by Aneta Quinn
“Lyubimaya moya” he whispers into my ear as I struggle, calling me his sweetheart.
I jab my elbow back but miss, and then both his arms are around me, suffocating me, stealing the last of my breaths. I’m kicking and wriggling as I watch two of them start on Alek, and he manages to take one out. Unfortunately the other one got his hands on the bat and swings out wide, before coming in contact with Alek’s side.
I watch with wide eyes as Alek drops to the ground and something is placed over my mouth. I struggle, knowing exactly what it is. But my attempts are useless as I start to lose consciousness, my eyes getting heavier, my breathing getting deeper until I’m dropped to the floor. Everything goes black as three smiling bloody faces loom over me.
“Dobroy nochi” one says with a sick, bloodied grin spread across his face.
Chapter 20
Carter
After I tried to contact Abram to beg him, to plead with him, do whatever I had to just to get him to let her go and got no answer, I lost my shit.
Lost my shit as in packed what my hands managed to grab within five minutes, kicked a few things around out of frustration, and punched the mirror in Liz's room from her teenage years when she told me to forget about Kayla. She's fucking nuts if she think’s I could do that.
Jimmy came to see what was going on, and after I managed to actually get the words out of my mouth and tell him what I just heard over the phone, he went and packed what he could too.
The first text came when we were in the cab on the way to the airport, while Jimmy rang every airline he could think of to get us urgent flights back to New York. Being Christmas Eve it was starting to look a little impossible which had me swearing at the cab driver, and clenching my fists.
The text was from an unknown number, a picture. At first I was too anxious to even open it but knew I'd have to eventually. It was a picture of Kayla, lying on her living room floor with a cut on her cheek and some blood trickling from her hairline. I swear, and punch the back of the seat in front of me.
Jimmy realises my hand is bleeding from the shattered mirror back at his mums place, so he pulls out a red Bandana which he had tucked into one of his duffel pockets and wraps it around my knuckles.
"Carter you need to calm the fuck down man, you're not helping if you get us kicked out of this cab and stuck on the side of the road."
"They're fucking hurting her Jimmy" I say, chocking up a little on the last few words – I really need to keep my shit together. I thrust the phone into his palm and stare out the window, as we drive for what feels like an eternity to the airport. He swears as well and tries to console me, make me feel better, but no matter what he says it doesn’t work.
"We're gonna get her out Carter, she's not gonna go down without a fight either believe me."
We manage to get a last minute flight, having to fly first class (which no one is complaining about believe me), and luckily there's only us and another couple in the first class area. We talk the whole flight about what we're going to do to get Kayla back and in all honestly I'll do anything. If Mikhalov asks me to steal more cars, I'd do it. If he asks me to jump off a cliff, I'd do that too, just as long as he lets her go.
After what feels like the longest flight of the century, we land back in New York at about three in the morning Christmas Day, finding ourselves reverting to our old ways. I mean where in the fuck would we find a cab fast enough Christmas morning to get us where we need.
We throw our bags over, and hike the chain link fence that secures all the long term parked cars. Whichever car we take, hopefully the owners are enjoying their holiday wherever they are; long enough for us to go unnoticed and not reported as car thieves.
Jimmy walks left as I go right, quickly surveying the area for cameras. I see him pull a car cover off and whistle in appreciation from about eight cars away. I hike my duffel strap a little higher on my shoulder and jog back to him, surprisingly grinning right along with him when I see what car he's found. There’s always bound to be a nice one if someone’s taken the effort to put a cover on it.
I keep an eye out while he works his magic, alarm blaring momentarily until silence engulfs us like a winters fog. He fiddles with some wires under the steering wheel, and the car comes to life as I hop into the passenger seat next to him. Only a few minutes and we’re in, that’s certainly a new record for Jimmy especially with a car that’s known to be impossible to steal. There's no one else I'd trust more to drive as fast as me, or quick enough without bringing attention down on us.
He revs the engine and grips the steering wheel as he grins at me from the driver seat. He stomps on the accelerator and the back wheels spin slightly as he takes off, echoing through the expanse of the empty car park.
We make our way out and onto the empty streets of New York, both anxious to get to Kayla’s house. A light ahead turns amber, and I find myself grinning when Jimmy accelerates harder, a bright flash coming from the traffic camera as we speed through a red light - apologies to the owners who’ll be receiving a ticket in a couple weeks.
The traffic is pretty light, so we weave our way through easily, turning corners fast and smirking when the back end of the car kicks out with the sharp turn.
“Who the hell leaves a 550 Ferrari in long term parking?” Jimmy scoffs as he keeps the car in control, straightening the steering wheel and continuing on as if we’re in some high speed chase. We got lucky, real lucky.
I watch the reflection of the gunmetal grey Ferrari zoom past the different buildings like a bolt of lightning, just a blur of darkness zooming through the city. We abandon the car a block from Kayla’s place just in case, and sprint the rest of the way there and up the front steps.
The front door is hanging haphazardly by its hinges, and we step in to find the place slightly trashed. We find Alek sitting on the couch with his head between his legs, and what appears to be a frozen bag of peas against one side of his face. He looks like absolute shit.
I take a quick look around and notice plenty of blood smeared across the floor which sets me into a panic. God I hope Kayla is okay, please let her be okay. Alek looks up at that point and tries to smile, even though his lip is busted and his eye is swollen shut, “That’s not her blood if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I start to pace back and forth next to the couch, while Jimmy sits next to Alek and props his feet up on the coffee table.
“So how are we gonna do this?” Alek says and grins a blood smeared toothy grin, before spitting some blood out on the already messed up floor. I sit down in the last empty chair, idea already formed in my head, and I begin to tell them exactly what I’ve got planned – what I should have done in the beginning instead of leaving Kayla here unprotected.
Chapter 21
Kayla
I wake groggily when I hear a door opening, and I instinctively jerk upright into a sitting position. I feel the throb in my entire arm and realise it’s raised up and cuffed to the bed post, the cuffs jingling quietly with my movement.
“Oh, you’re awake” says the guy that’s just come into the room, arms holding a tray full of food. The closer he gets to me, the more I come to recognise him as the guy that was on watch by the intercom outside when I did my run by.
I don’t say a word, just glare as he gets closer and puts the tray down on the edge of the bed, and sits down next to it.
“How’s your head?” he asks, genuinely looking concerned for me. Still I say nothing.
He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, “Look, I’m not going to hurt you, okay Kayla?”
I nod once, “Then let me go.”
“I can’t do that. You’re here as collateral because the boss wants your boyfriend in on a job…and because he got his hands on something that shouldn’t exist.”
“You’re not making any sense to me, you know. Why are you even telling me this?”
“I guess I’ve taken a liking to you” he smirks lightly. Again I say nothing in response.
H
e picks up one of the pieces of toast and starts to eat it, crunching loudly with each bite, “You hungry?”
“Nope” I answer, just as my stomach rumbles noisily at the sight of him eating. He chuckles and nudges the tray closer towards me.
“You mind taking the cuffs off so I can eat?”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine with one hand” he says still smirking, taking another bite of the toast, “Oh, that reminds me” he says as he pulls out a phone, and turns it towards me to take a picture.
I give him the finger, just as I hear the camera go off, and he laughs as he finishes off the piece of toast.
“Bet your boyfriend will love that.”
“Fuck you” I spit back.
“Would love to gorgeous, but we ain’t got the time” he grins, “Like I said, I’m not going to hurt you or do anything you don’t want me to. Just eat, alright?”
I reach out and grab the other piece of toast, nibbling on the crust quietly as he sits there watching me.
“So, why are you feeding me? Shouldn’t you have me chained up in the basement somewhere, sending Carter pics of that, not this”, I look around the room, “I mean who the hell has a room with gold furnishings?”
He laughs hard at that and shakes his head, “You should be thanking God that you’re up here with me and not down in the basement. They’re not all exactly happy with you after it took five of them to bring you in.”
“No thanks, I’m not religious” I say straight-faced, “And what’d you expect me to do, come willingly?”
“Not exactly, but no one realised how much shit they’d get into. What are you like a fucking trained assassin or something?”
“Yeah” I scoff, “So are all five of them nursing their wounds in the basement then?”
“Something like that” he grins back.
“So who’s monitoring the hallways then?”
He quirks his brow and smiles, “two outside this door and five more through-out the house, going back and forth like clockwork.”
I laugh, “Right, I believe you. You wouldn’t have told me that so generously if it was the truth.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
I watch him for a moment as I finish off my toast, and wipe away any crumbs on my face. He stares back at me seriously and I realise he’s telling the truth, either that or he’s got a great poker face.
He leaves the room after that with a few hushed words, telling me not to do anything stupid.
I lay there for a few minutes, contemplating my best way out of this, and then I spring into action. My hair is a mess but it’s still braided down the side, so I dig through with my fingers until they come in contact with one of my bobby pins.
I pull it out and bite down on one end as I stretch it apart, then stick it into the key hole of the hand cuffs. It’s a little awkward because of how I’m sitting, but I eventually manage to unlock them with a satisfied grin.
I flick them open and bring my arm down, rolling my shoulder around in circles to relieve the pain, as I rub my wrist with my other hand. I jump off the bed and tread as quietly as I can to the window, taking a quick peek outside. The sun is barely peeking out over the horizon, probably right on dawn I’m guessing, and there’s a few guards wandering around outside.
I take a look around the room and notice two other doors. I peek through one quietly and see it’s just a bathroom and the other one is unfortunately locked. Think, Kayla, think.
I remember scanning the blueprint numerous times and recall him having air vents throughout the whole manor, so I automatically walk over and look up at it curiously. Before I can form a plan, I hear someone fumbling with the lock on the door.
I quickly jump back onto the bed, and loosely put the cuffs back on as though I’m still locked up. I watch, disgusted, as one of the men that took me waltzes into the room. He has a sick grin on his face as he makes his way towards me.
“You like to play games?” he says, but all I do is scowl at him in response. He leans down over me and runs his finger up my cheek, before grabbing a handful of my hair. He pulls the braid tightly, pulling my face up towards his as he skims his nose along the skin of my neck.
I quickly pull my hand free from the cuff and grab the gun that’s tucked in his jeans. He pulls back from me, slightly shocked, so I kick out, getting him right in the gut. He grunts and doubles over, bracing himself on the edge of the bed, so I move without thinking, like its second nature to do these types of things.
I wrap my legs around his neck and squeeze my thighs as tight as I can manage, cutting off his air.
I watch with sick satisfaction as his face starts to turn a different colour, and his palm lethargically starts to smack at my leg, trying to break free. He picks me up and drops me roughly to the floor, momentarily knocking the air out of my lungs.
I don’t release my grip though, I’m not giving up. This filthy, disgusting, human being is not laying another finger on me. His struggles die down, and then finally after his hands uselessly scratch at me, he’s out.
My legs slowly slide away from him, and I push him off me to the side. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, before I’m up again and checking the ammo in the gun.
I walk back towards the desk, and start to drag the heavy piece of furniture across the floor as quietly as I can. Heaving as I go and working up a light sweat from the ridiculously unnecessary weight of it. Goddamn stupid, gold furnishings.
Once I have it situated right under the vent I jump up onto it, barely reaching the ceiling. I huff out in annoyance and jump back down, grabbing the chair to stack up on top of the desk. I jump back up and push the vent open easily, then pull myself up as quietly as I can.
I look up and down the dark empty vent and decide to go left, moving as quietly as I can. Every so often there’s a grill vent door to allow ventilation, which conveniently allows me to see where I am. The further I head the more I feel like this was too easy to get away from. I just have to get into either the garage and take a car, or risk getting shot by guards or mauled by a dog, and leg it across the expanse of his yard. But then I’d have to figure out a way to make it over the solid brick wall closing off his property.
I lay flat next to one of the vents and breathe deeply, trying to relax myself. Do I risk it and go find Mikhalov, or do I break out and run for safety?
A couple guards walk underneath talking into a walkie, and I catch a few brief snippets of their conversation.
“She’s done what? Gde ona?” one of them barks into the receiver.
The crackly and sudden reply from the walkie has me moving further along, “She’s snuck into the air vents.”
I crawl my way along for a few more meters, until I realise I’m right above Mikhalov’s office. I watch quietly, and see one guy pacing back and forth, disappearing into the little side room every so often that holds the safe.
I bite my lip and start to pry the vent grill up, then slide my way out and quietly land on top of the giant desk. This is what I’ve wanted to do for the last few years, and here I am, inside his home – albeit unprepared and scared shitless. I quickly jump down and crawl under the desk as the guard comes back out, eyes the room suspiciously and goes back to the safe that I see is wide open.
I sit there for a few minutes catching my breath, and as I sigh I check the ammo in the gun again for comfort. Once I’ve caught my breath back, I crawl out from my hiding space and walk silently towards the little room.
The guy is too busy pulling almost everything out of the safe and shoving it into a trash bag, as if his orders are to get rid of anything incriminating. I press the gun to the back of his head without thinking.
“Drop it” I say as his hands slowly rise up in surrender. He slowly starts to turn his head, but I prod the gun harder against his head to stop him.
“I would have thought the jewels were more your thing” I nudge my chin in the direction of the sparkling diamonds. He laughs once as if I’m stupid, “I’m not stealing, I’m doing m
y job” he says, in thick Russian I barely manage to understand this time.
“In English” I growl as I tap the gun against his head again, but he starts to stand up and turn around, arms still raised high.
“Shoot me then” he says as I take a step back. I hold the gun firmly, my palm starting to sweat around the metal of the gun.
“Where’s Mikhalov?” I demand, but he ignores my request.
“Do it” he says as he takes another step, and I bite down on my lip a little unsure. I can’t kill someone, plus I was hoping not to have to actually use the gun, because it’ll be loud enough for everyone in the manor to know where I am. What the hell was I expecting to do when I walked in here anyway?
I try to get a glimpse of the papers scattered across the floor, and see they’re legal documents outlining the owners of Mikhalov’s empire. The name that stands out from the bottom of the page has my eyes snapping back to the man in front of me. It’s suddenly all clear why Mikhalov killed Carter’s dad, or why this guy is trying to destroy these documents.