Pay Dearly

by M. S. Brannon

  I pull my body next to the side of the house and press into the wood. It’s the middle of the morning and nearly impossible to blend in the way I did when I was here last. The moment she sees me, it will be over. She will know I’m associated with this in one way or another.

  When her black Crown Victoria pulls into the driveway on the opposite side of the house, I ease my back away from the corner and peer my head around the side. She stands from the seat, but remains at the opening of the driver’s door. She is looking at the house, accessing it in her mind. The concentrated look on her face is one of beauty and brains. She is breathtaking, and I feel a familiarity to her presence, like I may have met her in a past life. Something about her is fascinating, and I need to find out what it is, but I don’t have time for that. I need to kill her and move past this godforsaken place.

  I keep my body close to the wood, waiting for the detective to leave.

  After she falls back into her car and backs out of the driveway, I step through a small opening in the overgrown hedges and move opposite from her. She turns her car the way she came and starts driving down the street. Impatiently, I wait a minute until her car is no longer in view then make a break for my car. I do not care at this point if the neighbors see me. I need to find the detective and get her alone.

  It takes me no time to get into my car and fire it to life. I shift my car into gear and storm down the street. I have to catch up with her then hang back to get to her. When I make it to the stop sign, I can go either left or right. I hang back a second to see if I can recognize her taillights, but I can’t. My gut is telling me right, so that’s the way I go. I never ignore my gut.

  Not even thirty seconds later, I am at a stoplight, and two cars in front of me is the detective. I smile as I follow her through town until we get to an apartment complex where she must live.

  I keep my car in the street, watching her walk up a flight of stairs and unlock a door on the second floor. Once she’s inside, I pull in the parking lot and back my car into a space, watching her window. Like a panther looming in depths of the jungle, I watch her.

  The daylight is too dangerous to move on this now. I will hang back and wait, but once the sun goes down, I will kill her.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Josslyn

  August 8, 2015 2:45 a.m.

  I sit and wait for the answer to my question. I only want to know who he is and the relation he has to the Smith family. My curiosity is overwhelming my rational mind, so I will probably do or say something to jeopardize my safety. However, at this very moment, I couldn’t care less. I can’t tolerate the standoff anymore. I either want him to get this over with and shoot me or get close enough for me to shoot him. I really don’t care anymore. This staring contest is enough to drive me as insane as he appears to be.

  “Why do you want to know so much about me?”

  Did he really just ask me that question?

  “Because that’s my job,” I snap back with condescension in my tone. “It’s my responsibility to find out why someone would kill an entire family, mutilate two men, and that all starts with getting to know their name. I’m an investigator.”

  “Well, let me appease you, then, detective.” He crosses his legs and sits with the class of a mafia man. He reminds me of Al Pacino in The Godfather. His look is concentrated and brooding. “I was born in hell, abandoned by my mother, and left in the gutter to rot. I was raised in a Russian orphanage, and I am certain it is the portal to Hell. I was beaten, starved, ignored, and all before the age of ten. I escaped, survived on the streets of Moscow, and all during one of the most dangerous times in recent history—as the Soviet Union fell, and criminals rose to power. I flourished in the environment as I fought my way through the dismantling society. I found men among monsters, and I found my true calling. I kill, Josslyn.”

  Chills creep up my spine when my name falls from his tongue. His accent is smooth and sexy as is every word spoken, which piques my curiosity.

  “And I am the best at my job, my dear. Privileged people like you couldn’t possibly understand what it’s truly like to suffer. I’ve been imprisoned and lived in the grimmest conditions, in the darkest cave of Russia’s ruthless prisons, and survived.”

  “But you still haven’t even addressed my question. Who are you! Why did you kill that family?” I scream as I lose my patience and, quite possibly, my life.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Nikolai

  August 7, 2015 9:10 p.m.

  My eyes haven’t left the door since the detective stepped inside several hours ago. Among my many talents, patience is at the top of the list. It’s a necessity when stalking your prey. You have to have patience to capture them undetected.

  I can see movement as the day turns to dusk then finally to night. Light shines from her apartment, the shadow of her body circling randomly through the window. She will walk and stand, the light outlining her sexy silhouette. I feel my body stir at the sight of the curves from her shoulders; her ample breasts; her trim, tight waist; and finally, the curve of her hips. She has the perfect hourglass figure, a body type worshiped once in Hollywood.

  Every part of her physique devours my will to keep my hands off her. I want to ravage her. I want to sink my dick so far inside of her body all she can do is scream with unyielding pleasure. However, what I want to do and what I need to do are two very different things. I have to keep myself on course and finish my plan. I’ve withstood not having sex with a woman this long, so what’s a few more months?

  My head gets back in the game when I see the door open and the detective run down the stairs. She pauses for a moment, appearing to be on the phone, and then she starts her car and leaves.

  I put my car in first gear and slowly follow her through the city. The landscape changes as we make our way out of town and to a familiar area. I keep the Challenger quite a ways back, knowing exactly where she’s heading. No one comes out to this side of town, ever.

  My eyes are fixed on her taillights as I shut off my headlights and slowly follow her through the shadows of The Ruins. She is heading where I’ve been staying, which means she is on to me, cementing the reason I need to kill her.

  I pull my car off the road and along the grass, parking inside an old, dilapidated building about two blocks from her. I exit my car and follow her on foot. Standing on the edge of the building, I can see the detective staring up at the building where Victor once took life and where I’ve now killed. She is hesitating, but gets her wits about her enough to move from the protection of her car. With her pistol on her hip and a flashlight in her hand, I watch her as she braves her way through the night.

  I slowly make my way over to the building. In my dark suit, I blend in with the black night. The tall grass brushes my pants, but I move stealthy as I get to the opposite side of the building. The sound of her trying to open the metal side door pierces my ears, letting me know exactly where she is.

  I fall inside the building where I would normally park my car and run through the factory. I worry my shoes will alert her to my presence, or maybe it has, but she’s ignoring it. I keep my body moving, nonetheless.

  I wedge my way through the opening and into the room where I’ve been sleeping. Her breathing is deep yet rapid with fright, leading me to her exact position. The smell of her light perfume fills the air as it mixes with the smell of the dirty factory.

  She’s near. Her steps are closer. Her breathing is faster. She senses something, and she’s right to be afraid.

  I press my back into the shadowed corner and wait to make my move. Her long leg appears right before her gun yielding hand comes into my sight. She steps through the door where I am ready for her to check the corner. I tighten my gun in my hand and extend my arm. I grip the butt of the gun, my index finger on the trigger.

  She is in my sights. However, I cannot shake the feeling of familiarity of her. I can sense that I know this woman, yet my memory of her escapes me. Then the reaction in my gut stirs. I
t’s warning me not to kill her just yet, but why?

  She moves completely through the doorway and I press my back deeper in the corner. I am ready to fire my pistol if I need to. She is on full alert. Her body is posed to kill at the faintest sound. The detective doesn’t move as she freezes her body. She is waiting me out. Waiting for me to make a sound, or confirm that I am gone. The shadow of the corner provides me cover, and I keep my frame as hard as a statue.

  After several seconds have passed, the detective gets brave enough to move. She starts to walk out the door when she spots my suitcase at the foot of my cot. She looks at it. Contemplates on what she will do with it, and then decides to pick it up. Before she can exit the small room, I step from the shadows, my gun pointed at her skull. Then, in a split second of indecision, I wrench my hand back and crack her on the base of her head. She falls to the ground on her stomach, her body shuddering from the pain.

  “Hello, detective,” I say in my deep, menacing voice.

  She tries to roll, wanting to see me, but she is disoriented, despite doing her best to break free. Before she can get to her feet, I crack her again on the head, knocking her out cold.

  I pull the plastic zip ties from my briefcase then wrap them around her wrists and ankles. Sitting on the bed, I look at her, wondering who she really is. Her face is angelic when it’s at rest, but it’s what’s behind that pretty face that has me on edge. She has to be someone I know or someone I used to know. Did I meet her while working in America? Did I meet her on the street and somehow subconsciously remember her?

  So many questions roll through my mind, and it’s driving me crazy. I can’t sit here and wonder about this bitch. I have to kill her and get the fuck out of Blythe Harbor.

  Frustrated with my state of mind, I rip my clothes off and hang them up. Then I stalk my way over to the heavy bag and start to annihilate it, slamming my fists into the hard, unforgiving leather, working out all the pent up rage and frustration.

  I know I need to kill her, but my gut is telling me I shouldn’t. The questions of why are circling my brain more and more, flooding out any other thought, and it pisses me off. She is preventing my plan to go forward, but why?

  Why? Why? Why? I say in my head as I slam my fists over and over into the bag.

  August 7, 2015 11:01 p.m.

  The sweat is dripping from my body. My arms feel exhausted, and my frustrations are momentarily at bay. Between the thumps of my fists, the change in her breathing alerts me she’s awake. Instead of the smooth, steady breaths, hers are now rapid and frightened. I’m certain her instinct is telling her she’s in trouble.

  I punch the bag a few more times then drop my arms, my muscles spent. I shake my arms out and roll my shoulders. Then I lean forward and grab the water bottle from the table. The crisp, coolness is refreshing, as is her perfume that filters through the air.

  “I know you’re awake, Josslyn,” I finally say.

  Her breathing stops, and I can picture her freezing along with it. I turn my body slowly, allowing her to get a good look at me, and she does. Her eyes travel up from the floor, scanning my body as she studies me with every pass of her eyes. Then all the color leaves her face. She knows who I am, or at least, she thinks she does.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Josslyn

  August 8, 2015 2:46 a.m.

  He abandons the chair once more, enraged to an entirely different level. He falls to the ground, his face within inches of mine as he screams, “I didn’t kill that family! They were my family, and they are dead!”

  He is moments away from blowing my head off. I can sense it. My mind is juggling the very thing he said as he presses his gun to my forehead. As the cold steel cuts into my skin, I’m afraid to move. I am free of my restraints, but I am terrified to move. He could blow my head off faster than I could punch in his.

  “They were innocent!” he screams, his eyes transformed from a bright blue to an icy glare. His body is rigid against mine, his breath hot on my cheeks.

  I say nothing as he cuts my insides with his cold, calculating stare.

  “She was my daughter! He was my brother!”

  Holy. Shit, I think to myself. He was Ryan Smith’s brother. Then the mutilated men must have been their killers, but the question is why? Why kill the Smith family?

  Before I can let my question fall from my lips, he shouts again, keeping my attention solely on the words falling from his mouth.

  “It was my job to protect them!”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Nikolai

  August 9, 2015 11:15 p.m.

  I move over to her stunned body, knowing what she is thinking. She thinks she is looking at a ghost. However, it’s only me, the evil twin, the one who will kill her as soon as I get a little more information out of her.

  I make her tremble with my presence, which pleases me. I want her scared. I wasn’t sure what extreme I had to go to in order to make her realize I have the upper hand. I’m certain she doesn’t frighten easily. Therefore, the look of horror on her face only makes me smile a little. It shouldn’t take too long for me to get her to talk. Then I will relieve her of her life with a single gunshot wound to her pretty, little head.

  I lean down, sit her body upright, and then lean her against the wall. I take the bottle of water and put it to her lips. Her supple, full mouth wraps around the lid, not hesitating to sip the water down. A dribble rests on her lips, and her tongue sweeps across her skin to catch it.

  For a second, I am stunned and more than curious to know what her tongue would feel like inside my mouth, to feel it run down my body as her lips purse up and kiss their way down to my dick. I can feel my desire stir in my boxers, and soon, she will be aware of what she does to my body. I can’t allow that to happen.

  I stand and immediately turn, walking to the corner to breath out the unrelenting feeling her body ignites within mine. She chooses that moment to finally speak.

  “Who are you?”

  The question doesn’t surprise me, but I do find it hard to answer. I sometimes ask the same question to myself. I know I am a cold, calculated murderer. I have no problem taking a man’s life and doing it in a gruesome fashion. However, I’ve always wondered if I were given a normal life, would I have still been so heinous? Would I be the monster I see every time I glance at myself in the mirror?

  Shaking my head of my thoughts, I morph back into the man I am most comfortable with. I become the man who isn’t afraid of anyone or anything, the man who will kill and ask questions later.

  Sitting down on the cot, I reply, “I am the man you’ve been looking for, my dear. Although, I thought it would be me visiting you, not the other way around.”

  Bravely, she responds, “You did not answer my question.”

  I am impressed because, moments ago, she was a frightened little bird. It may be harder than I anticipated to get her to crack. I do love a challenge, though.

  “Who are you?”

  Smiling, I stand from the cot to stretch my body then reply, “That is an excellent story, love, but I will not be sharing that with you just yet.”

  “Look, asshole, you can dick around all you want. All I am asking for is who you are. We both know you are the man known as Ryan Smith, although I doubt that is your real name.”

  “Fascinating, Josslyn. What else do you know?”

  She is an intriguing one. I rather enjoy speaking with her. She isn’t inhibited or scared. The detective appears to have many masks, like me.

  Walking to my suit on the wall, I pull it down, knowing it’s time to get dressed and get the hell out of here. I need to make a move before this goes bad.

  “I know that you’re a demented psychopath who likes to mutilate people.”

  My eyes snap to hers as I let go of my suit. She is treading on very, very thin ice, and if she doesn’t shut her fucking mouth, she will fall through. Then that will be it for Detective Josslyn Stowe. Still, she continues.

  “I know that you are connect
ed to the Vory V Zakone.”

  I snap around and fully face her. The unadulterated hate is boiling so very close to the surface. At any moment, I will snap at her. Manny was right; she is a bulldog, though I can’t help admitting I am surprised by her knowledge. This, I think, is what enrages me the most. She is getting her way under my skin, yet this bitch won’t quit.

  “With that and the sound of your accent, I know you are Russian, and you’re probably here illegally. And I know you’re a sick asshole who likes to rape and kill little girls!”

  I explode in a fit of rage. My favorite bowie knife rests under the pillow of my cot, and I pull it from its hiding place and fall on top of the detective. She has no idea what she just said to me and how far from the truth she really is. I would never put my hands on a little girl or woman and rape them. They were my family.

  As I push the knife to her throat, her skin turns red, her eyes full of fear. The blood starts to bubble under the steel, serrated blade, but it’s the sudden vision of panic that stops me from slicing her open.

  She is breathing rapidly, her chest collapsing and expanding faster by the second, and then she becomes completely disconnected.

  I pull myself off her body and watch as she murmurs a song as her eyes start to slowly close.

  “All alone is all we are … All alone is all we are …”

  The past comes slamming into my brain when I recall the night I heard those words. It was the night I went on my first job with Boris, the night I was trying to prove to Stravinsky that I was dedicated to the family.

  I sit down as Josslyn passes out, recalling the night I first encountered the detective.

  I stood over by the bed, tightening the restraints on the police officer. The sounds of whimpers scar me as I watch Boris rape the cop’s wife right next to him. This is not what I signed up for. However, it doesn’t appear to faze Ademar Stravinsky, who’s standing over the man.