by Lea Griffith
A few years after that encounter a female assassin stood behind him on a London street and told him she was granting him a reprieve but that if he didn’t leave questions about Joseph alone, she would come for him again and next time she would not be so lenient.
It was the same assassin he’d held in his arms earlier that night, tasting and kissing…loving. Dmitry shied away from the word as soon as his mind gave it voice. It was too soon. His heart laughed at the dismissal.
Rand and Adam waited patiently and when he realized he’d simply withdrawn into his thoughts he continued. “I had been trained from the time I was six years old to be an enforcer for my father. I was sent abroad to study among masters. My father was very good at killing, you see, and wanted his sons to be equally so. Unfortunately, even the best become a target. Five years ago he was killed on orders by one of his own, his blood-brother Vadim Yesipov.”
“You went to Russia for Yesipov?” Rand asked in a hard voice.
“It was but one reason. It is important to note here that from the time I signed on with Trident, I have been your man. It is this company’s interests that have held sway in every decision I’ve made. That doesn’t mean I didn’t do my own searches for my father’s killer and the people who took my sisters and mother.”
“And?” Adam demanded harshly.
“I was made aware of Trident as I searched for a group of female assassins known as First Team. They were whispered about in the underground circles as the preeminent assassins. Expensive, but if you approached The Collective through the appropriate channels, they could be paid to dispose of anyone for the right price. If I could get my hands on them perhaps they could help me discover what had happened to my sisters. It has always been my feeling Joseph Bombardier was wrapped up in it all somehow.” Dmitry stood, walked to the bar and poured another vodka. He drank it in one swallow, let the burn track a path to his gut and then he sat back down. “Anyway, Trident was looking for the same women and it made sense to join with you as our goals lined up. What began as a way to discover more about The Collective became a friendship and now a partnership with some of the best men I know. But I have information to share with you now and it may change how we view things from here on out.”
“So you weaseled your way in under false pretenses and have operated under the radar waiting for the right time to make your move on the ones responsible for your father’s death?” Rand asked in a silky tone.
Dmitry nodded. He would not lie. “Yes.”
Rand sighed. “You have done no more and no less than any of us have in our quest to end The Collective. Your motivations are your own and you have more than proven that Trident is your number one concern. But I would hear your information and I will tell you that if you lie to us again, you will pay for it, Russian. My stake in this fight has risen dramatically and while that’s not something I ever expected, I will kill for Gretchen.”
Dmitry got up and walked to the window. “Understood,” he said. And then, “Minton was revenge and a warning for Joseph. When Bone killed him and her sisters watched, it was simply another way to get payback and goad Bombardier. But then Bone took Yesipov’s life in Russia and I realized that was First Team’s next move. But Bone is not finished. There is another head of Joseph’s Russian snake and she will go back soon to set that move in play. I thought Yesipov was mine so when your women asked me to follow Bone, I was more than ready to do so in the hopes I could take Yesipov and bring Bone back—as you Americans say, easy peasy, no muss, no fuss. But Bone took him and I let her because she gave me something I’d been searching years for—she gave me Ninka.”
Rand’s dark eyes speared Dmitry to the spot. “Ninka is the lost one they speak of. Bone yelled her name as she broke Minton’s neck. What is she to you?”
Dmitry nodded, the pain fresh and vicious. He remembered his sister. Remembered her fair hair and bright smiles. Her blue eyes, so like his own, so like their father’s, had been filled with happiness and laughter. He remembered her sweet voice and laughter. To know Joseph had cut her down like chafe sent hot burning pokers burning straight into Dmitry’s heart.
“Ninka was my sister and she was with Bullet, Arrow, Bone, and Blade before she was killed.”
Saying the words hurt. But it was an ending he’d expected for years. Many times he’d prayed for his sisters to have died rather than suffer the hell of childhood slavery or prostitution. Apparently, his prayers for Ninka had been in vain.
“There is more, Dmitry. Something else you’re holding back,” Adam said intuitively.
“There are more killers after First Team. Joseph calls them his Sciariorum. They are the male equivalent of First Team. Bone fought two of them in the woods surrounding Yesipov’s mansion. They are mean. They are vicious,” Dmitry parlayed.
“But they are not First Team,” Rand acknowledged.
Dmitry shook his head. “They are and they are not. They have an entirely different skill set. The fact that they are stalking First Team tells me one thing.”
Adam laughed. It was low and ugly. “Joseph is scared.”
Dmitry nodded this time. “That is all I know—all I have kept from you and all the new information I have. I searched for my sisters and now I know that one was killed soon after she was taken. Your women, Bone and Blade, did as much as they could to save her but in the end she was too fragile for Joseph Bombardier.”
“She was too good for that place of death, Dmitry Asinimov. She was too pure and beautiful for the hell we were created in,” Arrow’s voice sliced through his pain, bringing fresh blood but also cauterizing his wound.
Dmitry glanced to where Arrow stood and noticed Bullet and Bone beside her. He’d not heard them enter. They were almost too good at what they did, who they were.
“I sang songs to her. She enjoyed lullabies and up until her end she sang a particular one…”
“Bayu-bay,” Dmitry said automatically.
Arrow nodded. “I could not sing it well, she would say. She complained that my voice was not right, but Bone with her affinity for inflections picked it up and when my voice would desert me Bone would sing that one to her and she would laugh, Dmitry. Oh how she would laugh.”
“I held her hands, like so,” Bullet said, lifting her hands together as if in prayer.
Dmitry wanted to pull his heart from his chest and stomp on it. Maybe then the pain would stop.
“I asked her once if she was praying and she told me no. She said she was just cold and her brother, she called you nesti, always held her hands like this to warm them up. We shared our rations with her, Dmitry, as best we could. Bone took her punishments and Blade took her kills. She was our light and in the end she was our salvation. What you might never understand is that Ninka is why we survived. When the weakest of us all shattered that morning in Arequipa, we were formed from her ashes, from her pain. Without her we would have taken our own lives. Ninka gave us a reason to live,” Bullet finished in a whisper.
Bone walked to stand beside her sisters. “Joseph did not break her soul, Asinimov. She had tried so hard to be strong until that morning, but she never gave up her soul to him. Her body was destroyed but she left singing her lullaby and looking to the blue-blue sky.”
“It took us years to understand that. Even though it seemed her mind fractured, she was simply looking for a way to deal with what she didn’t know. When we pulled her small body to the edge of the clearing where she was killed we prayed over her and we became united. She is our beacon and revenge for her death has kept us moving, killing,” Arrow imparted, her voice dark and low.
“Who killed her?” Dmitry asked, the question pulled from his chest.
“It doesn’t matter because within seconds of the act he was dead also, a bullet to the center of his forehead,” Bullet told him.
“Thank you,” Dmitry said.
Bullet shrugged. “She was ours.”
“Mourn her as you knew her, Asinimov—lovingly and without reservation,” Bone urged.<
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He nodded.
“Goddamn him. What kind of monster does that to babies?” Adam bit out.
“He is a man filled with desire and drunk off power. We have waited years to take what is owed to us,” Arrow told them. “We have saved the ones we could.”
“Who is next?” Dmitry asked, shoving his sorrow down deep. Now wasn’t the time to mourn his sister.
“Do not ask us for what we cannot give you. We will not betray our plans,” Bone said fiercely.
Adam raised a hand. “We are here to help you. And before you argue, our goals are the same—eliminate The Collective.”
“I have no doubt that you have your own revenge to take on Joseph, but if you understand nothing else, try to understand this,” Bone demanded. “If we do not take him, we will break. He is ours and nothing you can do or say will allow us to give him to you. If we aren’t allowed to destroy the entirety of The Collective our pain and suffering will be for naught.”
“Let us help,” Dmitry pleaded.
Bone stared at him, her gaze locked and potent. “Is that not what you’ve been doing, Russian? For every time you’ve looked at me and seen something other than death, you have helped. For every time you’ve smiled at me, you have brought me from the edge of cliff so high had I jumped I would be lost. You. Have. Helped.”
“Adam Collins, you have pulled me from my darkness, stilled the violent waters of my mind and given me a reason to live after our vengeance is complete. What is that if not help?” Arrow asked.
“Rand Beckett, you offered me your heart when I didn’t have one of my own. You took it from your chest and placed it in mine and I will hold it safe knowing you will be here for me once I have done my duty. What is that if not help?” Bullet told her man.
Outside the storm raged. But inside, his heart clamored with a pain that would only dissipate with time. His mind jumbled with thoughts about a killer. And there, in his soul, was need for Bone.
“There is nothing more to say, Dmitry,” Rand concluded. “Sometimes words are no longer necessary.”
Rand walked to Bullet, wrapped her in his arms and carried her out of the room. Adam crossed to Arrow, grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs.
That left Dmitry and Bone, two enemies on the precipice of becoming lovers.
“You are still holding something back but now isn’t the time to discuss it. When you’re ready you’ll come to me. You need rest now,” Dmitry told her.
She nodded and turned, making her way to the threshold before she turned back toward him. “Do not seek to see things inside me that are not there.”
“I have only scratched your surface. I cannot be worried about the things that aren’t there when the things that are present are so fucking amazing. But I will give you this and hopefully it will ease your mind—when I take you, I will be taking all of you—the good and the bad. Goodnight, moye.”
He turned back to the window, watching the storm. His feeling of loss was a ragged wound in his soul. He would use the time until light broke open the sky to mourn Ninka.
Tomorrow, he would start the fight with Bone again.
Chapter Ten
“I will leave soon,” Bone told Bullet as they walked out to the range.
Dmitry had been wrong about the weather. The storm passed so quickly it hadn’t done much damage. The ground was wet and there were limbs and leaves everywhere but the sky no longer wept and the sun was making a valiant attempt to show its face this morning.
Rand Beckett had decided to settle on this land he’d originally purchased for the wife and daughter Joseph took from him. The house was being renovated, or rather completed and filled with furniture. The grounds that sprawled around the house had begun to take the shape of a training venue.
The range he’d set up specifically for Bullet. But there were now training facilities and a path had been cleared that skirted the beach before delving into the woods surrounding the house. Bone wished she had time to run, but it just wasn’t to be.
Bullet nodded, accepting her sister’s words and not venturing an opinion.
“How is your rage, Bone?” Bullet asked.
“It is there,” she answered simply.
“Should you call Blade to go with you to Russia?”
Bone snorted. “And take her away from her search for the boy? No. Besides, am I a child to need a keeper now? Not even Joseph sent me out with a handler, Bullet. I believe I was the only one out of all of us who did not require a sitter.”
“I am simply checking. The next moves are crucial. You would question me if the tables were reversed.”
Bone ignored the censure in her sister’s tone. “Have you managed to find out anything on Nodachi?”
Bullet shook her head and stopped as they came to the range. Beyond the targets, in a small field cleared and then filled with flowers that shouldn’t bloom at this time of year, were the babies. Ten children rescued from the clutches of Joseph Bombardier.
Each life was a win for First Team. Not that any of this was a game, but with as many as they’d been forced to watch die, each of the children standing in that field coated with reds, blues, purples, and yellows was affirmation. That they lived lent credence to the fact that everything First Team had endured was worth it.
“They do not sleep well and most cry out from their dreams when they do,” Bullet told her.
“I would expect nothing less. Most of them were slated for termination. I can only imagine how they were used as bait for the others.”
“They have asked to see you,” Bullet said with a smile.
Always she smiled now. Bone rubbed her chest at the queer ache that took root. Bullet had changed—become more and it was good to witness.
Bone walked to the clearing and stopped in front of the old woman she’d only ever known as Juana.
“No he olvidado, anciana,” Bone said harshly.
The woman smiled, her heavily lined face softening. “Tengo la esperanza de que un día se quiere, rompehuesos.”
Bone passed her then and stepped into summer flowers covering an autumn field. When the children saw her, they stopped their exercises and bowed their heads. She took her time making her rounds, touched each one on the head, praising them for their strength, their courage in surviving hell. They shook, clearly in the grips of fear. Bone was a killer after all, but they persevered.
She walked to stand in front of them and said, “Do you remember the dance I showed you?”
Each of the girls nodded, eyes bright though their faces remained blank.
Bone looked at them, forcing them by will alone to meet her gaze. Once they did, she allowed her lips to curve. “Then we shall dance,” she murmured.
Dancing could take one of two paths—killing or training. Tai Chi had never been for her. There was not enough force to the movements. When Bone danced she preferred to mark the steps with death, but for the babies she learned to control that lust for endings so she could show them how to calm their raging hearts.
Bullet sat at the edge of the clearing, her gaze on the babies, a smile hovering on her lips.
Bone began her movements as the sun crawled from behind a cloud. She shifted her feet apart, squatting before she rose slowly and lifted her hands in the air. She became each movement slowly, intuitively, realizing the babies needed this more than she and fully willing to give them what she could.
She moved with methodical precision, until her muscles screamed in protest for more and then she turned and bowed to the babies. They giggled, and it was a sound Bone had never heard before. Children did not giggle in Arequipa.
She glanced at Bullet as the need to fight raged through her blood. Bullet nodded and sent the babies to the house with Juana.
“Your arm is still mending. I will take it easy on you, sister,” Bone taunted.
“Fuck you, Bone Breaker,” Bullet responded with a grin.
They bowed to one another and the fight was on. Bone feinted, Bullet countered. It didn’t ta
ke long for it to begin to spiral. Her sisters, more than any other opponents, knew what Bone needed and sought to provide it. Her fighting skills were only as good as she continuously honed them to be. She’d always been quicker than the others, but when her opponents were as versed in dealing death the dance was infinitely more difficult. That was part of the allure of fighting them—it wasn’t easy.
The air shifted at her back and she turned, sweeping behind her and taking Bullet off her feet as she met the parry and thrust of Arrow’s sidekick. Besides Bone, Arrow was the martial artist. She blended every movement seamlessly, letting it flow from her core to her fist—truly channeling her power.
The need clawed under her skin—it was always this way. When she’d fought Master, she frequently lost control and the punishments had been harsh. Beatings, whippings, burns with a brand. She learned eventually to control the rage but it had been a close thing.
Rarely since she’d taken his head had she known that kind of overwhelming lust for death and the fight itself. Usually, it was after a period of time away from her sisters. Remove her from her anchor and the lust took over, weighting her down even as it propelled her to seek out the one thing that shut it up.
When she would return from particularly harsh assignments her sisters gave her what she needed—no holds barred fighting. Today was no different. She relished every punch she took because it allowed her the clarity to return it ten-fold.
She took a blow to the chest, knew it would bruise and watched as a mean smile broke over Arrow’s face.
“You have gotten slow, sister,” Arrow said as she began to circle them.
Bullet attacked Bone from behind, punching her in the shoulder. When in doubt go for the joints. Bone winced and Bullet turned that single second of inattention against her, spinning and backfisting her in the cheek. Pain exploded in her face as her arm went numb. Bone dropped to a knee, twisting her torso and punching up with her right hand, catching Bullet square in the gut. Her sister dropped like a rock, breath squeaking in through her mouth as she tried to catch it.