The hate is alive and breathing as much as I am today, and it probably always will be. I did find a way to channel it and help society as a whole, but really, it’s about me fulfilling some weird desire to take every single murderer down. I want to destroy them as they destroyed me. I’m not sure if that is the healthiest method of dealing with my pent up issues, but it’s working for me.
In some way, I feel I owe it to my father to learn as much as I can about criminals, about how to catch the bad guy, in hopes that one day I can find the bastards who killed him. I dedicate so much energy to finding them that I lose myself in that pit of despair. Then it takes months to get myself back out. My mother told me to drop it, that the killers would get their due one way or another. I made her a promise I would let fate run its course. As hard as it is for me to accept this, I do because I know she was right.
Everything happens for a reason. It’s just that some fates are harder to tolerate than others.
Chapter Four
Nikolai
July 16, 2015 12:27 p.m.
The six months have come and gone faster than I anticipated. For the first time in eight years, I can feel the freedom on my face as the rain falls from the gray sky above. The air is cool, nipping my face with an icy sting, but the smile I have on the inside is gleaming with the thought of never being in that place again. I am walking out of here a changed man. Reformed, absolutely not, but changed, nonetheless.
I was led to this shit hole under false pretenses. I voluntarily agreed to go to prison because my mentor, Ademar Stravinsky, needed a hit handled on the inside. He claimed this person was targeting our entire organization to take it down and controlled his own operation from the inside. Ademar claimed, if I didn’t end his life, then he would eventually end Ademar’s. He said he had no one to trust, and there was only one man with prison experience he could truly count on to take this person out. He looked to only me, and I merely nodded, accepting the mission. I willingly agreed to leave the United States and go back to Russia to be incarcerated.
I spent half my life trying to get out of my home country, so to simply go back seemed nearly impossible. However, because I respected this man, because I was willing to do anything for him, I went back. Ademar knew this. He knew I would go inside to do what he asked because he understood my devotion to him.
He wanted me dead, of this I am certain, but the why is still unknown.
I walk down the courtyard of the prison. The steel fence wrapped in razor wire at the top is as high as a building. The officer standing inside the guard tower watches as he holds his gun up, letting me know, if I try anything stupid, he won’t hesitate to put one in my skull. I look directly into his eyes and smirk. Not likely, asshole. I will never give you the satisfaction of killing me, and I sure as hell won’t ever be here again to give you the opportunity. Fuck this place.
I keep walking, thinking about my time here. It infuriates me to know how long I’ve spent inside for Ademar. It’s been eight years, eight years of dealing with substandard conditions as the walls slowly crumbled away, the all-consuming smell of rotting human souls flooding the air, and the taste of dirt with every sip of water you were allowed. It’s a place the government insists is what the men who occupy the space deserve, and therefore, it is one of the hardest places for a person to survive. It is a prison that is riddled with crime, torture, and corruption around every square inch where an inmate will receive regular beatings, get raped, or slowly become insane.
I took great advantage of some of its downfalls, and others, I made disappear, hoping no one would ever confront me. This wasn’t my first stint in prison, but it has been the hardest.
After my attempted murder, I needed to remain in solitary confinement, away from the other prisoners because I had to keep myself alive. I was in the infirmary for three months, clinging to life, and when I finally realized what had happened, I exploded with anger.
The attempt was only once, but the petty criminal who tried to take me out failed and failed badly. The man mistakenly reported back to my mentor that I was dead, but on the contrary—it was he who was done for.
I was able to get two minutes alone with the man who tried to kill me, and in that time, he was missing an eyeball and bleeding profusely from his carotid artery.
Revenge was and still is my only ally. I took advantage of the corruption inside the concrete walls and paid the guards to spread rumors I was dead. Then I paid them a significant amount of money to keep their mouths shut, and in exchange, they kept me in solitary. Of course, they did have the live entertainment of watching me kill the asshole who left me for dead.
The guards are as sick as the inmates. I’m sure they took bets on how long I would make him suffer before I finally killed that man. Again, the officers were paid a hefty sum to report it as a suicide, and Stravinsky is none the wiser. So far, my gamble on the guards has worked because I’m walking out of this place alive.
I’ve made a lot of money over the years, especially since I earned my stars, and the guards know it. They know who I am and whom I used to represent. They know I could pay them every dime and then some.
I was granted access to a phone and transferred funds from my Switzerland account into theirs to have everything I wanted while I was in there. It cost me a lot of money, but in the long run, it was very much worth it. Money can buy you so much, and for the past five years, it’s bought me life.
Now, as I step outside the gates, I look up at this horrible place, knowing I would rather be dead before coming back. Prison is the ultimate test to a man’s sanity, especially when you are living in solitary. You have to have discipline. You have to have a purpose or something to look forward to when you get out. Otherwise, your mind plays tricks on you. It snaps off in another dimension, and before you know it, you’re fucking crazy. The men who spend their entire lives in solitary are mentally unhinged and are treated like invalids or abused on a regular basis, and in their sensitive state, they don’t know any differently.
I turn my back on the building just as the metal gate shuts behind me and walk to my freedom. I stroll the streets of Moscow, my bag of minimal belongings tucked under my arm, and start reminiscing when I was kid, running the streets with my friends.
From the age of ten, I’ve been involved in the criminal lifestyle in one way or another. I was eleven when I went to jail the first time. I had to serve five years in a juvenile facility for stealing a loaf of bread, all because I was hungry. At that time, the Soviet Union was falling, and they were doing what they thought they could before it all fell apart. It was five, long, tortuous years locked up with other boys just like me, yet the time wasn’t wasted. I studied. I learned. I adapted. Soon after, I got the attention of Ademar’s men who were on the inside, and by the time I was sixteen, I was tossed into this underground world of violence, money, women, and guns.
I knew it was evil, but evil had been my way of life since birth. It was all intoxicating. I knew, if I was going to survive life on the Russian streets, the Vory V Zakone was my safety net. It was my entry into the Russian mafia that is so widely known today.
I desperately needed a mentor like Ademar Stravinsky. I never really knew what it was like to have anyone to depend on. My parents surrendered me to the government when I was an infant. Like prison, I had to survive the horrors of that place, and when I was old enough, I escaped from the orphanage and lived on the streets until the juvenile detainment. Consequently, when I found I could be a part of a group of thieves, and we could be like brothers, I knew I had to do what I could to be accepted.
Ademar likes to recruit the young, broken boys because we are impressionable and need some place to fit in. I was perfect for the lifestyle, and Ademar was fully aware.
I trained in Russia for a year, killing, running weapons, and transporting whores all over the country. By the time I was seventeen, I had already taken twelve lives. I felt alive for the first time since my birth, and no one could tell me otherwise. It was truly
the best time of my life. I lived for the hunt, the adrenaline-fueled rush of diverting the police, and the feeling I got when I took a man’s life. Standing over them, watching them breathe their final breath as they choked and gargled on their own blood—that was my drug. It was an insane year, but it was a good one.
Then I was smuggled into the United States to work directly with the leader of our organization, Ademar Stravinsky. Finally, the time came when Ademar asked me to kill a prominent Italian hit man. I did and soon after earned my stars under my shoulders. It was the best day of my life because I’d finally been accepted.
The eight-pointed stars on your chest mean you’ve done and will do whatever it takes for the greater good of our organization. I complied.
This was my life. I shuffled for the next four years between the United States and Russia, always by the side of my mentor and all for the greater good of our family.
At the age of twenty, I went to prison for the first time as an adult. We were surprised by the police, and I drew their attention to me so Ademar could escape and was soon convicted of assault. Sentenced to five years inside a Moscow prison, I shared a shitty cell with eight other men. The economy was dying, and the prisons were overrun with criminals shortly after the fall of the country. That was where I spent my time developing into the person I am today.
I trained myself to be methodical and patient. While the other men were impulsive when it came to the crime inside prison, I was the opposite. Regardless, all I had to do was show my star tattoos, and the other prisoners knew they couldn’t fuck with me. It would ultimately be their fatal mistake.
I was revered during that time and became a leader in my own right. They respected me because, by looking at the tattoos, they knew exactly what I had been willing to do to earn them. Of course, while I was there, I got a few new ones, which only completed the picture for many of the men. I thrived on the thrill of it all.
My feet stop walking when I notice I am standing in front of the one place I know I will be safe from Stravinsky. I never told anyone I used to visit this place in my downtime. It’s a safe haven for me that has nothing to do with the criminal underworld, and I will never allow it to be anything else. I suspect Stravinsky is still in the United States since he’s made a life for himself there and is probably accustomed to the American luxuries that have been lost to Russia. I will need to do some digging, but I won’t know for sure until I get over there.
I know he has a powerful reach, and it won’t take long for someone to spot me alive if I stay in Russia. My face is too recognizable here, and the longer I stay, the greater chance I have of being killed. I only need to pick up a few things, get some warm food in my stomach, and find my way across the ocean. I have a plan to put in motion.
July 17, 2015 9:17 p.m.
I thrust my hands through the abundance of brown hair lying in my lap. My gut, groin, and thighs are ignited in a delicious heat. My toes knead the carpet as I plant my feet firmly to the floor. The air in the bedroom is steamy from my hot shower, drops of water still lingering on my skin as they run down my body and drip onto the blankets. I am experiencing euphoria. There is no other word to describe it.
I allow my head to drop back, my legs splayed apart with Anna kneeling between them. She is taking her time, worshipping my cock as it slides deep inside her mouth. Her hand is wrapped around the base of my dick, pumping as she pulls me in and out of her mouth.
It’s been eight fucking years too long since I’ve had a woman’s mouth around my cock, and it’s the best damn blow job I’ve probably ever had. It’s also been eight goddamn years since I’ve had this kind of release. Other than an overweight, sixty-year-old infirmary nurse giving me a sponge bath when I regained consciousness, this is the only action my dick has seen in a considerable amount of time.
Right now, I’m certain my dick has never been this hard before. Anna is pumping it aggressively as she feeds it in and out of her mouth. I fear she may break it off as hard as she’s working it. She isn’t delicate, yet I take pleasure in that.
The building intensifies. It won’t be long before I explode the last eight years of pent-up aggression into her mouth. Jerking off is one thing and does give a man instant gratification, but nothing compares to a woman. Whether she’s giving me a blow job or riding my cock, the feel of a woman latched on to my body is one hundred times better than my hand will ever be. And Anna … Yeah, she just knows what I like. We’ve been doing this for years.
She sucks me in so deep I fear I may suffocate her before she pulls me back out. Then she looks up at me. Her brown, doe-eyes and red-stained lips are my demise. I let go of myself and stiffen as I finally succumb to the accelerating pleasure. She doesn’t pull away; in fact, she holds me in and swallows it down, finally ending my eight year starvation.
I fall back on the bed, the damp towel underneath me, having no energy to move it. I spread my arms out to the side as Anna crawls her way up the mattress and nestles herself in my arms. I don’t even have the energy to hold her. I can’t move. My body is still tingling, and my head is swimming.
After a few minutes of silence, I turn my head and connect my eyes to hers. “Fuck, if I died right now, I’d be okay with it. At least I’d be happy.”
She leans up and kisses the corner of my mouth then slides off the end of the bed.
Anna and I met when I was very young. She’s a few years older than me, but the age difference didn’t seem to matter to us when we were trying to survive a parentless world. We lived in the orphanage together, and I remember playing with her when we were allowed outside. She was picked on a lot because of the large, red birthmark across her cheek. Hell, we both were bullied by the older, stronger kids. I think that’s why we connected the way we did.
I did everything a little kid could to protect her from those assholes, but it wasn’t much. I was a skinny, little shit. After I left, I never thought I would see her again, yet we somehow managed to find each other after I was released from juvenile detention when I was sixteen. She was a ripe, sexy nineteen-year-old with a place of her own. The relationship was perfect.
Anna allowed me to crash whenever I needed it. I’m sure she knew then I was involved with some kind of criminal organization, but she never asked, and I couldn’t tell.
Over the years, whenever I traveled back to Russia, I always made time to spend with Anna. It may only have been for a couple of hours, but she is the only person outside the secret life I can relax around. She’s one of the few people who knew me before I got involved in the Vory V Zakone and one of even fewer I trust not to question my lifestyle. She’s never expressed interest in what I do, and I appreciate that, because if she were to ever find out, this could no longer happen.
We will never be anything other than what we are, though. We are good friends that on occasion give each other an orgasm. That’s it. We’ve never had sex, nor do I plan on having sex with her. We just give each other oral favors along with trust and friendship.
“Are you going back to the United States now that you’ve been released?” she asks as she slips her shirt over her body. She sweeps her long bangs to the side, tucking them behind her left ear. Her strawberry-colored birthmark has faded over the years, but you can still see it brushed across her flushed cheek.
“Yeah, I’ve got something I need to take care of, and I’m not sure when I will be back.” I step into my boxers and then my black pants.
Anna shakes her head and looks off in the distance, almost seeming terrified. This is a new development.
“What’s with the look?”
“Don’t you mean if you’ll be back?” Anna is standing in front of me, whispering her complaint, afraid to stand her ground to me. She must know who I am or what I do. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have spoken a word.
I can feel the anger rise from its usually low, boiling simmer. Although I clear my throat in an attempt to subdue the fury and swallow it down, the taste of disdain lingers on my tongue. I am unable to spea
k to her. I simply stare, my eyes piercing hers.
“I know you are in some kind trouble with the …” She hesitates as she tries to finish her thought.
I glare harder at her as she picks her fingernails. Then she lifts her head and connects her sad, doe-eyes with mine, and her childish actions raise my frustrations.
“Enlighten me, please. Who am I in trouble with? I haven’t told you anything about myself—about why I’ve been in prison—yet you seem to know exactly who I am. So enlighten me, Anna. I’m eager to know,” I snap at her.
She has no idea who she’s dealing with. She’s never seen this side of me, and the mere fact that she thinks she can caution me about the danger I’m in infuriates me.
“Everyone knows who you are, Nikolai!” she shouts. “You walk the streets, and people know you’re a dangerous criminal. I didn’t know it when we first started this little … relationship,” she sneers, “but when you got out of prison the first time, I knew … I knew you were someone dangerous or involved with dangerous people. But too much time has gone by, and I can’t stop myself from saying it.”
“Do you want to know about my other life, Anna?” I walk to my briefcase sitting in the closet and place it on the bed. I spin the numbers on the combination and pull the lever aside until the metal tabs pop open. I then lift the lid to the briefcase and turn it so she can peer inside.
Her eyes go wide as she looks.
Along with my original personal documents and my fake identification, she should see two stacks of money, my nine millimeter pistol with silencer attached, brass knuckles, zip ties, leather gloves, and my prized possessions—my knives. I have a knife for every possible scenario one could think of. However, I am partial to my bowie knife. The moment I picked it up, I knew it was the perfect weapon for me.
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