by Holly Hart
I stopped dead, forming my hand into a fist to signal to Dimitri to do the same. No matter how quietly we crept, the fire chute squeaked into the inky night. There was no way it was up to code. Dimitri inched up to my side and stared at me with questioning eyes. I pointed at my chest, and then held up a single finger. Then I pointed at his, and held up two. He raised an eyebrow and nodded.
I go first, you follow.
"On three," I whispered, the sound barely escaping my lips.
Two fingers.
One.
Go.
I sprinted out of my crouch like a Jamaican at the Olympics. The stairs underneath brayed a warning to anyone within earshot. I grimaced as I ran. It was loud enough to wake the dead. But it didn't matter. The only thing that counted right now was speed.
I broke over the ridge onto the flat roof, and saw both what I had expected – and not. A man all dressed in black lay by the far corner, about thirty yards from where the fire escape opened out. It was a hell of a long way to run. Not because I was unfit, but because of what he had in his hands:
an AK-47 automatic rifle.
There was no time for thought. I ran straight – not bothering to zig zag. That kind of shit's for the movies, not real life. The time you spend running from side to side like a headless chicken is enough for any killer to get the drop on you. Luckily, this guy didn't seem like much of a killer. He hadn't heeded the fire escape's screamed warning – and was only now scrambling to turn and face us.
"I've got him boss," I heard Dimitri shout, his breath ragged.
I spared a glance over my shoulder, and saw Dimitri crouch on one knee and prepare to let loose a shot. "Don't you fucking dare," I shouted back at him. "I need him alive."
I put my head down and sprinted. Twenty yards became fifteen, became ten, so close I could see the whites of my enemy's eyes. My rifle bounced where its straps secured it to my chest. The sound joined with the steady thumping of my heart and became a strangely calming, meditative drumbeat.
One, one-thousand,
The world slowed around me.
Two, two-thousand,
I got a better glimpse of the man in black. He wasn't what I had expected.
Three, three-thousand,
He clutched madly at the weapon, pulling fruitlessly at the trigger.
Four, four-thousand,
A series of metallic clicks punctuated the quiet night air.
Five, five-thousand,
I was on him. I kicked the weapon aside, and in the same easy movement threw myself onto his prone chest. I crashed against him, leading with my knee, and two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle and flesh impacted with his rib cage. My knee survived unharmed.
I couldn't say the same for his ribs.
A peal of terror and pain split the night air in two. It even cut through the pounding drumbeat in my head, so sharp I had to resist the temptation to throw my hands against my ears.
"Should have taken the safety off, dumb ass," I grunted. I rammed my knee into his ribs once more for good measure, ignoring his screams, grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him roughly on his front.
I stuck my hand out behind me. "Cuffs."
A rustle of cloth and webbing, and Dimitri placed a set of plastic zip-cuffs in my open palm. I looped them around my new captive's wrists and pulled them tightly snug. The second he was secure, I sank back onto my ass, finally letting my lungs gobble in the precious oxygen they needed.
"You okay, boss?" Dimitri asked, in a low, wondering tone. I turned to face him. His eyes were wide, mouth half-open with surprise. When I didn't say anything, my lieutenant stumbled on regardless. "How'd you know he was there?"
"Magic," I growled. Keep them guessing. "Get his gun."
Dimitri did as I asked, and held it out for me to grab. My fingers closed against the cool metal, and I used the tough weapon's stock to leaver myself back upright. I jabbed the barrel into my captive's back, punctuating his irritating background whimpering with a yowl of pain.
"So, birdie," I snarled, filling my voice with two years’ worth of hatred, "It's time to sing a song. You better hope I like what I hear."
"I promise, I promise," he blubbered, the sound of his pathetic moan muffled by the fact he was eating dirt. "I didn't do nothin’, I'm telling you –"
I jabbed the rifle into his back, and kicked him once in the side for good measure. His fractured ribs crunched together with an audible grating. I knelt by his side and dipped my mouth to his ear. "Listen, birdie, I don't like liars. You know what I do to liars?"
"I'm not lying, I prom –"
"Tell him, Dimitri."
Dimitri played along magnificently, thickening his accent so he sounded like some hick from deepest, darkest Siberia.
"Liars, boss? Is simple. You drops them off buildings. They make splat when they land."
I pushed the little birdie's face hard into the concrete so he couldn't see the grin stretching across my face and turned to my lieutenant. I gave him a thumb’s up. He pointed at the ground beside me.
My eyes widened with understanding. I suddenly realized why he'd been so slow to react to our attack.
I punched the sniveling wreck beneath me as hard as I could in his injured ribs, and he squealed like a stuck pig. "I can make the pain go away, birdie," I whispered into his ear, soft and sweet as warm honey. "I can give you what you need. It hurts, doesn't it, birdie. Not just the ribs, but every inch of you. Your skin's on fire, isn't it? Just say the word, and I'll make it all go away."
What I was doing sickened me. The lengths I was plunging to disgusted me. But if sinking to my father's level was what I needed to do to get revenge, I wouldn't blink. He squirmed underneath me, his legs flailing as he tried to get loose. But he was flimsy and frail from years of abusing his body – no match for my trained, athletic frame. It didn't take him long to realize the truth of his predicament.
"Cook it, Dimitri," I ordered.
The lieutenant coolly reached down and picked up the junkie's apparatus, carefully not pricking himself with a used sharp. I took the time to study my victim more carefully. His once-blonde hair now appeared whiter rather than golden, and his skin was sallow and lined well before his years.
I shook my head. "You've really fucked yourself up, haven't you?"
I watched, half-interested as Dimitri shook a couple of drops of acid onto the brown mixture and searched his black combat webbing for a lighter.
"You know, you really should quit smoking," I muttered. "It's a nasty habit; expensive, too."
"We all have vice," Dimitri muttered, closing one eye and sparking the lighter. He started to cook the heroin into a liquid fit to inject. "And at least mine not heroin."
"I doubt you can even call this shit heroin." I prodded at the remnants of the junkie's cellophane wrap. "It's brown; filthy stuff."
Dimitri pressed a syringe into my hands. It was warm to the touch. I shuddered, imagining the damage it would do to someone's veins. I noticed that the needle was capped with plastic and glanced at Dimitri with surprise. "It's new?"
"He's got ounces of the stuff; fresh needles, too; enough to keep him high as a kite for weeks."
I growled into the junkie's ear, "Or enough to kill him in seconds."
He sobbed beneath me, his resistance tumbling as the seconds ticked by. I jabbed him in the ribs and he howled with pain. "We can do this the easy way, little birdie, or the – well, not so easy way. Tell me what you want. We both know what it is."
I waited as the junkie wept. I watched as he battled his demons, and came up short every time. It didn't take long.
"I need my fix, man," he croaked. "Just give it to me, I promise I'll tell you everything, man, just –"
"You see, birdie," I cooed, stroking his eyebrow with the syringe. "Your promises aren't worth the filth you pump into your veins. You tell me what I want now or…" I paused, grabbing the rucksack full of drugs. "I take your stash. Maybe I'll dump it in the river."
Eve
ry second I spoke, I felt the blackness consuming me. It licked at my ankles like cool floodwater, pulled me in like quicksand. I thought about fighting it, thought about throwing off the shackles… But I chose not to. I embraced it, reveled as it salved my guilt. What I was doing to this junkie was inhuman. The blackness told me not to care.
He broke. "No! I'll tell you anything, anything."
"That's better, birdie. Sing. You can start by telling me where you got this," I pointed at the rucksack. "It can't have been too long ago; else you'd be in the damn fetal position with your eyes rolled back in your head."
"Boss…" Dimitri said, but I didn't listen. If I had, I'd have noticed the concern in his voice. But like I said, I didn't listen.
"Squeak, birdie," I roared.
"Boss!"
I spun to face him, ready to tear him a new one if whatever he wanted wasn't damn good. "What is it?"
He gestured at the AK-47 in his hands, his face black. "It's not loaded."
"What the fu–"
The explosion sent a plume twenty feet high into the night sky. For a second Vista Beach lit up like it was noon, and then it was gone. My ears rang, a bright flash was seared onto the backs of my eyelids, and my nostrils filled with the scent of burning flesh. Dimitri dashed to look out over the roof, but it was all I could do to stay on my feet.
The world spun around me; I'd been outplayed, outfoxed, and out thought. Arkady had played me – let me think I'd got the jump on his man – when he had the upper hand all along. He played to my pride, and to pay for it, my men had died. I was a fool, and I was disgusted with myself.
"Boss," Dimitri croaked. "I think they're gone. What are we going to do?"
I jabbed the needle into the junkie's neck and depressed the plunger. I didn't bother searching for a vein. I didn't care. There was only one thought on my mind.
Arkady would pay for this.
14
Cara
I suppose you never know which way life's going to sweep you, but most of the time you can guess. Most of the time those guesses are gonna turn out okay because you know they’re coming.
But for me – right now – try as I might to predict what was going to happen?
I didn't have a clue.
Ever since Val careened back into my life at his typical one hundred miles an hour, life's tidal wave swept me up and away again – without asking. It had me bobbing like a tiny plank of driftwood in the maw of its fifty foot wave – a broken boat without a tiller. At least when I broke out of Russell's place, with nothing more than a few dollars in my hands and a dog hard on my heels, I was in control. Well, kind of, anyway.
But now here I was in this situation, and did I get any say? Locked up in Val's opulent palace every hour of the day, I felt like Rapunzel in her tower. But Rapunzel's Prince came and rescued her – mine locked me away.
"I get it, Val," I grumbled to no one. "But it doesn't make you any less of an asshole."
Here’s the thing: I wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world. Well, most things anyway. After all, my prison was nothing compared with the horrors Val experienced in his cell. And I was getting what I wanted, wasn't I? Val was an angel whenever he was around, and even if we hadn't told Kitty the truth yet – and we would, soon – I could tell, just by the smile on her face whenever he was around, how good he was for her.
And the sex we had? Geez. I'm not even sure it's legal to think about the way he makes my toes curl. Our chemistry was undeniable. I dreamed about him; hungered for the taste of him every time he left the room; even touched myself as he slept…
So why the hell did I feel like this? Confused; nervous; on edge; sometimes all three; and sometimes none at all; it all depended on whether Val was around or not. Don't get me wrong. I'm anything but the kind of girl who pines away for her man. I know I sound that way, but I'm really not. It's just that every time he set out on one of his missions, I was left behind, alone in an apartment with a toddler. And Kitty's the kind of girl who sleeps fifteen hours a day. You know – the good kind…
But not when you're this bored.
The truth was I wanted to be out there, with him, not stuck in here. I wanted to be out there helping make the world safe for our daughter, not waiting with my heart in my mouth to find out if my lover was even going to make it home.
But if I can't do that, then at least I can vent.
There was one gal who was always there for me, even when Val wasn't. I dialed her number. Val's iPad was really just one of dozens that seemed to litter the apartment, a pair for every room. The video call indicator blinked twice, and then faded away.
I frowned. "The hell?"
"Cara, is that you?"
"Sure is," I said lightly. "Hey, Lexie – let me call you back. I think there's something wrong with the line."
"No, don't bother," she replied quickly. "I think my tablet's the problem."
"Okay, sure," I said. "I guess this is fine, too. How are you doing, girl? Hell, I know it's only been a few days but you won't believe –"
Lexie cut me off. "Listen, Cara," she whispered. "I've been thinking. I'm not sure I can see you for a while."
I laughed. "You're breaking with me!? Nuh uh, never going to happen. We're like two peas in a –"
"Cara!"
I flinched. Lexie’s voice was hard and ragged.
"I'm serious. You're dating an Antonov, and I've got two babies to be thinking about. Your dad was one thing, but he's just a drunk. The rest of what’s in your life? I can't handle it, Cara. I'm sorry."
My mouth dropped open. There were so many things I wanted to tell her. That Val wasn't an Antonov, not really, not at all. That he was only playing a role, that once he was done – he was done. But there were things, now, that I couldn't tell her. And it burned me up inside.
"Lexie…" I whispered. "You don't –"
"I'm sorry, Cara. I've got to go."
The line went dead.
I sat on the couch in stunned silence, clenching and unclenching my fists. My mind was blank and numb. Lexie was my oldest friend, the girl I could count on to be there for me whenever, wherever, and I was the same for her. At least, I thought I was.
This blow hit me doubly hard. I'd been abandoned by everyone I'd ever loved. My mother left, never to return, without saying any type of goodbye. Val left once. He was back now, but who knew for how long …
Don't think like that.
Now Lexie was gone.
Images of our childhood together swirled in my mind like early-morning fog over a glassy-still lake. The time we broke into her parent's liquor cabinet aged what, fifteen? We got drunk on peach schnapps and damn Appletinis and thought we were so cool – at least until the nausea hit and I had to hold her hair back.
I clenched my eyes shut and choked back a sob. I couldn't let myself fall apart. Not with Kitty around. I'd let my own problems mess with her life way too much already. The last thing she needed while we were living out of a mobster's apartment and hiding from her drunken granddaddy was to see her mama crying.
I just needed something to take the edge off, to remind me of happier days.
I fumbled in my handbag for that something. It was a silly little thing, really; a tiny scrapbook Lexie made for my eighteenth birthday. The only gift I got that year. But, as my hand rummaged around the mess, my fingers brushed against something else –
the envelope –
marked with my mother's handwriting.
The discovery sent an electric chill through my body. Every hair on my neck stood on end, and I froze, staring at the yellowed paper. I couldn't believe that I had forgotten about it. That, in all the terror and excitement of the last few days, I could have dismissed something that could answer so many of the questions I'd spent my whole childhood wondering. Wondering – and knowing better than to ask my father.
Understanding even then, at eight years old, what asking about where mama went would mean for me.
The breath caught in my throat.
I reached out and grabbed the envelope, grasping at it like I was afraid a stray breeze might pick it up and steal it from me. And yet … and yet … I was too scared to actually open it. It felt like it weighed a ton in my hands, pressing down on my fingers. It was a double-edged sword, razor-sharp, as ready to cut me as to slide into a sheath by my side.
A sea of questions flooded my mind.
Am I ready for this?
Do I really want to know?
Could I live with myself if I didn't open it?
The answer was a resounding no – to all of them.
That made what I had to do a thousand times harder. I felt like a cart with a team of horses leashed to either side – one pulling in the direction of burying the letter and never thinking about it again, the other galloping in the other direction with foam pouring from their mouths in the eagerness to know.
You might think that my fingers would be tearing at the paper already, desperate to read what was inside. You might think that, but you'd be wrong. You can't imagine how it felt to know that the answer to every question you'd ever asked was at your fingertips – and how terrifying that truly was.
But I had to know.
"You can do this, Cara," I muttered, bouncing my palm against my thigh. The leg jittered too, up and down, up and down in a relentless motion. But no matter how long I procrastinated, I'd never be able to burn off all of the acidic sea of nervous energy that was burning me up inside like napalm.
My fingers tore at the frail envelope gently, like I was an archaeologist brushing gently at a long-lost relic. In a way, I was.
And then I stopped.
The envelope was unopened.
That meant…
That Russell never opened it. That he’d had it all these years, and never once bothered to look inside. What the hell kind of man does that make him?
The thought spurred me on, greedy fingers tearing at the paper as quickly as I could. I should have treated it like an omen. This letter was a Pandora's Box. It was the kind of secret that, once revealed, could never be locked away again, no matter how desperate the need to push it back into nonexistence once more. Feeling this – knowing this – I began reading the letter anyway.