grip—“filled me in on your role in his attempted murder.”
“What do you expect me to say?” I snap. “You’ve got it all figured out, so why do you care what I have to say?”
“I need to know where he is,” Stravinsky demands, the deep-seated hate for what Nikolai’s done to his crew showing in his eyes.
“Are you worried, asshole?”
As soon as the comment leaves my mouth, Stravinsky backhands me again. That is three times since we started talking. I can feel my face swelling, but I roll it off, showing him nothing.
“I’m not going to ask again. Tell me where that traitor is or”—he reaches into his suit jacket, and from its depths, Stravinsky pulls out a long, eight-inch Bowie that looks exactly like the one Nikolai uses—“this will go through your eye.”
Stravinsky stands and straddles my legs. I am trapped in the chair, my hands cuffed to the arms and my legs pinned by Stravinsky’s body. Vlad moves his hands up to my face, crushing my head between his palms. The blade shimmers in the muted lighting, and as the light dances up the curve, it shows just how sharp it really is.
“Where is he?”
I keep my eyes on Stravinsky’s. I can’t focus on the blade or the thought of it going into my eye. I keep my gaze solely on him and wait for the inevitable. Even if I knew, I still wouldn’t say anything. This asshole doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing where Nikolai is.
A man rushes through the door, frantically speaking in Russian. His tone is urgent, getting the attention of his leader instantly.
A wicked smile spreads across Stravinsky’s face when he connects his eyes back to mine.
I know something bad happened. My gut is thudding against my insides. He has Nikolai. And in what condition is still unknown.
I reach down, tapping into the fury once again, and remain stubborn.
“Fuck. You.” I spit out then brace myself for the pain.
“Defiant to the end, detective?” He pulls his arm back, and I swallow down the terror rising up from my stomach. This is it. “You and your father have that in common.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nikolai
August 25, 2015 11:18 p.m.
I jerk my arm back, pulling my Bowie from the jugular of the man in front of me. The blood drips from my blade, bubbling like dew before dripping to the floor.
Cubby pivots on his heels, turning his rifle on the person coming up behind us. He fires the gun, taking the man out from a meter away.
“Which corridor?” I ask as Cubby looks down each hallway.
“They both look the same,” he says. Then the intercom starts to play above us. The sound of it crackles before his voice reverberates through the small space.
“Nikolai? Where is my little Nikolai?” his mocking tone rips through my rage and causes it to boil even stronger. “I have a little treat for you.”
I hear the sound of whimpering on the other end. Josslyn. He’s hurting her, and from the sound of it, it is way more than she can take.
“Look at the screen to the right of you.”
I turn and take two urgent steps, looking up at the TV mounted on the wall. When it clicks on, Josslyn is there. She is limp in the chair. Her face is red, and there is blood running down her cheek. Then he appears. My mentor. The man I loved more than my own life at one point.
He has the serrated part of his blade tucked under her chin. Little red droplets of blood start to pucker from the force he puts on the knife.
“Your accomplice was stupid enough to get caught. Now it’s time to face the fire, or she will die.” He lifts the knife and presses the tip into her cheek. Blood runs down her face. She is panting in terror yet trying to remain so brave. Just like when I held her, she is keeping a tough front, but she will soon wither apart. “I’m in the dining room down the hallway, three doors down. Oh, and bring the traitor with you, as well.”
The TV clicks off, and I lose all composure. My fists balled furiously, I slam them into the wall. My sanity is finally gone as the element of surprise disintegrates with the plaster on the wall. It crumbles away, impossible to put back together.
He is finally one step ahead of me, and now the choice I knew I would ultimately be left with is here. There won’t be a way for both of us to make it out alive. My entire goal was to sneak up on Stravinsky, take him out, and then get Josslyn out of here. Granted, I knew there was a slim chance, but I held on to the hope.
Cubby jerks me back, slamming me against the adjacent wall. “Get your fucking shit together, Petrov,” he growls in frustration. “Don’t let a woman get your head all screwed up.”
I push back on him. “Surprise was the only way of getting out of here alive! He knows I’m here, and to torture me, he will kill her slowly.” My gut surges. I want to puke. I am losing control of it all. The thought of seeing Josslyn tortured and maimed is more than I can bear, and I can withstand a lot. I don’t know how to fix this.
“Use your fucking head, man,” Cubby seethes in my face, reconnecting me with the shit-storm in front of us. “He’s not smarter than you, and you’re one hell of a killer. He made you that way. Now use it against him.”
Cubby is right. I am a master assassin. I have been doing this from the time I was a teenager. I have been in tougher binds than this. I will get myself out alive.
The sight of her in so much pain is excruciating, but I will do it. I will save us, and Stravinsky will bleed out after I plunge my knife so deep in his throat it comes out the other
end.
.*.*.*.
August 25, 2016 11:23 p.m.
Cubby and I step inside the red dining room and are met by a wall of soldiers. The loyal dogs of Stravinsky swarm us and start removing our weapons. I am patted down, my pockets turned inside out. Every clip, knife, gun—all of it is strewn out on the table as we are ushered over to the sitting area. The fire is crackling in the fireplace where Stravinsky sits in a large, wingback chair, looking like the godfather he thinks he is. To his side is Vlad. Josslyn must not have checked after she hit him to make sure he was dead, but in her defense, she was getting shot at, so I can see why she wouldn’t. Still, it pisses me off. I should have had the sense to check his body. If I had confirmed he was dead, then we wouldn’t be standing here now.
Josslyn is kneeling in front of Vlad while he clutches her hair, exposing her throat as he holds a knife to her skin. She’s dressed in a long, red dress now stained in her blood. She has a large gash on her cheek leaking blood, and the other side her face is swollen and bruised. She has been beaten and cut, but she still looks incredible.
“I will say, my friend, that it hasn’t been easy finding you.” Stravinsky points to Josslyn, and Vlad yanks her head back farther, making her moan out in pain. “And your little slut here didn’t make it any easier.”
He stands from his chair and takes the knife from Vlad’s grip. “Now I will make this easy on you, Nikolai.” Stravinsky drags Josslyn over by her hair and places her back on her knees. She squirms, trying desperately to get out of his grip.
I can feel my own hatred for this man boiling back to the surface. Cubby and I finally reach the small, carpeted area where we are pushed down by the guards, forced to kneel in front of Stravinsky. Their guns are pressed to our skulls, and the pleading in Josslyn’s eyes is almost more than I can handle.
“Now, brother …” Stravinsky pushes the tip of the knife blade into her left shoulder. The blade is so sharp it easily enters, and blood instantly trickles from her wound.
Madness (Revenge Series Book 3) Page 15