Ashes

by Aleatha Romig

  “Very recently. That was the news Reid learned this morning. Gorky was shot, execution-style, and left in an alley.”

  My mind went back to Adrik. “Single shot in the forehead?”

  “How did you know that?” Patrick asked.

  “It’s Andros’s signature move.” My gaze met Patrick’s. “If you want to meet, I could translate.”

  “They speak English?”

  “Yes, but I’ve been present in discussions. The real information isn’t said in English. It’s kind of a power trip to be able to say incriminating things right in front of an opponent and not be understood.”

  Patrick stood and walked to the dresser, returning with an iPad. “I have her picture.”

  “Her? Ms. Adkins?” I asked.

  “Yes, from her medical record.”

  Would I recognize her seventeen years later?

  This wouldn’t be like the men at Dr. Miller’s who I saw once. I saw Miss Warner multiple times a day. Her silhouette in the doorway came to mind. Patrick laid the pad on the table as her electronic chart appeared.

  “Oh God,” I cried, bringing the tips of my fingers to my lips. “She’s older and thinner, but I think it’s her.” I then looked closer at the chart. “Patrick, did you see her middle name?”

  He nodded. “I did, but I didn’t want to sway you before you saw her picture.”

  Wilma Warner Adkins.

  I looked up, my gaze meeting his. “Please, I need to talk to her.”

  Patrick

  “Bykov is willing to meet,” Mason said.

  He and I were alone on 2, each nursing a cup of coffee. Unusually, Sparrow and Reid were absent. It wasn’t as if we’d received a call or text. This was simply what we did, taking slumber when we could and waking with a sense of duty.

  Being very early Monday morning, there were hours before the rest of the household would be moving about, eating breakfast, and generally living behind our shield of safety. “It could be a setup.”

  “He’s probably thinking the same thing,” Mason replied.

  After a sip of hot brew, I sat the mug on the desktop. “Madeline said Sasha Bykov has been with Ivanov since she arrived to the bratva.”

  Mason leaned back in the tall desk chair. Wearing blue jeans, he lifted his large cowboy boots, one and then the other, crossing his ankles with the boots upon the desktop. His colorful arms no longer caught my attention nor did his shoulder-length hair. Mason may not look like the man I met in basic training or served beside in war, but that was only the surface. Where it counted, he was that man and more. He was a quick thinker and strong beyond belief. He was also exceptionally knowledgeable in the tactics of warfare and technology as well as bioagents.

  His knowledge wasn’t learned through others. He had experience and also knew the pitfalls. Prior to reuniting with us, his automated home was programmed against him. Mason knew there were limits to our reliability on technology. The gut was the best teller of danger.

  “Say this was reversed,” I said, thinking aloud. “The Sparrow outfit was licking its wounds and bleeding supporters. I was the one dead in the alley, and you have little doubt Sparrow pulled the trigger as a warning. Ivanov contacted you. You agreed to a meeting. Now, what are you thinking?”

  “A few things,” Mason replied. “First, what the fuck did you do to warrant Sparrow’s bullet?”

  “Maybe I was thinking of crossing him.”

  “And now I have a meeting with someone that could get me shot either by the person I’m meeting with or by Sparrow if he found out.”

  I nodded.

  “But I’ve been with the Sparrow outfit for a long time,” Mason said. “And now I am seeing it slip away. I stood by him as he, in order to gain power, put trust in an outsider over his own trusted men.”

  “And you’ve fucking been there since day one. Instead of trusting you, he trusted Hillman.”

  “I’m pissed,” Mason replied.

  The steel door opened. “About what?” Sparrow asked, entering 2 wearing his customary middle-of-the-night sweatpants and t-shirt.

  “You,” we both said in unison.

  “What the fuck?”

  “No, boss,” I said with a grin. “Bykov agreed to meet with you, and we’re discussing his possible state of mind.”

  “Why are you pissed?” Sparrow asked, taking his chair.

  “Because according to Madeline,” Mason began, “I’m Bykov in this scenario—according to her, I’ve been with you for at least the last seventeen years at the top, sharing your number-two spot. I’ve laid my life on the line for you and the bratva. You fucked up when you decided to put your trust in Hillman.”

  Sparrow nodded. “I was trying to expand our base.”

  It now seemed we were all playing the alternate-reality scenario.

  “Did you discuss it with us first?” I asked.

  “I don’t have to fucking discuss anything with anyone,” Sparrow said, the ends of his lips curling upward.

  “After seventeen years,” I began, “you sold Madeline, the woman who has appeared to be at your side through too much shit, and now you killed me—I’m Gorky,” I said.

  Mason’s head shook. “This whole organization is on shaky-as-fuck ground. I’m not the only one looking at you suspiciously. We all wonder who is next. Who are you going to eliminate?”

  “You’re not seeing it from Ivanov’s point of view,” Sparrow said, lifting his cup as he stood. “I—as him—am thinking about the good of the bratva. We fucking had Chicago ready to crumble. Hillman brought me the disenfranchised McFadden followers. Those fuckers knew the city.”

  Mason’s large boots came to the concrete floor. “And I know Detroit.” He pointed my way. “So did he and you shot him.”

  “He was disloyal.”

  I joined the others in standing as the door opened again and Reid entered.

  His neck straightened as he grimaced. “What is happening?”

  “He’s going down,” Mason said, pointing at Sparrow. “I’m not getting passed over or killed after all these years.”

  “What the fuck?” Reid said, lifting his hands and coming closer. “Are you all losing it?”

  “Right now, I’m on the edge,” Sparrow said, still looking at Mason. “I know I fucked up, but that doesn’t mean I’ll admit it. I need to know I have complete and utter allegiance.”

  Mason took a step back. “So you’re suspicious? Of even me?”

  Sparrow nodded and pointed at me. “Hell, I just killed him. The walls are closing in. I’m feeling trapped. I’d have eyes and ears on everyone, even you. Not doing so would be arrogant, like my father.”

  “You don’t think Ivanov is arrogant?” I asked.

  “Oh fuck, you are…them,” Reid said with an exhale. “You fuckers had me worried. I thought maybe the stress was getting to you.”

  “Brainstorming, man,” I said, retaking my seat.

  “How did you die?” Reid asked me.

  “Shot. I’m Gorky.”

  “It was nice knowing you,” Reid said with a grin, pulling up something on his phone. “Here’s the message from Ivanov. He has agreed to meet with you in New Orleans during the tournament.”

  My head shook. “No way is Madeline going to that tournament.”

  “She doesn’t have to,” Sparrow said. “But we will.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t like it.” I turned back to Sparrow. “Back to our role play. Why would you agree to meet?”

  “Either I’m planning a bold move to take me out or I’m ready to concede that the declaration of war is withdrawn and ask for a peace treaty.”

  Sparrow looked from one of us to the other. “That gives us at least three days. The fate of Chicago and Detroit will be determined in New Orleans.” He looked to me. “I will talk to him. Let him know what’s happening. We’ve never had a problem. I don’t want to start one now.”

  By him, Sparrow was referring to the king of New Orleans, one of his counterparts.
<
br />   “I’ll assure him,” Sparrow went on, “that there will be no repercussions for his city. We aren’t looking for land or manpower from him. We only need space to end this.”

  I remembered something Madeline said. “I don’t particularly want her there, but Madeline offered to translate with Bykov. I believe that would work with Ivanov too.”

  “I got this,” Mason said. “Russian and the different derivations aren’t that tough.”

  A grin came to my lips. “I forgot we have the master of languages amongst us.”

  “Can you arrange a meeting with Bykov before the tournament?” Sparrow asked. “It would be nice to walk into New Orleans knowing Bykov is ready to succeed Ivanov. If not, there will be fallout.”

  “Let us meet with him,” I said, looking at Mason and speaking to Sparrow. “You were right. Ivanov will have eyes and ears everywhere. He already distrusts most everyone around him. One rogue sighting of you near Detroit or Bykov near Chicago will set him off. Bykov doesn’t need to meet with you yet.” I motioned between the other three of us. “We’re his equal.” It was similar to how Sparrow was on a par with the leader of New Orleans. “We can lay out the offer and give him some time to work up the support in the ranks if he agrees. If he doesn’t and turns on us, telling Ivanov our plan, Detroit is on its own for a while. The blood will be on their hands.”

  Sparrow nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Madeline

  “You’re saying that Andros didn’t sign me up for the tournament—Marion did?” I asked not only Patrick but also the other three men sitting around the penthouse’s kitchen table. Being it was Monday afternoon, we were the only ones present.

  Araneae was in the home office working via video conferencing with her assistant Jana and her partner in Denver, Louisa. Ruby was in our apartment. Since we were on what was referred to as lockdown, I could only assume that Lorna and Laurel were also somewhere within the confines of our domain.

  “Yes,” Reid said. “Registering you over a month ago with a million-dollar buy-in.”

  My fingers itched for the feel of cards. It was the one thing that made me someone beyond what Andros considered me to be. Yes, he’d facilitated my playing, and up until now, I never questioned why. That was a thought for another day. Now I needed to concentrate on the tournament at hand. “Over a month ago?” My head shook. “More evidence that he and Andros had my sale planned long before Chicago.”

  The four men remained silent.

  “Will it help at all if I play the tournament?” I asked.

  “No,” Patrick said. “You’re not facing Ivanov or Elliott.”

  I laid my hands upon the granite table, sensing all four sets of eyes coming my way. “Gentlemen, gambling is my claim to fame. I’m not interested in fame, but I am capable of making a good show. I suddenly wonder if that wasn’t what I was all along, a show, a diversion allowing Andros access to cities for other reasons while the attention was on me. And as for Marion, what is he going to do? He’s already insinuated that I’m mentally unstable.”

  “That was a countermeasure to discredit you if you chose to tell the world the truth,” Sterling said, “about the transaction between him and Ivanov.”

  “I won’t,” I replied. “Who would believe me?”

  “We do,” Patrick said, reaching for my hand.

  I grinned his way. “And I appreciate that. You know that horrible world exists. Most people think it only happens in fiction. They don’t want to know it’s real. The cell house where I was held? I couldn’t tell you where it was located even though I was there for four months. My guess is that the neighbors didn’t know what was right there. They each made plausible explanations in their minds for the coming and going of cars at all hours. That’s what people do. They see what they want to believe. I won’t stand up at the tournament and declare that Marion Elliott, esteemed oilman, bought me. However, maybe if I’m there, I can distract him or Andros for your benefit. Please…” I looked from man to man. “I want to help.”

  Patrick exhaled. “Elliott is our wild card in this whole thing. Why is he loyal to Ivanov?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I get the feeling that things go way back. Marion admitted being at my auction in McFadden’s home. Before I knew that, he mentioned something about being friends with a politician—”

  “We can assume McFadden,” Sterling interjected.

  I tried to think back. “He also mentioned Antonio Hillman’s mother. I think her name is Ruth.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Marion said they were very nice and helpful after the death of his wife and daughter.”

  Sterling shook his head. “Ruth is Wendell’s only wife. He never had a daughter, only Antonio.”

  “No,” I corrected. “Marion’s wife and daughter. It happened over thirty years ago. He lost both of them in a small plane crash.”

  All four men looked from one to the other.

  “I don’t recall that information,” Reid said. “I thought I knew what there was to know about the guy.”

  I shrugged. “When I looked him up before the Chicago tournament, I found one reference to him marrying young, then nothing else. He told me that it was too personal and painful, saying he paid the right people to keep the story buried. I told him the world is different today. One tweet can go viral lightning fast. Damage control doesn’t work as well as paying off the major news outlets thirty years ago did.”

  Patrick’s brow furrowed. “So he lost his wife and daughter more than ten years before he was at the auction?”

  I nodded.

  “How many other auctions did he attend?” Sterling asked.

  “Right,” Patrick concurred. “It’s hard to imagine his first was over ten years later.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” I said. “I remember…” I let out a long sigh. “…it was so long ago.”

  “What?” Reid asked. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

  My lips pursed in contemplation. “It’s not that. I just sometimes wonder what are real memories and what are ones I conjured in my mind.”

  “What do you think you remember?” Patrick asked.

  “That I thought it was weird to be on display in front of nearly thirty men with servers entering and exiting the room. There was a woman, like a housekeeper, who delivered me to the library. I was blindfolded and practically nude then. It was unreal and unnerving, and yet to everyone around me, it seemed like a normal evening’s festivities.”

  Though his eyes darkened, Sterling nodded. “I would assume you weren’t the first or the last.”

  “So who thinks that evening was Elliott’s first time in attendance?” Patrick asked.

  “You said earlier that his connection was Wendell Hillman,” Mason said. “I think his mourning time is over. We need someone on the inside of the prison to pay him a visit and provide us with information.”

  “Ten dollars says the senior Hillman was also present,” Sterling said.

  My circulation slowed, pooling to my feet. “Marion confirmed that Antonio had been. You’re saying maybe his father too?”

  The men shrugged.

  “Nothing like a father-son outing to an auction of a naked, pregnant woman to ensure bonding.” My sarcasm was evident.

  “I wouldn’t have put it past my father.”

  Pulling my hand away from Patrick’s, I ran my palms over the coarse material of my blue jeans, bringing warmth to my suddenly cooled skin.

  “Hillman is gone,” Patrick reassured.

  “And so is our father,” Sterling added.

  Inhaling, I nodded.

  Reid stood. “Now that I know I missed something that significant about Elliott, I need to search more thoroughly. I’ll be downstairs.”

  Everyone else nodded.

  “The tournament starts Thursday night,” Mason said. He looked at Patrick. “She would be a good distraction. I doubt Elliott expects her to show.”

  Look at me.

 
Without turning to Patrick, I announced, “I’ll do it.”

  “Madeline—”

  “Let me make my own decision for once in my life,” I said, interrupting Patrick. “I have all of you. Do I need to be afraid that Marion or Andros will try to kidnap me?” It was an odd question, but these were odd circumstances.

  “No, you’ll be safe. We’ll ensure that,” Sterling said.

  “And Ruby?” I asked.

  “She isn’t leaving here,” Patrick said.

  “She will be safe,” Sterling reassured.

  “Then it’s set. I can’t let the four of you and your men fight my battles without something from me.”

  I turned, seeing the small lines of worry around Patrick’s eyes. Reaching out, I laid my hand on his arm. “I love that you want to protect me. I do. But I let Andros and men like Marion dictate my life for too long. It’s time I stand up for myself.” I looked at Sterling, Mason, and back to Patrick and forced a smile. “It’s reassuring to have people believe in me, people who genuinely want to help instead of control me. Thank you.”

  Mason’s green stare went to Patrick across the table. “I think this will work.” When Patrick didn’t answer, Mason turned to me. “I’ll confirm your attendance.”

  “Thank you, and just so you know, I’ll win.”

  “Do your best,” Patrick said with a sigh. “This is about distraction. Winning isn’t paramount.”

  “No. First, winning will keep me in the tournament until the final day. Second, I will win and when I do, I plan to shove the winnings in Marion’s face. A million-dollar buy-in will have a jackpot over ten million. I’m refunding his purchase. And then I will finally own myself.”

  Patrick’s lips curled. “You don’t need to give him the money for that. He’s never getting near you. Mrs. Kelly, you are mine and mine alone. Our transaction wasn’t based on money. I love you.”

  My cheeks warmed as his words flowed effortlessly even in front of his friends.

  “You’re right, Patrick. I love you too, and that means more than money. Yet for me, I want to forfeit Marion’s transaction with Andros.”

  He sighed. “Then it’s settled.”