Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Landish,Lauren

  “Before you do, I have a question,” I say, rubbing my wrists. Delay, Andrea, delay. Who cares if you're talking to a total sociopath, keep him talking, keep the clock ticking. “Why the knives?”

  Orloff looks at the knife in his hand, and in a movement so fast that I can't even track it, he whips his hand down, the knife burying itself in the floorboards at my feet, and another knife appears in his hands. “Because they are elegant. They are the tools of the warrior and the killer since our ancestors, the Cossack and the samurai respectively, were spreading death in their lands for all to fear and obey. The gun is a peasant's weapon, the weapon of the foolish and the arrogant, who think that size matters, and that spirit is no longer important.”

  “I think you're lying,” I reply, sitting back and crossing my legs. Talking, keep him talking. “I think you just enjoy getting close and the blood. Guns are too clean for you.”

  “Perhaps,” Orloff says, chuckling. “Speaking of guns however, I have to get ready for our visitor later.”

  Orloff backs up and lifts a jacket off a hanger that's on the bedroom door, never taking his eyes off of me. It looks like a warmup jacket, but it's thick, a lot thicker than I would expect a jacket like that to be. “What is that? It's still early fall, you don't need the warmth.”

  “Insurance. My employers agreed to hire me to Peter DeLaCoeur, but they do not trust him. I don't trust him either. However, let us give him a call.”

  Orloff takes a cell phone from the counter and sets it on the table next to me. “How long has it been since you spoke to your father?”

  “Since the day before he went to jail,” I reply, grimacing at the thought. “Not long enough, in my opinion.”

  Orloff's smile doesn't waver, and instead he chuckles in amusement. “Well, perhaps he will be nice to his princess. Let us see.”

  Orloff dials a number on the phone, putting it on speaker as the call is picked up quickly. “You did the job?”

  That's my father all right. I can still hear the self-indulgent whine and casual cruelty in his voice. “Mr. DeLaCoeur, such a nice afternoon. I hope you are enjoying it as much as I have.”

  “Cut the shit, Russkie. Did you do the job or not?”

  “Partially,” Orloff admits, still smiling as he sits down on the table, far enough from me that I can't reach him, his knife still casually in his hand. “I killed Nathan Black, and have your daughter here. Unfortunately, the others were more... difficult than I thought. It will take more time on them.”

  “You have Andrea?” Peter asks, and I can hear hope and anger in his voice. “Let me talk to her.”

  “I do believe that's your cue, Andrea,” Orloff says, gesturing with his knife. “Say hello to your father.”

  “I don't have a father,” I reply, forcing a smile to my fear-frozen lips. “If you mean say hello to the fuck on the other end of the line, well... hello, Peter.”

  Orloff's smile spreads, but on the other end of the line, Peter sputters in rage. “You spoiled little bitch. How dare you!”

  “What, Peter?” I ask, turning my wit and tongue on him. “For nearly twenty years, you really think I haven't noticed the way you treated me and the rest of your family? So what did you think would happen now, that I'd just open my arms wide and say 'Hello, Daddy?' You want that, go hire some whore who can play schoolgirl for you.”

  Orloff applauds silently, the flat of his knife tapping his left palm, and I find I'm enjoying this. From the age of two until the day I left his house, I never truly told Peter DeLaCoeur how I felt about him. Well, no time like the fucking present. “You ungrateful bitch. I am your father,” he says coldly, regaining some of his composure.

  “Anta wa boku no chichi zettainai yo!” I yell back, but it's a cool yell. I learned it after watching some Japanese female pro wrestlers do their promo work in a video. It was for learning Japanese, I swear. Even if they were cool as hell.“Totemo debukutei baka oyaji chinko desu!”

  “Cut that shit! I've told you...” Peter yells, then takes a deep breath. “Fine. I was hoping there'd be a way to reconcile between us, Andrea. I really did.”

  “Oh, is that why you sent your buddy the psycho Russian to try and kill us all?” I ask, dropping back to a sarcastic but calm voice. “No offense.”

  “Not a psychopath, a sociopath,” Vadim says conversationally, waving it off.

  “So what are you going to do? Or I guess it would be better to say, what are you going to have Vadim do?” I ask, pretending to be bored. “I know you don't have the balls to actually do anything yourself. I lived in your house for too long, remember? You're good at throwing things and acting like a spoiled preschooler, but in terms of actually doing any heavy lifting, the most you're able to do is lift that gut of yours over your belt.”

  Peter's huffing on the other end, and I wonder if I can actually talk the man into a heart attack. It'd solve some of my problems, for sure. Instead, he takes a deep breath again, calming himself. “So be it, then. You betrayed me, you will pay the penalty. Vadim, I'll be there in a little while, I have some things I need to take care of here. When I get there, you can have your fun.”

  “Is that so, Mr. DeLaCoeur?” Vadim asks, a cold pleasure in his voice that I can't help but shiver over. “All of it?”

  “All of it. Andrea, if you didn't know, that means that Vadim is going to torture you with his favorite knives, and you better hope you die quickly. Because afterward, he's going to fuck you, either your corpse or until you die.”

  It takes all the strength I have in my soul to not tremble, and to keep my voice with that same level of unconcerned bored that I've been using with him in English for a while. “Is that so? Well, if that's the case, tell me something. It can't hurt you anyhow, and I've wondered for years. Were you involved?”

  “In what?” Peter asks, confused.

  “In Aiko Mori's death. Did you pay the men who threw her off that roof?”

  Peter's harsh chuckle tells me everything I need to know, but he answers anyway. “It was cheap, actually. A single business deal.”

  I nod, not surprised, but it still hurts. “Why?”

  “Because she broke it off with me,” Peter says simply. “She said that there was no way she'd ever let a man like me have her daughter. Nobody does that to me.”

  “I see,” I reply, trying to not let my anger take over. At least I know for sure now that my mother died honorably, and never gave up on me. “Well, I guess that's all I needed to know. So, are you going to enjoy watching? A little bit of a daughter fetish, you fucking pervert?”

  “It'll be satisfying, although I hope you won't be dead. I want to hear you scream in pain as he tears you up.”

  I fake a mock sigh, and look up. “It'll be nice to know at least there's going to be one man with a hard-on at my death. Vadim, did you know that before he went to jail, Peter went through a box of Viagra at least once a month? I wonder how much he needs now? I wouldn't call him the Don of the Delta, but the Emperor of Erectile Dysfunction.”

  There's a roar of anger on the other end of the line, and the phone cuts off. Vadim leans back, laughing breathlessly at my little performance. “That was excellent, truly excellent!”

  “Not done for your benefit, but thank you,” I reply, a tremble coming to my arms. “So I guess it's time for the ropes?”

  Vadim shakes his head, still smiling happily. “No, anyone who can call her own father a stupid old man penis does not deserve the ropes until they have to be used.”

  “You speak Japanese?” I ask, surprised.

  “I only can understand it, my tongue has no talent for speaking it,” Vadim replies, shrugging. “I learned English in prison, it was a hobby. The Japanese I picked up from business associates. But as to your main concern, no, I will not tie you up. As long as you agree to behave like a civilized lady, I will leave you unharmed and unmolested until your... until Peter gets here.”

  “And I don't suppose there's any way I could just convince you to let me stay untie
d and the door to magically open up while you go to the toilet, and I walk out the door?”

  Vadim laughs again, shaking his head. “No, pretty girl. The money is not a problem, I have more than enough... but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

  I nod, chilled. Fine, my options are now down to one. Keep him talking, and when Peter shows up, keep him talking. They stop talking, and I die. I think, and try another tactic. It's disgusting, I hate myself for even thinking about it, but it might help. “And I assume that includes defiling my body?”

  “You are very beautiful, Andrea. Honestly, it pains me slightly to think that we wouldn’t be able to have a repeat performance. You seem like you would make a good woman. I have read your file, you are quite remarkable.”

  “That sounds like admiration,” I reply, thrusting out my breasts slightly. Okay, so I've only got small handfuls. Still, he seems to like what he sees and I need time. “Are you getting a soft spot for me? Or maybe a hard spot?”

  Vadim chuckles and shakes his head. “I said I will regret not being able to get to know you better. But that doesn’t mean I will not also enjoy my work with you. I will, however, grant you an honor that I do not offer lightly.”

  “And what is that?” I ask, just trying to keep him talking.

  “There is a very small difference, sometimes as small as a hair's breadth, between a painful cut, a crippling cut, and a killing cut. You have a warrior's spirit, and I respect that. So, when the time comes... I will make sure my knife cuts just a bit too deeply before I take my liberties with your body. You will not feel that indignity.”

  “A cold comfort. I guess I would expect nothing more.”

  “From a sociopath,” Vadim says, twirling his knife over his knuckles. He notices my expression, and gives me a measured look, his smile not disappearing but becoming a bit... more intelligent, perhaps? “You seem surprised that I embrace that label?”

  “I am,” I agree. “I thought most people with abnormal minds hate being labeled that way.”

  “It just depends on the label, does it not?” Vadim asks conversationally, like talking about death and killing and necrophilia is normal everyday conversation. It's chilling, and I feel dirty, but I keep plowing on, keeping him talking. “If I were labeled a genius, or even a savant, you would expect me to embrace it. For me, being labeled by doctors as a sociopath just means that I am a genius, just in a way that the rest of the world does not accept as a proper way of being a genius. For, to be honest, am I not a true maestro of violence, especially with the knife?”

  “That you seem to be,” I admit. “Do you think you're the best in the world?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Orloff replies, his smile never faltering. “I must admit, your brother and his wife fought well. There was a good chance I could have been injured.”

  “Could you have done it straight up? The smoke grenade, things like that, they gave you an advantage.”

  Vadim shrugs, unconcerned. “My work does not concern itself with being fair. But as a mental exercise? I would have liked to have a chance to spar with both Nathan and with Katrina. Such a beautiful name, Katrina. Russian, almost. She fought with skill, despite her obvious disadvantage of having to try and coordinate with your brother. But Nathan... yes, I do believe in his prime, I would have had my hands full.”

  “How did you beat him, anyway? You said you killed him.”

  Vadim smiled. “The edge of my knife was coated with poison.”

  “Dirty.”

  “He was strong. I normally look down on you Americans, but him... he was a true man.”

  We go silent for a while, and I'm lost in my thoughts. I know I should keep him talking, but it’s hard to keep up a conversation with a man this disgusting, even when I know my life may depend on it. Finally, despair starts to set in, and I look up at Vadim, who's looking at me with interest in his eyes. “What?”

  “You are truly beautiful, even as you accept your fate. I do regret not meeting you earlier, Andrea.”

  I nod, but I can't smile, even a fake one. “I have only one regret.”

  “What is that?”

  I shrug, and look down. “I didn't get to find out if I love him.”

  “That is something to regret,” Orloff agrees, a note of melancholy in his voice. “If you wish, I can pass along the message afterward. After Peter gets here and I get my money, I will have the free time.”

  “You nearly killed him today, I don't think he wants a visit from you,” I reply, and Vadim tilts his head, curious. “The man with Nathan Black.”

  “Brave, but stupid. Fought like a pussy with his stupid gun. You could have done better,” Orloff says with a harsh laugh, pissing me off.

  “Fuck you, Russian. I hope Carson shoots your balls off.”

  Orloff laughs, leaning back. “I doubt it.”

  A knock comes at the door, and Orloff looks over, surprised. “You are a good conversationalist, I didn’t hear Peter approach. Well, it is time. It's been a pleasure getting to know you, Andrea DeLaCoeur.”

  Orloff turns away from me, and I tense. I've got only one chance, even if it's only a chance in a million. I can't see the door very well from here, but I can see when Orloff reaches for the handle, and I get ready. When he opens the door, that's my chance.

  Chapter 20

  Carson

  I park the borrowed Honda a quarter mile away from the location of Nathan's tracker, making sure that I've got his phone with me. I've been driving down this lonely dirt road for five minutes already, and I can see what Orloff is working with, if that's who I'm tracking. Isolated, private, and alone. It's the perfect area to kill someone.

  I'm going to stop it, I swear to God. I get out of the car and double check my pistol. There's fifteen rounds in the magazine, and I jack the slide, loading the first round into the chamber. I'm ready, or at least as ready as I can be.

  I head down the road, keeping Nathan's phone in front of me. I'm glad that I took the five minutes to stop and get a charger since even after driving for nearly thirty minutes the battery isn't close to being even halfway charged. There's no way I could have kept the charge going this whole time if I hadn't had the phone plugged in while I drove.

  I want to run, but I can't trust I'm going to find it easy as I get closer, and I can't go rushing in blindly. I don't even have backup this time, but instead I have to depend on myself. Seeing the stupidity of what I'm doing, I mutter to myself. “Great fucking idea, Carson. Sure Katrina, I want you to stay behind and protect an underground hospital that nobody knows about instead of covering my ass. Great fucking idea.”

  I shake my head and keep walking, sticking to the side of the road where I can melt into the treeline if I have to. There isn't a lot of cover, honestly. While we're not in the swamps or marshes, we're also not in the deep woods area either. If I had to call it anything, I'd call it scrub. The trees are shorter, stunted pines and other types that barely make good firewood for barbecue. Still, I'm not a woodsman, I'm not into hunting, and am in no way prepared to try and move silently between the trees like some sort of ninja.

  I get to a point about fifty yards from the tracker and slow down even more, forcing myself not to rush despite the urge. I can't save Andrea if I'm dead before even getting her free. Afterward... well, that won't matter as long as she gets away freely.

  I see the trees thinning even more, and up ahead, an open dirt lot. It looks like this used to maybe be the spot where someone parked a mobile home, or maybe a hunting trailer, and in the middle of it, maybe slightly off to the left of the small clearing, is a motorhome with a black four door sedan parked about ten yards away. It's not that big, definitely not one of those forty foot long custom jobs, but one of the smaller types that you build onto a truck frame. It gives me an opening, I think.

  The front of the truck only has a small, maybe four inch window that hangs over the cab of the truck portion, and no view to the inside of the area. I circle around the clearing quickly, getting to that
spot, and then walking quickly but quietly. Unless Orloff is hanging out in the storage spot, or maybe it's a tiny bed, up in that overhang, nobody can see me approach.

  I get to the side of the motorhome and stop, checking carefully. There's a bigger window, but it's on the other side of the door, and the window on this side is smaller and higher off the ground. I half-squat and walk, stopping under the window.

  Inside, I hear someone talking. Orloff. “If you wish, I can pass along the message afterward. After Peter gets here and I get my money, I will have the free time.”

  Andrea's voice replies, and it's nearly the sweetest sound I've ever heard in my life. She's alive, and from the sound of it, unhurt and a bit pissed off. “You nearly killed him today, I don't think he wants a visit from you. The man with Nathan Black.”

  “Brave, but stupid. Fought like a pussy with his stupid gun. You could have done better,” Orloff replies with a laugh, and my hand tightens on my Glock. He's right, Andrea could do a lot better than me. But that doesn't matter, because I'm here. A scrap of song comes to my head, a little cadence that Nathan would do when he was out jogging with Maverick around the property the few times he was there as he exercised, I think it's an old military running song. I ain't the killer, I'm the killer man's son, but I'll do the killin' till the killer man comes.

  Goddamned right. Andrea sounds more pissed too, and in her words I can hear her hope, which touches me even as it hardens my heart. “Fuck you, Russian. I hope Carson shoots your balls off.”

  Orloff laughs, and I check the safety on my pistol. One chance. “I doubt it.”

  So Orloff expects Peter DeLaCoeur to visit? Excellent, it gives me an opening. I study the door for a second, and am glad again that Orloff chose a motorhome. It's got advantages for sure, including the fact that it's mobile, but you can't see shit from inside, except through a couple of medium-sized windows that I've avoided. The door itself doesn't even have a window at all. I ready my Glock and reach up, knocking on the door before stepping back and taking a two handed shooter's stance. Aim center of mass, and remember that he's going to be higher up than I am...