The Life (The Russian Guns)

by Bethany-Kris

  “You’re a liar. You know, you're the only fucking female I've met that makes me want to go out and catch myself a felony, Tati. Whatever crazy plan you might have had for us, it wasn't going to be. We sparked but it sure as fuck wasn't in a good way. You need to let it go.”

  “So you say,” she responded lightly.

  That only pissed Anton off more. “You are crazy, huh? You know what my father taught me about women like you?”

  “What's that?”

  “You're just a dog digging for your bone. A bitch, that's what he would have called you. No good for nothing.”

  Anton pulled that pen from his pocket, tapping it to the tabletop. If Kain had thought to pull the cap off the top of it, he might have noticed how the tip had been sharpened down and a razor’s blade inserted into the tip. Messy, but effective.

  “And good for nothing animals just need to be put the fuck down so they don’t cause anybody else anymore harm. I think you’ve caused my wife enough, so your time is running out.”

  Tatiana smiled a cruel sight, tipping up her jaw to him. “I suppose he never warned you about when the bitch bites back, though, did he?”

  Ivan cleared his throat, tossing his napkin to the table. The man has stayed silent during the entire exchange, much to Anton’s surprise and gratitude. “I think we’re almost finished here.”

  Tatiana laughed under her breath, her mouth pulling into an ugly sneer. “Oh no, we’re far from done. Have you been going crazy, Anton? Have you figured it out, yet?”

  “Figured out what, Tati?” he asked, distracted by the sight over her shoulder.

  Behind Tatiana, Anton noticed the owner of the restaurant was standing in one of the doorways that led to the kitchen. That was his signal. The few employees were making their way out of the back. They knew Viviana was out of the restaurant, so they had five minutes before all hell would break loose in the kitchen. Hell came in the form of fire, after all. The owner of the restaurant had been looking to refurbish the place, anyhow.

  It was just another win-win in Anton’s eyes.

  “You haven’t, have you?” Tatiana asked cockily. “You have no idea just how close I’ve gotten to you.”

  “Not close enough,” Anton replied indifferently.

  He snapped his fingers at the only brigadier whose presence he requested at the dinner. As Boris walked back past the table, Anton tossed him the pen in one fluid motion. Ivan glanced at his boss and gave a single nod to say he too was ready.

  Sergei wouldn’t make it back to the table alive.

  Tatiana wouldn’t leave it with breath still in her lungs.

  It’d be a full contact brawl and the fire that followed would burn the building down in ten minutes flat. Anton and his guys would be blocks away when the fire department arrived on scene. Erik had already worked his magic on the official side. A detective, one fire marshal, and three cops picked up those bribes like they were candy. Dirty, the whole fucking city was full of dirt.

  “You should have stayed out of her life, Tatiana,” Anton said. “I warned you once.”

  “I didn’t need to do anything. You already put him there.”

  He didn’t have time to dissect what she implied. With the sound of Sergei returning from the front of the restaurant, Anton held out two fingers for Boris to see down at his side. Ivan slipped the butter knife off the side of the table at the same time Erik grabbed the nearly empty wine bottle and began walking towards the kitchen. What actions could be witnessed were all innocent enough …

  Until they weren’t.

  When Sergei hit the floor behind him with a painful shout and the Jersey men reached for the guns that wouldn’t be in their pockets, Anton stood. Finally, fear lit up Tatiana’s blue eyes, but something else stared back, too. Something that chilled him to the core.

  “You’re already too late,” Tatiana said. “I hope you said goodbye.”

  Whatever that meant, Anton would kill her for it, too.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Fuck,” Anton spat. “Stop moving, Ivan.”

  Something lodged in Anton’s throat, choking him up as he pressed his hand flat and hard against Ivan’s midsection. Tears crawled freely over his cheeks. Anton hadn’t even realized he was crying until the salty taste of his tears fell to his bruised lips. It was just a little too much for Anton to see his friend in the state he was.

  “Hey, hey.” Ivan clasped Anton’s face, smearing streaks of blood over his cheeks. The coldness seeping from Ivan’s skin to Anton’s was enough to make him shiver. “Shit, look at you, huh? Kain sure did a fucking number on you.”

  Anton shook Ivan’s worry off as he was in a much worse state. “I’m fine. Just smacked me good in the mouth.”

  “Yeah, with a chair,” Ivan said, laughing bleakly.

  Anton’s shoulder slammed into the back of the driver’s seat as Erik took a turn a little too sharply. When Ivan groaned in pain, Anton cussed low again.

  “Easy, Erik.” Boris reached up between the front seats to smack the man driving in the back of the head. “We need to make it to the clinic with him alive, dumbass.”

  Erik apologized repeatedly.

  Anton’s hold on Ivan’s stomach loosened, slipping in the slick, warm blood that pumped out from under his fingers. The fluid was thick, coating his hands and soaking to stain everything it touched with a morbid dark cherry color. Never had the smell of blood turned him nauseated before, but when it was coming out of the body of his best friend like it was, killing him with every drop that spilled, Anton couldn’t help but want to be sick.

  “Anton, it … it’s all right.” Even Ivan didn’t seem to believe his own words. “Calm down.”

  No, it wasn’t. That was the sad truth. Anton could only shake his head above his friend.

  Ivan was losing blood much too fast, and they still had another fifteen minutes before they’d arrive to the clinic they used when shit like this happened. They couldn’t just drive up to any ER and take Ivan in because doctors and nurses were required to report gunshot wounds to police. The particular clinic they were going to would keep quiet for a hefty price, and hopefully, they’d save Ivan while they were at it. Anton couldn’t take the chance it would be linked back to the fire at the restaurant they had left only ten minutes before, so he took the risk of a longer drive to a safe place.

  Anton’s shoe skidded on the puddle of Ivan’s blood that had gathered on the floor. Feeling his hold on the wound slip again, Anton’s frustration grew. He needed to keep as much pressure on the damage as he could to keep Ivan from bleeding out.

  Boris leaned over Ivan’s laid out body and slammed his hands into Anton’s chest, pushing him backwards. “Move, Boss. Jesus.” Ivan coughed, blood spilling heavily from the injury as Anton’s hands fell from his middle only long enough for Boris’s to replace them with his own. “I’ve got it. Take a second. He’ll be okay.”

  Anton ignored the crimson wetness smeared over his hands, soaking through his clothes. Leaning against the SUV’s back door, his fist pressed to his forehead as he fought off the urge to beat the shit out of something … anything.

  It shouldn’t have been like that.

  It wasn’t supposed to go down like that.

  Where had that gun come from, anyway?

  The fight that ensued after Boris had taken Sergei down was nothing more than a blur to Anton’s mind. He vaguely remembered getting his hands around Tatiana’s throat. That hadn’t taken him long, not when he had to worry about the five other Jersey Bratva in the room. The ache in his neck brought back a memory of something heavy that had slammed down on his back.

  And then there was one loud pop.

  Anton knew the sound of a gun firing off. That particular sound would follow him forever, he knew.

  Everything that came after that one gunshot had been a lot more violent, a lot messier. It had also been quick. The one with the gun—who was he?

  “How’d we miss that shit, huh?” Anton asked, his voice crac
king.

  “I don’t know, Boss,” Boris mumbled, keeping his eyes down on Ivan.

  “We checked them all,” Ivan stated, his voice too calm and his eyes starting to glaze. “Honest to God, we fucking check—”

  “Shut up. Stop talking. You’re bleeding, so you can’t talk right now.”

  Erik snorted in the front seat. “Ivan, you’re giving Anton a heart attack back there.”

  “Fucking thought it was us who was going to off you,” Ivan said with a snort. “Idiot. Why would I ever off you, huh?”

  “Shut up,” Anton repeated weakly.

  Anton wouldn’t have minded their joking so much if he wasn’t so concerned about Ivan. He knew they were only trying to calm him down, but the deathly pale shade taking hold of Ivan’s skin and the coolness of the man’s body in Anton’s lap said more than anything else could. It didn’t help that there was pain written all over his best friend’s features and the blood just kept on coming.

  “What’d he do, hit a fucking vein, or what?” Erik asked.

  Boris swallowed nervously, meeting Anton’s gaze before he shook his head. “Hit something.”

  “As long as he didn’t hit my goddamned bowels or stomach we’ll be okay.”

  “Shit, shit, shit.” Anton squeezed his eyes shut, still trying to figure out what had gone wrong. “How’d we managed to miss that?”

  “I told you …” Ivan trailed off with another cough and red saliva saturated his lips. Anton’s heart stopped for a moment. If his friend was spitting up blood, it was more than likely the bullet had hit something internally.

  “Fuck! Stop talking!” Anton shouted.

  “No,” Ivan growled back. “Listen to me. We checked him. Every one of those men were checked. Who checked him, Anton?”

  Anton didn’t know because he hadn’t been there. He wanted to arrive second. He had trusted the men who were there to do their jobs properly. The only odd man out in the equation was Boris. That was only because Anton had faith his brigadier had nothing to do with whatever betrayal the Jersey Pakhan had planned, never mind his ability to kill someone with just about anything in his hands.

  “I don’t know,” he said frantically. “I wasn’t … I don’t—”

  “Joe,” Boris breathed, his head snapping up as his eyes landed on Anton. “Joe checked that fucker. I think Rory was going to but he took Tatiana instead, or maybe Joe told him to. I wasn’t close enough to hear, but …”

  Anton wasn’t listening anymore. Several realizations slammed into his mind like pieces of a puzzle. It was painful, and terrifying, and heart wrenching all at once. He’d made a horrible, terrible mistake. They’d overlooked what was right in front of their faces.

  The photographer should have been chased away if Joe had done his job that day. Joe was the only one with Viviana’s car when her tires were slashed and he’d made a phone call to Rory after saying the other man’s phone wasn’t working. Tatiana had been in trouble with a Russian, according to Boris’s sources.

  I didn’t need to do anything. You already put him there.

  Tatiana told him, but Anton hadn’t listened.

  It was always someone close. Unfortunate, Anton had mistakenly thought the target was only on him. That couldn’t have been more wrong. How much closer could a person get to Viviana than one of her bulls?

  “Pull over!”

  “We’re five minutes away,” Erik said, turning to look over his shoulder. “You sure you want to get out now?”

  Anton met Ivan’s gaze and he could tell by the water gathering there that the other man had figured it out, too. There were two more cars behind them; the other vehicles of Anton’s Bratva that had needed to be removed from the restaurant before the officials arrived. One of them would work. He had to get home, now.

  “I’m sorry,” Anton whispered. “Ivan, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t. I’ll—” Ivan stopped up short, swallowing the words instead. “It’ll be fine.”

  Would it?

  *

  “Well, crap.” Rory tossed his cell phone into the passenger seat with disgust, rubbing at his forehead, exasperated. “Damn, that sucks.”

  “What’s wrong?” Viviana asked.

  She didn’t like that he suddenly seemed more quiet and nervous than usual. Rory was the more upbeat of her two bulls, the constantly smiling one. He always tried to find the humor in situations and he kept Viviana talking when she grew too quiet. Maybe it was their closeness in age that helped their friendliness along.

  From the back seat, she barely made out his shrug in the darkness of the SUV. “Nothing for you to worry about, Vine.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I just left a sit down—”

  “A dinner.” Rory leveled her with a look in the mirror. “Nothing more.”

  “Call a spade a spade. Regardless, you can’t tell me we’re on the best terms with Jersey right now. So, I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?”

  “Change in plans.” With those words, Rory took an exit onto the highway that Viviana wasn’t expecting him to. They should have kept going straight to return back to Brighton Beach. This new direction would eventually lead them towards Connecticut. “Joe called and said there was some issue. Boss wants you out of town. I guess he’ll meet us at the lodge in Vermont before morning.”

  Viviana instantly wanted to know about what the issue was, but something else prickled at the back of her mind. “Anton isn’t using the lodge as a safe house, anymore.”

  Rory glanced up into the rear view mirror. “Huh?”

  “The lodge, it’s not a safe house. Why would he want me going there if something happened? Besides, our home is closer, Rory. Take me home and Anton can take me wherever the hell he wants.”

  Besides, her back was hurting something fierce and Viviana had the strangest urge to lay down and sleep. The ache in her back was starting to travel around her sides and through her front, also. She was beginning to wonder if it might be something more. The sensations were no more intense than the false labor was. She’d been terribly stressed out over the last day regarding the Jersey sit down, so it could have been just that manifesting itself, too.

  Viviana wasn’t all too concerned about it. Or she was trying not to be.

  “Sorry,” Rory said, checking over his shoulder before changing lanes. “I don’t make the rules, Vine. I just follow orders. Boss called Joe, that’s all I know.”

  But that didn’t make sense, either. Anton usually contacted Rory first because Viviana was almost always with him when she was traveling with a bull. And if it was so serious that she suddenly needed to leave town, where in the hell was her husband? Dallying around with his guys?

  “This is fucking ridiculous,” Viviana said, huffing angrily. “I need to go home and go to bed!”

  “Whoa.” Once more, Rory met her gaze in the mirror, clearly bothered by her show of temper. “Seriously, what’s the matter?”

  Viviana clamped her mouth shut. Even she didn’t know what to make of her outburst. It wasn’t like she had much of a reason to be angry, but her emotions were suddenly rolling in their own mess of a turmoil. She didn’t know what to think of it, but she hadn’t been able to really settle or feel normal since leaving the restaurant.

  Calm one second and bordering on tears the next, Viviana felt like a hot mess on the inside. She hadn’t experienced emotional currents like that since she first found out about the pregnancy.

  What she really wanted was Anton, a hot bath, and bed.

  It didn’t have to be in that order, either.

  Rest. Her body was demanding it.

  “Vine?” Rory asked again, warily watching her in the mirror.

  “I think maybe I’m …” She trailed off, not knowing how exactly to express her confusing thoughts. If she really considered it, Viviana knew she’d been feeling off for the last couple of days. Mostly, she’d been ignoring it, not even mentioning her restlessness to Anton. Distracted by the lights of other cars on the hi
ghway, Viviana felt exhausted.

  There was no question in her mind, she didn’t need or want to go back to Vermont. Not tonight, and not anytime soon. The drive was too long and she was too close to her due date. Anton knew this.

  “Can I just call Anton and be sure that’s what he wants, please?”

  Rory offered her one his cashmere smiles. “Go for it. It’s not like I want to drive half the night away, either. Maybe he’ll be cool with us finding a random hotel and bunkering down for the night.”

  Unfortunately, Anton didn’t pick up when Viviana called the first time. He also didn’t pick up the second, or third. It wasn’t uncommon for Anton to turn his cell on silent if he was handling an issue, so Viviana didn’t think much of it. It did annoy the hell out of her, though.

  Frustrated, Viviana settled back into the rear seat of the SUV and said, “Well, I guess we’re driving.”

  Rory snorted under his breath. “Guess so.”

  Not twenty minutes later, Viviana’s cell phone rang in her lap. The tune was unfamiliar and the number on the screen certainly wasn’t Anton’s. In fact, she didn’t recognise it at all. She wasn’t even sure if she should answer it. The last time she picked up an unknown number, it led to a sit down with Sergei and his vile daughter.

  Viviana decided to pick up the call, anyway. “Hello?”

  “Vine? Oh, Jesus Christ.” Anton breathed heavily into the receiver. “Thank God.”

  Instantly, her heart rate exploded at the fear saturating his voice. “Anton? Where is your phone?”

  “Baby … what car are you in?”

  “Rory’s. Why?”

  “Where is Joe?” he asked.

  Viviana blinked, unsure of what that had anything to do with his panic. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  “Viviana, where is Joe?”

  “Why?”

  “Vine!”

  “Trailing us like he always does,” she said weakly. “Anton, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you pick up your phone and whose number is this?”

  “Someone’s,” he replied vaguely. “Mine must have dropped out in the other car. I hope it did, anyway. Listen to me, this is important. I’m halfway to Brighton. What road are you on right now?”