The Storm

by Tara Wylde

  I hope.

  I lay down on the rocky shore, feeling the gravel bite into my bare skin. This is going to hurt.

  “Home,” I croak.

  The dogs don’t hesitate. They take off with all their might, dragging me along with them. They move in synch with each other, matching each step, using their powerful neck muscles to pull me along as they climb.

  Each scrape and bump is agony, but we make progress up the seemingly endless series of switchbacks. I swim out of consciousness a handful of times during the climb, so I have no idea how long it takes us to reach the top.

  When we finally crest the edge of the cliff, I collapse next to the panting dogs and undo the belt. A deep red impression cuts into the skin where it pulled me, but that’s the least of my worries. Lying on my back, I can see the sun is at a 45-degree angle. At least seven hours since the attack.

  “Good dogs,” I whisper, stroking their necks. Their breathing is harsh, almost coughing. I can’t imagine how exhausted they must be.

  Or maybe I can. The idea of standing right now seems impossible.

  You have no choice. She needs you.

  The thought brings with it a surge of adrenaline that helps me forget the pain and struggle to my feet. The dogs look up form where they lie on their sides, panting in the tall grass. The look Samson gives me says “Really? Already?”

  “Sorry, my friends,” I groan. “She needs us.”

  They manage to get to their feet and pad along beside me as I lumber my way towards the house. It’s only a hundred yards away, but it seems like miles.

  The bathroom fills with steam as the scalding water of the shower sluices over my back. The waterproof bandage over the crease in my scalp is holding, so that’s all right. I probably need stitches, but that’s not going to happen any time soon.

  My muscles respond to the heat, gradually unbunching and becoming pliable again. I should be thankful whoever had the gun was a piss-poor shot, and that it was a small caliber. Probably a .22 shell. It creased my skull instead of penetrating it, following the curve of the bone.

  The green-haired bitch was on the ground with us when it happened – she must have been hiding somewhere in the cutbank next to the cliff edge. That means the shooter was either Arkady or one of his goons. Given what I know about the boy, I’m almost certain it was him.

  Not that it matters. Nothing is going to save him from me.

  The sun is a fading line of orange behind the horizon by the time I’m ready. I re-dress my head wound, which has thankfully gone from a geyser to a trickle. No matter what happens now, there’s going to be a pretty serious scar there.

  Doesn’t matter. I’d take a hundred bullets if it meant keeping Storm safe.

  I check the inventory I pulled from behind a secret panel in the dojo - the tools of a former life that I hoped I’d never have to use again – and pack it into my shoulder bag. I pull on the clothes specially designed for the type of work I’m expecting to encounter tonight.

  In the garage, I check the fuel gauge on my Mission R motorcycle. It’s a crotch rocket that looks out of place among my classic cars, but it’s American made, and it’s nimble, which is what I need. It’s full and ready to go.

  One last thing to do before I leave. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial a number from memory.

  “Moscow Palace,” says the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Mookie,” I say, keeping my voice light. “It’s Nick Chernenko.”

  “Nick! How’s it hangin’?”

  “Long and strong, my friend. Hey, do you have Josef’s cell number handy? I need to get in touch with him.”

  “Yeah, you bet.” He gives it to me and I program it into my contacts like Storm showed me, just in case.

  “Thanks, Mook, I appreciate it.”

  “You bet. It was good to see you the other day, man. We should get together and hang out some time.”

  “Yeah, sounds good,” I say, knowing full well I’ll never see him again.

  I hang up and hit Josef’s number. He picks up after a handful of rings.

  “Volkov,” he says gruffly. “Who’s this?”

  “Tell me where he is and no one else has to die.”

  The line is silent for a full ten seconds. Finally there’s a heavy sigh.

  “What did he do?” he asks, his voice weak.

  “Shot me. Took the girl.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “Nick, I told him – ”

  “I don’t care,” I growl. “Tell me where he is.”

  “Nick,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “He’s my son.”

  “He tried to kill me. He took my woman.”

  “What if I could get her back?” he says. The desperation in his voice makes my stomach turn.

  “We both know that’s not going to happen,” I say. “You’re talking to the old Nick now, and you know him. Better than anyone.”

  Silence again. “You can’t let it go,” he says finally.

  “I can’t let him go. If I do, he’ll keep coming for me, because he’ll know he can never be safe. If I let him go, everyone who ever had a grudge against me will think that it’s open season on Nick Chernenko. I can’t let that happen. Not with her in my life.”

  “And I can’t let you go after my son,” he says. “If I let you do this, my enemies will smell blood in the water. The head of the Volkov family sat back and let Nick Chernenko take out his son. Over a woman.”

  I process that for a few moments. “It’ll be war.”

  “And no one will win.”

  We’re both silent for a long time. I look at every option, and nothing works. Arkady’s insanity has forced everyone’s hand. Everyone has a gun pointed at everyone else, like in an old Clint Eastwood movie. Someone will eventually have to pull the trigger.

  “There’s only one way this can end,” I say. The sadness in my voice surprises me.

  We talk for a few minutes. In spite of everything, Josef is still my friend. I can’t do what I have planned without letting him know that it hurts me deeply. But there’s no other choice. He understands that as well as I do.

  “Dasvidaniya, tovarisch,” he says finally. “Do what you have to do.”

  “And you, brother. Best of luck.”

  The line goes silent and I tuck the phone into the breast pocket of my windbreaker. I pluck the helmet from the wall hook and put it on, drawing a painful protest from my head wound. The Mission sparks to life and I shoulder my pack before easing the bike out onto the driveway and closing the garage door behind me.

  The engine whines like a buzzsaw as I gun the bike and set off into the night, following the headlight to whatever fate has in store for me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  36. STORM

  I knew it had to be a dream. Nick getting down on one knee to propose, promising to be with me forever, to take care of me and love me and show me all the good things the world had to offer.

  It couldn’t be true. Things like that don’t happen to me. This is my real world. Here, in this place. With him.

  “Whoo!”

  Arkady’s scream pulls me out of my head for a moment. He looks up from the mirror on the table, his nose white. Beside him, the bitch with the green hair – Darya, her name is – rubs some of the white powder on her gums with her index finger.

  Below us, the beat thumps and pounds in time with the lights as sweaty people grind together on the dance floor. The smell of the air makes my stomach hitch – it reminds me of my apartment. Sweat and cigarette smoke absorbed right into the fibers of the carpet, the walls, everywhere.

  Arkady and Darya plop down on the either side of me on the sofa. If either of them are tired from dragging me kicking and screaming from Nick’s house, they don’t show it. Although Darya is sporting a black eye and a fat lip courtesy of my right fist. Nick would be proud of me.

  Nick. The thought of him brings a wave of nausea with it that threatens to drown me. The memory of him on the cliff runs through
my head like a horror movie: the blood, the crack, his body dropping off the edge of the cliff.

  I want to scream. Instead, two tears escape my eyes and trickle down my cheeks.

  “Jesus!” Arkady barks. “Do you ever lighten up? It’s a party, baby!”

  I vaguely register the fact that his hand is groping my right breast through the fabric of the dress he forced me to change into. On the other side of me, Darya’s long fingernails stroke the skin of my neck. I try to force myself to go numb, to take myself out of this room and back to the house with Nick.

  Nick. Oh God, Nick. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Jess,” Arkady says, swigging from a bottle of vodka. “I’m not mad anymore.”

  “Storm,” I hear myself say through numb lips.

  “What?”

  “My name isn’t Jessica. It’s Storm.”

  His brow furrows and he shakes his head. “You’re crazy, bitch. But I like crazy.”

  I say nothing.

  “So we can still party, right?” he says. “Except, you know, you have to pay for that shit with the old man. I can’t just let that slide.”

  On my other side, Darya leans in and breathes heavily in my ear.

  “So I’m going to put you back to work at the club in Long Beach.”

  A stab of panic creases my belly at the mention of the place. He must see it in my face, because he holds up his hands.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “That shit with my buddies wasn’t cool. I know that now. But you’re wasted just serving drinks. Gorgeous thing like you needs to be on the stage, shaking her moneymaker. That’s what brings in the dollar bills. I should’ve thought of that from the get-go.”

  I stare blankly at the wall, trying to block out the sensations from the two of them touching me. For a moment, I honestly thought that nothing he said or did could make me feel worse. Turns out I was wrong.

  Then he finally says the words I’ve been expecting all night.

  “First I’m gonna have to break you in,” he says, almost as an apology.

  I say nothing, but I’m smiling on the inside.

  You’re going to try. And who knows, you might succeed. But I’m going to throw everything Nick taught me at you. And when it’s over, whatever the outcome, you’re going to regret it.

  The opening riff from Sweet Child of Mine warbles through the room and Arkady yanks his cellphone from the pocket of his vest. He looks at the screen and scowls.

  “Fuck you, Pops,” he says absently as he thumbs a button that halts the ringtone. “Not in the mood to talk to you. This is a party.”

  The two of them haul me up by my arms and lead me to the door. When it opens, we’re hit with a wave of sound and stench from the club below. They pull me along a hallway that opens to the dance floor until we reach a storage room. Arkady keys it open and flips a switch.

  In the light, I see crates of booze and shelves of canned goods. On the floor is a moldering army cot. The light streams down from a bare 60-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  “This is your room for now,” Arkady shouts in my ear. “I’ll be back in a while to take you to my place.”

  Darya leans in and runs her tongue along the side of my face. I’m almost overwhelmed by the urge to rake my nails across her throat, but I let it pass. This isn’t the time or the place. Nick taught me that.

  But when the time and place come, bitch, we’re going to party. All three of us.

  The door closes behind them and I hear the lock drive home. Now all I can do is wait.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  37. NICK

  The after-hours club is in a Manhattan warehouse that’s several blocks from any storefronts. I’m sure that’s why Josef chose it – the noise doesn’t bother anyone, and it’s the kind of place that a cop or a city official can feel okay about taking money to look the other way.

  I kill the Mission’s engine and ease it into an alcove behind a dumpster in the alley. It’s full, deep dark back here, no streetlights nearby to cast any shadows. Perfect for what I need. The throbbing of the bass inside translates into a white noise outside the building, which also works in my favor.

  The back door is actually a shipping and receiving dock with a rolling steel door. Next to it is a steel exterior door, the kind with a crash bar on the inside and a handle on the outside. At this time of night, I don’t expect anyone to be coming out through it, so my only option is to pick the lock.

  Once I’m inside the loading bay, I follow the steady thump of the music to the main bar area. There are hundreds of bodies gyrating and jumping and slamming into each other in time to the beat. It makes for perfect cover, but the sound is so loud that it makes it impossible to detect trouble unless it’s in my direct line of sight.

  I keep to the shadows. Unlike most of the people here, I’m dressed for combat, although given what some of them are wearing, maybe I’m not so out of place.

  Light glowing through a frosted window on the open mezzanine marks it as the office or VIP room, so that’s where I head. The people I pass on the stairs barely notice; they’re all too caught up in the trance-like atmosphere.

  I feel a momentary flash of disgust for everything about this place. That sends my mind into places it doesn’t want to go: Storm at the strip club, or here at the mercy of Arkady. The loss of control she must be feeling right now would be crippling, especially since she probably believes I’m dead. My guts cramp at the thought of it all.

  But then I remember that Arkady thinks I’m dead, too. That keeps me going.

  I duck low and push open the door to the office, ready to fight. But it’s empty. Where else would they have her? Under lock and key, no question. Close to them, easily accessible.

  A flash of green in my peripheral vision sets off a jolt of adrenaline. Up ahead. It’s Arkady’s crazy bitch friend. She’s fiddling with the lock on a door at the end of the mezzanine hallway. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.

  There’s one problem – I can’t risk a full-on assault in this crowd. There’s too much potential for innocent people to get hurt. I have to think strategically. It’s not easy, knowing that each second this goes on, the woman I love is dying just a little more inside.

  Finally, I manage to overcome the driving instinct to kick down the door. Instead, I descend the stairs again and head back to the loading bay, hoping I’ll find what I’m looking for there.

  If I don’t, I’ll have no choice, and things will get ugly.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  38. STORM

  My stomach jumps and I sit up on the cot as the deadbolt flips open. This time, Darya is gone and Arkady is accompanied by two muscleheads, though not the same ones he brought to Nick’s house.

  Sweet Child of Mine blares through the fabric of his vest again, and Arkady yanks out his phone. Hits “ignore” again and turns to the other two.

  “If my father calls you, you don’t answer. Got it?”

  They nod, positioning themselves on either side of the door.

  “Nobody gets in,” he says. “That means Darya, too. Understand?”

  They nod again and he closes the door behind him. He grins at me.

  “Those two are fucking morons, but at least I know they’re loyal to me and not my old man,” he says.

  “How fortunate for you,” I say dully.

  “You know, you’re making this way harder than it needs to be,” he says as he sits next to me on the cot. His eyes are darting all over me. “We could be good together.”

  I glare at him. “What the fuck would I get out of that?”

  He grins, showing a mouthful of capped teeth.

  “My father isn’t gonna live forever,” he says. “In fact, his old man died when he wasn’t much older than my dad is now. Time for new blood.”

  I shake my head at the thought of it: this lunatic running a mob operation?

  “So you’re planning to take over, is that it?”

 
“You know it, baby. And I’m gonna need a girl on my arm. The kind who can take care of a family. Be the respectable one, the, whaddaya call it? The matriarch. The mother of my children.”

  Jesus Christ. One minute he’s talking about me stripping on the stage of the Long Island club, the next he’s talking about marrying me. He really is insane. The thought drives a wedge of ice into my guts – any hope I might have had of reasoning with him is gone.

  And yet with it comes a clarity of thought for the first time since he brought me here. I fully understand now that there’s no reasoning with him. He’s a rabid animal, and rabid animals have to be put to sleep.

  Which means, when I finally do attack, I don’t have to hold back. I can put everything Nick taught me to use before I join him in the afterlife. And if Arkady happens to show up there, we’ll take him on together.

  Jesus, now I think I’m going insane.

  “What do you think?” he says, fidgeting madly. “The main squeeze. Not the only one, I mean, duh. But the main one, you know?”

  My stomach churns as I force myself to smile at him.

  “Well, why didn’t you say that before?” I ask. “All that talk about stripping kind of turned me off. But this matriarch thing – that’s different. Money, power. Everything I could have had with Nick.”

  His wild eyes brighten. “I knew that was why you stayed with him!”

  “A girl has to make her way in the world,” I say. “I go where the money is.”

  “Well, I don’t have it all yet, but once the old man is out of the way, it’s all mine. And then you’ll be set.”

  I nod. “That sounds good.”

  “Just gotta get one thing over with,” he says, and before I know what’s happening, he’s undoing his belt.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I stammer.

  “Gotta break you in, sweetheart.” He slides the belt out of its loops and unbuttons the top of his pants. “Why did you think I was so obsessed with you?”