Wreckless Intentions

by K. Marie

  “Did the police already request the video recordings?” I asked next. I had already tasked Sloan with hacking into the system to obtain the footage from the security cameras. I knew the authorities would want it, but I wanted it first. Sloan could edit out anything the police didn’t need to see before copies were made.

  “Yes, Sir, I already handed over a copy,” Sosa confirmed.

  After directing Sosa to have the marina security patrol meet with Joe and Stack, I walked over to speak with the police and fire officials. Of course, they suspected arson to be the cause of the explosion. But, whether or not an accelerant or explosives had been used, wouldn’t be determined until the fire investigator had completed their job.

  When the head guy of the fire department was finished giving his assessment, a police officer by the name of Sam Hiller came over to question me. Because there had been a casualty, he informed me that they were waiting on the coroner’s office to arrive for the body, but asked if I’d take a look to see if I could identify the victim.

  “The victim was pulled out of the water, but the body wasn’t burned badly enough not to be identifiable,” explained Hiller.

  With the thick, acrid stench of smoke permeating my sinuses, I followed him further down the dock to where the body was.

  “If you say none of your staff was scheduled to be at the boat today, where he came from is a mystery. No other boats were found nearby; which means he could’ve simply been wandering along these docks at an unfortunate time,” the officer speculated as we walked.

  His assessment wasn’t too far off, people have been known to wander over from other docks to get a closer look at the Maxim. Some poor bastard had likely ventured over at the wrong moment.

  “I’ve got the boat’s owner here to take a look at the victim,” Hiller told the uniformed officer who was presumably guarding access to the body.

  After being granted entry, we stepped a short distance to where a visible lump lay on the wooden dock. It was covered with sheeting of gray plastic that might have been a tarp.

  “I know this is an unpleasant task, so, let me know when you’re ready,” said Hiller.

  I nodded my consent to proceed. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen a dead body.

  When Hiller pulled back the plastic, I stared down at the half-charred remains of a man. His face and neck were partly scorched and angry-red in spots, his once blondish hair was darkened and partially burned out from the flames, and his lifeless gray eyes hauntingly stared back up at me. The wood surrounding the body was wet from the water that had soaked his clothing, but he must not have been in the water too long because he didn’t have the bloated look of a floater. Like Hiller said, the body was still identifiable.

  My blood ran instantly cold.

  “Is he someone you know?” asked Hiller.

  I continued staring—partially in disbelief, partly in anger; but mostly, with a swelling sense of regret.

  “Mr. Vidov?” the officer prompted again.

  Tearing my eyes away from the body, I lifted my gaze to meet his. “Yes, he is someone I know,” I answered gravely, “His name is Vladimir Petroff, he’s my ex-brother-in-law.”

  Thirty

  G A R L A N D

  I was twelve years old when I realized my father wasn’t who I believed him to be. The illusion was ripped away the day he killed Konstantin right in front of my very eyes. Yet, it didn’t stop me from continuing to idolize him.

  Romanovich has always been a harsh man, one who’d gotten to where he was through a series of hardships, cunning, and brutal ruthlessness. Out on the streets, no offense against him ever went unpunished. That was how you attained power and how you kept it. He’d been mentored by Ivan Shevchenko; his surrogate father, but no amount mentoring could make a man something he wasn’t.

  My father happened to possess a natural-born instinct to lead. It was my belief we always excelled at things we were naturally meant to do. Not all men could stomach what it took to be in a position of power. Because, no matter the line of work, performing dubiously scrupulous acts and unpleasant tasks were almost always required.

  For a while, I believed myself different from my father. I had witnessed the brutality that was a systematic part of his organization, and though I was groomed to become part of it, I decided it wasn’t the life for me. However, I was kidding myself to think I could be exempt from what I was born into. I was also kidding myself to believe I couldn’t be just as brutal.

  When called upon, I meted out punishment just as swift and deadly.

  “Pull him up,” I instructed the two men holding Broggs’s head submerged under water. The asshole put up a good fight, but it was pointless against the two Russian soldiers.

  “You’re not telling me what I want to hear, detective,” I chided scornfully.

  Broggs sputtered and coughed as the water from his head rained down onto the gritty cement floor. “I-I’m a fucking cop! You c-can’t get away with this you murdering bastard!” he protested indignantly, voice quivering as he gasped for air.

  I signaled the men to proceed, then watched with disgust as Broggs fought violently against yet another submersion. Both his arms were secured behind his back with zip ties, and his legs were bound together at the ankles with duct tape. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  After about thirty seconds of him thrashing and resisting, the men pulled Broggs’s head from the water again.

  “Who were the Ostrovsky’s working with?” I asked for the third time.

  “I-I don’t know!” Broggs wheezed out. “They never said, b-but, I’m guessing more than one person wants you dead asshole!”

  “Including you, I presume, since you were the one to place the tracker on my car. Did you know my wife would be in the car the night they came for me?” I questioned evenly, despite the slowly churning ball of rage that had been building up inside of me.

  Broggs was guilty of several offenses. However, that particular one was the most grievous.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Bullshit! You weren’t as clever as you thought, detective. It didn’t take long for my people to identify the lowlife wearing a black hoodie on the street cams that night.”

  Glaring at Broggs with loathing; I rushed forward from where I was standing and gestured for Dez to stand down. After promptly taking his place, my hand went to Broggs’s head and forcefully pushed it downward. With a strength born of fury, I held his head underneath the water that filled the utility tub in his drab, dank basement.

  Broggs had been surprised and caught off-guard when he returned home to find us waiting for him. He was taken down before he even processed what was happening. It was ahead of schedule, but circumstances demanded the timetable for this little visit be moved up

  “Boss!” Joe called, “He’s going to be dead before we get anything useful out of him,” he cautioned, indicating I might have held the asshole down too long.

  With reluctance, I ripped Broggs’s head out of the water but maintained my brutal grip on his hair. “Start talking, or the next time you go under, you’ll be coming back up dead,” I threatened coldly. It took a shitload of restraint to refrain from just quickly killing the bastard.

  Broggs heaved and coughed—water mixed with saliva dripping from his mouth as he attempted to suck air into his lungs. The sleeves of my black shirt dripped with water as I waited him out, reminding me that I should have pushed them back. But, who thought about practical shit like that when all they could think about was murder?

  “Talk!” I barked impatiently, gripping his hair tight enough to rip it from his scalp.

  Broggs yowled in pain as his head jerked backward. “I told you I don’t know who they are—just some fucking Russian’s is all I know!” he cried.

  “No names? Just some vague bullshit about Russians?”

  “I wasn’t one of them—they never spoke openly around me!”

  Meaning, he was just a useful idiot.

&
nbsp; Broggs grunted in agony as I pulled his head back further. “Someone destroyed my boat yesterday and left me a present in the form of my dead brother-in-law. I want to know who the fuck that is!”

  “I-I had nothing to do with it! If I’d known someone was going to destroy your boat, I would’ve made damn sure you were on it!”

  “You’re boring me, Broggs, and proving quite useless if you can’t provide the answers I need.”

  “And you’re a goddamn coward! Take these restraints off of me and prove yourself a man, Vidov!” the asshole jeered, even though he was vastly outnumbered.

  “The restraints make things easier, more efficient if you will. But, by all means, let’s take those off of you lest my manhood be questioned,” I returned mockingly.

  Loosening my grip on his hair, I stepped back and motioned for the men to release the asshole. If he wanted loose, why refuse him?

  While Dez cut through the restraints with his blade, I rolled back the wet sleeves of my shirt in anticipation. I had come here tonight to get answers; as well as to take care of unfinished business. There was nothing to say I couldn’t get some enjoyment out of it.

  “Did you suspect it was me who got the ball rolling on the IA investigation?” I asked tauntingly. “There’s nothing IA hates more than a dirty cop, and I was happy to provide them with evidence documenting all of your crimes.”

  “Fuck you, you piece of Russian scum!” Broggs snarled like a junkyard dog.

  “From what I gathered, you like Russian scum; considering your choice in women. But, not to worry, you’ll soon be joining that piece of trash in whatever hellhole she landed in,” I taunted again.

  Broggs growled as the men restrained him, but at my signal, they released him, and I beckoned him forward with a wave of my hand.

  As expected, he charged like an angry bull.

  Bending at the knees, I used the force of his charge to throw my shoulder into his stomach and sent him flying behind me.

  A pained grunt sounded after a loud thud.

  Quickly pivoting, I waited for Broggs to climb back to his feet and ducked the first wild swing at my head.

  Several forceful blows to his stomach and ribcage followed.

  Broggs staggered backward, then snarled like a rabid animal as he came at me again—striking out several times before managing to land a blow to my shoulder.

  I delivered two quick jabs to his throat and brought a hard knee up to his gut. Both moves instantly depriving him of oxygen.

  As Broggs clutched at his throat with both hands, I swiftly circled him and grasped his right arm at the wrist; twisting it behind his back.

  “I hope this is man enough for you, detective,” I growled menacingly, before yanking up his arm in a practiced move and giving his wrist a violent twist.

  Crack!

  Broggs anguished roar held the high, sharp notes of a soprano; and was music to my ears. I derived immense satisfaction at the sound of his bones breaking in two different places.

  “By the way, the IA investigation was only meant to be the catalyst for your downfall, you piece of shit. No one would question the sudden disappearance of a dirty cop facing criminal charges and imprisonment,” I sneered.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” Broggs cried, struggling against the hold I’d just placed on his other arm.

  “First, you offend my wife; now you insult my mother?” I tsked, twisting the left arm back by its wrist. “Two offenses warrant two punishments.”

  Crack!

  I repeated the same move as with the right arm and was treated to another agony-filled cry from Broggs.

  It had taken a little more effort this time; the process probably looked easier than it actually was. It took a lot of strength to break human bones. The secret was in knowing its weakest point; which was typically near the joint.

  “As a young man, I was taught by an expert combat instructor how to break every bone in a man’s body. It is what I’d intended to do to Savin, but was denied that opportunity with his death. Seeing as how you’re far more useless, I’ll save my strength and break only some of yours,” I told Broggs, moving around to stand in front of him.

  “You’re a fucking animal!” he raged, writhing against the onslaught of pain that was no doubt shooting through his now useless limbs.

  With a detached sort of interest, I looked on as he stumbled around in torment. I’d initially had something different in mind for his ending, but this worked just as well. The bastard deserved to suffer for all the shit he’d done in aid of Natalia Chvetski—in which I never took any revenge against. However, he earned the ultimate of suffering for the part he played in the Ostrovsky’s hit on me. As well as having me arrested in front of my wife.

  In a sudden eruption of temper, I stepped to where Broggs had veered and shot my foot out to connect with his leg; the heel of my black boot landing with great force inches below his kneecap.

  Crack!

  Broggs wailed as he went crashing to the floor, the tibia bone of his right leg severed.

  “Yeah, I’m a fucking animal, but you knew that the entire time you were fucking with me!” I snarled in anger.

  Straddling his legs from behind, I reached to twist my fingers in his hair and jerked his head back before sending my knee crashing down. The bulk of my two-hundred-fifteen pounds impacted right between the thoracic and lumbar vertebra of Broggs’s spine, a gratifying crunch signaling its separation.

  An inhuman shriek filled every square inch of the basement; a long, drawn-out sob that would have made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end had I not known its source.

  “Damn, boss, remind me to never piss you off,” Joe said from the sidelines.

  “Or request to be released from restraints,” added Igor, his thickly accented voice holding no humor.

  I didn’t respond to either comment as I positioned both my knees on the cement at either side of Broggs’s back. By now, sweat had beaded on my brow from both adrenaline and physical assertion, but I wasn’t quite done.

  “You see, having a badge doesn’t equate power, asshole—this is what real power looks like, having another man at your mercy,” I hissed next to Broggs’s ear. With all the keening and wailing, I wanted to make damn sure he heard me.

  He whimpered pathetically before managing to choke-out words I could barely understand. “You wi-will…duh-duh-die…soon.”

  Quite the anticlimactic statement.

  “That’s what you want your last words to be?” I questioned acerbically, moving to finish him off.

  However, I paused when Broggs attempted speaking again after letting out a groan of misery.

  “K-Kosh…n-ni…ko…” he whispered faintly. At least, that’s what it sounded like he’d said.

  The name meant nothing to me. “Is that who the Ostrovsky’s were working with? Koshniko?” I demanded to know.

  What the fuck Broggs was talking about at this point could be just gibberish.

  When he didn’t respond after a bout of moaning, I gave up on getting anything else out of him and leaned in to put my mouth closer to his ear.

  “It’s said revenge is a dish best served cold, detective, you can let me know how it feels when I see you in hell,” I taunted, before finally snapping his neck. Even wounded animals deserved to be put out of their misery.

  Sudden exhaustion from physical exertion enveloped me as I climbed to my feet. Killing a man with one’s bare hands could take a lot out of you. However, I couldn’t deny there being something satisfying in doing it. I didn’t typically derive pleasure from ending a life, but in Broggs’s case, the shit was real-damn-personal.

  “Get the cleaner’s here to clear up this mess,” I instructed Joe, before focusing my eyes on Igor.

  “What I just did to Broggs will make what I do to you, look tame in comparison,” I told him icily, stepping into his personal space. “You can’t serve two masters; if you work for me, your loyalty is to me. Reporting back to Russia anything that happens here is int
olerable. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Da,” Igor answered with a nod.

  Because I knew my father to be a real dick about these things, he likely had no choice. It was only fair I gave him another chance to prove his worth.

  I’d let him explain to Romanovich why he could no longer be his spy.

  As I ascended the stairs from the basement, I reflected that perhaps I’d gotten something useful out of Broggs after all. Koshniko? Koshnikov? Maybe. At least I now had a semblance of a name to work with.

  Thirty-One

  C A M R Y

  “He’s beginning to stay awake for longer stretches of time; it’s going on an hour and a half now,” I announced proudly to Katherine.

  She’d just arrived at the house and had promptly snatched Roman from my arms.

  I left her to fawn over the little guy as usual; and went into the kitchen to hunt for food. I had been up since six this morning—had fed Roman and gotten Autumn off to school. I hadn’t gotten around to making breakfast and was starved.

  “You may as well go ahead and retire; you can become a fulltime nana and fawn over His Royal Highness daily!” I called out to Katherine, just as I stuck my head in the fridge.

  I was only half teasing.

  My motives were partly selfish. Katherine loved being with the kids, and they loved her right back. She had quickly become part of the family, and I adored having her around. Katherine was no-nonsense and would tell it like it is in a heartbeat—but she was also a gentle, kind soul with such a big heart. She spoiled me right along with the kids; perhaps I had missed having that maternal figure around.

  “I’m only forty-nine years young; that’s too soon to retire from anything. Now, perhaps if I found myself a rich husband like yours, I’d think about it,” Katherine said in humor, walking over to join me in the kitchen.

  After pulling out a package of ‘everything’ bagels and cream cheese, I took it over to the counter and went to work. Once I had the bagel sliced in half and browning in the toaster, I grabbed a mug out of the cabinet and made my way over to the Keurig; setting about brewing my daily dose of caffeine.