His coldness triggers my own. Opening my eyes, I glare at him. “A whore or a corpse, your seduction skills are truly astounding.”
“A trait you’ve already tasted.”
That’s a direct hit, intended to knock me off balance, and it works. I lower my chin.
“So, you’ve made your choice.”
Not remotely, but speaking either option out loud will damn someone, and I refuse to play his mind game. It doesn’t matter though. He knows I won’t sell my soul to save my dignity.
“You’re mine now, Ava,” Niko whispers, pulling my hair back so I’m forced to look up at him.
“You’ve said that already.”
“But now you’ve willingly given yourself to me. This…” His hand slips under the sheet, and he slides a single finger between my legs. “This belongs to me now. If I want to fuck it, you will bend over and take my cock. If I want to taste it, you will spread your legs and beg for my tongue. If I want to touch it, you will ride my fingers until you scream. Do we understand each other?”
I should be scared. His cold words should offend me. I should rescind my decision and deny him, but I don’t because I want everything he said and more.
“Niko, whose life did I save?”
“Does it matter?” he says, a cruel smile dancing on his lips.
Long after the front door slams, I’m still sitting in the same spot on the bed, naked and hanging my head in shame.
Who have I become?
Two weeks ago, my biggest choice in life was between plain or ribbed condoms. Now, with a few seductive words, I’m playing God with people’s lives I don’t even know. I’m in over my head, and whether he wants to believe it or not, so is Niko. We’re both keeping a piece of the puzzle in our pockets, and without them, neither of us will ever see the entire picture. Like I told Ethan, I don’t believe in destiny. Things happen in life for a reason, and that reason is usually a person with a motive.
Ethan! Oh shit, I forgot about Ethan.
I have no doubt he’s been blowing up my phone. If I don’t talk to him soon, or get to Seven, everything could go to hell. The longer I’m with Niko, the more I’m putting everyone at risk. I didn’t do things right the first time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do them now.
Kicking off the sheet, I search the room until I find what I’m looking for. Balling the sock up, I shove it in my mouth and step back to give myself plenty of room. Taking a deep breath, I raise my arms over my head and let it out as I jerk my hands downward, slamming them against the upper part of my abdomen while swinging my elbows behind me. It hurts like a son of a bitch, but the sock muffles most of my scream. It takes three more times before the locking blade snaps, and the ties fall off my wrists.
Before I can change my mind, I spit out the sock and search through the drawers again. I’m nothing but movement as I throw on one of Niko’s worn black T-shirts and a pair of green boxer shorts, the waistband rolled as high as it will go. Shoes are pointless, so I retrieve the sock and its match and slip them on.
I don’t know why I bother trying the window. Of course it’s bolted shut. It looks like there’s only one way out and it’s past my overgrown Russian babysitter. With my heart racing, I gently crack the bedroom door open and glance around the living room.
Nothing.
“Mikhail?” I whisper.
Nothing.
Crossing my fingers, I step into the living room to find a sleeping Mikhail sprawled out on the couch. I want to let out a sigh of relief, but I can’t risk the noise, so I hold my breath and tiptoe to the door. Just as I reach for the knob, I hear movement on the couch.
“Hmmpphhff. Nice…tits.”
I freeze, and turn to find him still sound asleep, his hand now rubbing the bulge in his jeans. This time, I let out that sigh as I turn the knob and step outside.
Perv.
Looking around, all I can see is grass. I remember Niko telling me that nobody could hear me scream because there wasn’t anything or anyone around for miles. When I was younger, I could run a mile in less than seven minutes. Without shoes and a substantial reserve of energy, that time may be hard to match.
Deciding to go right, I start off in a jog, then break into a full-out run for my life.
Freedom doesn’t come for those racing at the back of the pack.
Niko
Contacts are always useful in my line of work. That’s why after one call to the Miami Medical Examiner, I delivered pieces of an already deceased redheaded Jane Doe to Sergei before lunch without getting my hands dirty. Some say that’s heartless; I say it’s efficient.
Problem number one solved.
Now, I’m having a beer at a small bar in Port St. Lucie, a boring town forty miles east of Okeechobee, when a text comes through solving problem number two.
It’s done.
Smiling, I drop my phone on the bar and lift my mug in a toast. “Beris' druzhno, ne budet grustno.”
An older woman next to me showing way too much leg for her age wrinkles her nose at me. Normally, I’d be pissed at such a blatant show of disrespect, but I’m feeling generous today.
“Russian proverb,” I say, tilting my mug toward her. “In English it means many hands make light work.”
Her eyes lock on the tattoos covering my hands and neck and she twists her chair around until all I see is her back.
The fuck?
This is exactly why I never talk to people. You have one thing go your way, and some bitch still living in a decade that passed her by twenty-five years ago shits all over it.
“Here’s another one for you,” I offer. “Sosí moy khuy, suka. It means, suck my dick, bitch.”
She lets out a small squeak. Slowly reaching into her purse, she slides a twenty dollar bill on the table and slips out of the chair, walking calmly until she’s almost to the door, then takes off like she was shot out of a cannon.
Lifting my mug again, I down what’s left of my beer.
Many hands make light work.
Damn right they do. Especially when one of those hands drips with blood so that mine can uphold a recently bartered agreement.
Technically, I didn’t kill that border smuggling oil tycoon in Laredo. I simply cashed in a favor from someone even more lethal than myself. A man who has the power to make Sergei Chernov both kiss his ass and then piss himself.
Before Arthur came for me, I took a job no one else wanted—a hit on a cartel kingpin’s wife. I followed it straight to Mexico City. The woman had long red hair and creamy pale skin. I had her in my scope then suddenly my mind saw Ava standing there in the crosshairs, and I hesitated. When the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of my skull, I simply released the trigger and waited. I’ll never forget the thick Spanish accent that followed.
“What’s her name?”
I don’t waver. “Ava.”
The head of the Carrera Cartel knew why I didn’t pull that trigger and spared my life because of it. He asked who ordered the hit, and I told him. That Italian asshole died within hours, along with any knowledge of my involvement.
I glance down at the text again before deleting it. Sparing Carrera’s wife started a chain of events that led to a point where a killer could keep his word to his boss and his captive.
I’m about to order another beer when my phone rings. My good mood tanks when I see who’s calling. “What happened?” I snap.
“I have no idea,” Mikhail says, his voice choppy and frantic. “She was naked, yes? You, how do you say, zipped her hands?”
“Yes, why?”
“I thought, the girl is naked and tied; she is stuck in your room. There is no way she would come out to face me that way. I fell asleep.”
“You did what?” I roar, and the entire bar goes silent. Lowering my voice, I speak the words through clenched teeth. “Where is she, Mik?”
“I do not know. I have driven around the area, but I think I went in a circle.”
“How long has she been gone?”
&nbs
p; “Twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”
“Fuck!” I yell, slamming my phone on the bar. Tossing whatever bills I have in my wallet next to it, I pick it back up and shove my way out the door.
* * *
There’s only one place she could’ve gone, and if I’m wrong, we’re both fucked.
After driving back to Okeechobee in less than thirty minutes, I make a right onto the dirt road. Killing the engine at least two hundred and fifty yards away, I walk the rest of the way to the white washed old farmhouse that sits about five miles east of my own.
Milton Jennings. The only neighbor within ten miles. A retired old asshole who, if he knows what’s good for him, slammed the door right in her face.
Pulling my gun, I climb the rickety steps to the front porch and press my ear against the door. Immediately, I hear her voice. It’s faint but unmistakable.
How dare she.
One more squeeze and she’d be dead. I almost killed her, but I stopped because of some fucked-up memory of a girl I used to know. I fooled myself into thinking maybe she still loved me. Maybe somehow I could get let go of the past. Maybe this time I could keep her safe, tucked away where no one could find her.
What a goddamn idiot.
My escalating rage breaks my control like an eroded dam. Pulling my leg back, I slam the heel of my boot into the door with such force, the rotted wood shatters beneath it. I hear Ava scream my name, but I’m not interested in her right now.
Old man Jennings is standing behind the counter in his kitchen, reaching beneath him when I aim the gun at his head. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you, Jennings. I promise I’m a faster and more accurate shot.”
The man’s weathered face hardens, and he stands. “What do you want, Franko? We’re just havin’ coffee.”
I glance at the two mugs sitting in front of him and grip the gun even tighter.
Coffee?
I turned Highway 70 into the fucking Autobahn, making myself crazy wondering if she was hurt or lost, or God forbid, found by her father, and they were sitting here having coffee?
“What did she say?”
“Nothin’ much.”
Lowering my gun, I pull the trigger, exploding the glass coffee pot into a thousand pieces. Jennings lets out a yelp and covers his face. “That was for lying to me. The next one will draw blood.”
“Okay, okay!” he says, holding his hands in the air. “She told me you kidnapped her from Miami and was holdin’ her prisoner in your house. Those cuts on her wrists and ankles were pretty convincin’.”
“Did she call anybody?”
“Niko…”
I swing the gun toward Ava. “You shut up.”
She lowers her eyes, and I level the gun back on Jennings.
“Yeah, I let her use the phone, and she called someone.”
I knew it.
“What did she say. I need exact words, Jennings.”
He squints as if he’s thinking hard. “She called someone named Ethan. Told him she needed more time to get what he wanted. I guess she was listenin’ for a few minutes, ’cause after that, all she did was repeat the words three days.”
I glance at Ava, who’s still staring at her feet. “Did she now?”
“That’s it, Franko. I don’t want no part of this. I moved out here to avoid all this shit.” He waves his hand toward Ava. “Take her with you, but leave me alone.”
Well, you’re half right.
“One more thing, Jennings.” I keep both of them in my sights as I ask the most important question. “Did she say anything else about me?”
He shrugs. “Just that you used to work for her father. Oh, and that you’re name’s not Garrison Franko. It’s Niko Gaheris.”
“Thank you, Jennings. You’ve been very helpful.” The smile doesn’t fully form on his face before I pull the trigger. The bullet tears through his skull, spraying the walls and Ava in his blood before he hits the floor.
I know Ava’s in shock because she’s not moving. She’s staring at his dead body like she’s caught in another one of her nightmares. She’s not far off.
I’m across the room before she opens her mouth. Grabbing her arm, I drag her toward the front door while she stares over her shoulder at the bloody mess. I keep my eyes focused in front of me, unable to stand seeing the blood splatter across her face.
“He didn’t do anything, Niko! He just tried to help me.”
I jerk her forward, and she tumbles out the door. “Then I guess it’s your fault he’s dead, isn’t it?”
Ava doesn’t say another word the whole walk back to the car, which is fine with me. There’s nothing I have to say right now she’ll want to hear.
Shoving her in the passenger’s seat, I buckle her in and press my lips against her ear. Jerking on the strap, I growl, “Don’t even think about jumping out of this car.”
* * *
Mikhail jumps off the couch when I kick the door open. Pointing my gun at him, I swing it toward the open exit. “Get out.”
He doesn’t hesitate, glaring at Ava as he passes her on his way out.
Once we’re alone, Ava holds one hand in front of her and backs up. “Niko, please, let me explain.”
“Explain what? That you betrayed me again? That you revealed my identity to a stranger?”
“You don’t understand,” she begs. “I had no choice. I have to get back.”
“To who? Ethan?” The name pours like acid from my lips.
“What? No! I mean, yes, but not like…” Her voice trails off as I press the barrel of my gun against her forehead. Immediately, her breathing becomes heavy, and her eyes grow dark.
Keeping the gun against her head, I pull out my knife and pop the blade. “Where were you going, pchelka? Back to the pole? Back to taking your clothes off for other men? Do you need a fucking reminder of who you belong to now? What do I have to do, Ava? Carve my initials into your goddamn skin?”
She licks her lips, her eyes on the blade. “Yes.”
“What?” Rearing back, I stare at her, noticing how fast her eyes dilated.
“Do it,” she whispers.
Her words throw gasoline on an already lit fire. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Ava.”
Ava steps forward as if there’s not a loaded Glock pressed against her skull. Holding my eye, she tilts her head and runs her tongue down the flat end of the knife.
And I come unhinged.
Roaring, I lunge until she’s backed against the kitchen table. Dropping the gun, I wrap a hand around her throat and push her down until her back is flat against it. Pulling the huge T-shirt up, I shred it with my knife, and it falls to each side, opening her like a prize. Her heart is beating so fast I can see it. Part of me wants to carve my initials in the damn thing, but I settle on the beautiful mounds above it.
Fleshy. Soft. Perfect.
“Tell me to stop.” It’s her last chance. She either takes it or suffers the consequences of her words. Instead of taking the out I’ve given her, she shakes her head and closes her eyes.
I see black. It’s like I’m locked behind a wall, and all I can hear are my own curses and Ava’s screams. When the darkness subsides, the first thing I feel is warmth.
Looking down, I trail a finger through the blood as it drips down her ribcage. I follow it up to her once perfect breasts. I trace the N carved into the right one, then move to the left and trace the jagged G.
Branded. Marked. Owned.
“Strip all you want, pchelka, but no one will look. You wear the mark of a killer now.” My mouth collides with hers, and in seconds our heated kiss becomes riotous chaos. Her moans are a diabolical chant in my ear, and the taste of her lips is deadly poison on my tongue. If indulging in both sends me to hell, then I’ll gladly hunger for death.
I tear off my own shirt and suck on her bottom lip, sinking my teeth into the delicate skin. Ava groans my name, lust radiating off her in waves. I feel alive as my perfect, fucked-up goddess writhes underneath me, begging for destruction a
s the blood from her newly created brand smears across my chest.
I slide my hand down her stomach and under the waistband of the boxers she stole. The moment I touch her pussy, she arches her back and throws her arms over her head to grip the opposite end of the table.
“You’re soaked,” I growl against her lips. In response, she bucks her hips and I appease her, circling her clit with my thumb while my finger teases her with shallow thrusts. “Does blood make you wet, Ava?” When she doesn’t answer, I pinch her clit. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” she gasps, spreading her legs wider for me.
Slowly, I sink my finger back inside her along with a second and drag my tongue along her neck “Do knives get you off?”
Her hips move in time with my hand. “Yes.”
I had it all wrong. Ava Chernova isn’t a mindless puppet. She’s a brilliantly depraved succubus hiding behind her own desires, and the one question I have left will draw her out.
“Did watching me kill that old man make you want to fuck, pchelka?”
I glance up as she clamps her mouth shut, her body tensing. She can it deny it to herself, but she’ll never lie to me again. I pump my hand hard, and Ava screams, panting out a chorus of pleas for mercy.
But there will be none. Not until I get what I want.
“Did watching me kill make you want to fuck, pchelka?” I repeat. She’s right there. I can feel her body answer as her pussy contracts around my fingers. I drive in hard one more time then stop.
“Niko, please!” Tears escape the corners of her eyes as she twists her hips in need of the release I’ve denied her.
“Say it!”
“Yes!” she screams. “Yes! I’m a sick, evil shit just like my father. I wanted you to take me right there in his house. Is that what you want to hear, asshole?”
Her admission is the key that finally unlocks the cage. Starved and kept prisoner for so long, the monster gnashes its teeth and roars with hunger. It needs to be fed, and she’s the offering.
Once I rip the boxers off her, I resume my brutal thrusts, lowering my head between her legs as the monster feasts.
Darkest Deeds: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 12