by C. Luca
Blakely would never leave the club during her shift. She loves that job.
I rise to my feet and begin pacing the length of my office as I wait to hear back from Jonah. There’s no point in making rash decisions until Jonah is one hundred percent certain that she’s missing.
Five minutes go by, and my impatience grows.
After what feels like hours, my phone vibrates with a new message. I’m sorry, she’s gone.
A low growl of rage escapes me as I draw my hand back to hurl the phone at the wall, but then I quickly regain control of my temper. I inhale deeply and work to recover my composure. Then, I text, Check the surveillance feeds.
I’ll try to get into the manager’s office without being noticed. Give me a few, he replies back.
Now that the initial shock has passed, I begin to think logically. Jonah hadn’t come across Blakely’s body, which means whoever took her wants her alive—for now.
Who the fuck is behind all this?
The only person Blakely’s pissed off is Jonah. I can’t imagine him going after her—not when her and I are so closely involved. But with her suddenly missing, I can’t afford to discount him without proof.
I stride back to my desk and sit down, bringing up a program on the computer and clicking on Jonah’s ID number that I’d assigned him. After losing Theo, I’d decided it would be wise to chip my men with trackers. Only Reed is aware of this, because he’s the one who’d secretly implanted them into a few of my men. Reed had assured me they wouldn’t even notice since the men barely pay attention to Reed during their physicals unless he asks a question. They just sit there and let him do his thing, no questions asked.
Obviously, putting trackers in humans is illegal, but if one of my men should ever go missing again, I’ll be able to find their location. It also covers my ass if one of them should ever turn on me. If anyone’s foolish enough, I’ll track the fucker down and kill him myself.
Reed had also been chipped, because he’s an employee even though he no longer does field work. If Reed should ever remove it, I’ll know he’s up to no good, and I’ll have reason to be suspicious.
Half my men have yet to be chipped, but it’ll have to wait until their physicals are due or they’re injured and need Reed to tend to them.
I bring up Jonah’s location.
He’s right where he said he was.
There’s no way Jonah could be in two places at once. I suppose he could have hired someone, but that’s not Jonah’s style. My gut is telling me he’s not the one after Blakely.
So who the fuck took her?
My phone vibrates, and I grab the phone and read the text. I’m emailing you the surveillance footage that I found.
Stay on the club’s premises, I send back.
I turn to the computer screen and bring up my email account. Sure enough, I have a new email from Jonah that contains two files.
I click on the first file that he’d sent.
Black and white footage appears on the screen, and it’s a view of one of the hallways at the club. A man is helping a visibly drugged Blakely down the hall. Anyone else might assume she’s drunk, but I know better.
I pause the video and study the man.
He’s aware of the surveillance, because he’s keeping his head down. I do my best to zoom closer, but the picture begins to turn grainy. The only thing I can be certain of is he has dark hair—which doesn’t help me figure out his identity.
I turn my attention to the second video.
This one is footage from just outside the back exit of the club. With a clenched fist, I watch as the man takes Blakely to a vehicle parked just in front of the exit, and she’s deposited into the trunk. He adjusts her arms and legs before closing the top and climbing into the car. As it drives away, I pause the screen when the license plate comes into view.
After zooming in, I text Jonah the numbers. Find out who the car is registered to. This wouldn’t be the first time Jonah’s hacked into the local police department’s system during the past few weeks.
I just finished that. The owner reported it stolen two hours ago.
Goddamnit.
We need a lead here, and so far, this fucker hasn’t given us one. Search abandoned buildings and warehouses for the car. I’m sending Reed out to help with the search, I text him.
On it, Jonah replies.
I quickly text Reed and update him about what’s going on. Once I know he’s headed out to join the search, I rise from the desk and resume pacing.
As much as I want to be out looking for Blakely, there’s no specific place to go, which means I’d be driving around aimlessly. That doesn’t accomplish a damned thing.
I rake a hand through my hair, my mind racing. The only way I can help her at this point is to figure out why she was taken. If the killer was originally after Ava, he’d just want to tie up loose ends and kill Blakely. He could have easily done that in the supply room or behind the club—why take her with him to do the deed elsewhere?
This just proves my original theory—Blakely’s the target.
But why?
She swears up and down that she hadn’t given anyone reason to hurt her.
I stop in my tracks.
I have to be the reason. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. Hundreds of people have died throughout the years—not just by my hand, but by those I send out to execute the contracts. I’ve been so damned careful, but somehow, someone’s figured out my identity.
Theo.
Something about that situation had always bothered me, and now I wonder if perhaps Theo wasn’t killed by Sosa’s men. Was Theo targeted because of me?
Instinct tells me that I’m on the right track, and I resume pacing as I begin to put the pieces together. If Blakely’s being targeted to hurt me, that means someone’s been watching me with her. This is something Jonah would have noticed, because he’s tailed us wherever we go.
So now I’m back to Jonah.
I rub my face with frustration.
I know Jonah’s not behind this.
With a frown, I continue to go over the details of the night Ava was murdered.
The attack was fucking messy as hell. It screamed amateur. Anyone coming after me wouldn’t be that reckless. It would have been a clean kill and not personal by using a knife. Getting close to your victim means possibly leaving evidence behind.
Those that would want to seek vengeance against me wouldn’t do it that way. Unless…they hired an amateur to throw me off.
That would make sense.
I pause as my brow furrows. But Blakely was meant to die that night, so what’s changed now?
Why kidnap instead of kill her?
Why even hire an amateur in the first place? The only kill preferences I’m familiar with are my men’s.
I go completely still.
That’s it.
Whoever took Blakely is someone I know.
Fuck!
I quickly go back to the computer, eyes narrowing as I consider the possibilities. All my men are out on contracts, three of them not even in the United States.
Who knew about Blakely?
Reed and Jonah, obviously.
Peter.
My fingers fly across the keyboard as I bring up Peter’s ID number. I had Reed chip him during his follow-up visit last month.
I stare at the screen.
Peter’s supposed to be overseas for a contract, but his tracker shows he’s right here in the Chicago area. I copy the coordinates and do a search for an actual address of where he’s located.
Apparently, he’s at an old fallout shelter just on the outskirts of the city.
Peter’s smart. He’d know I’d check warehouses and abandoned buildings, but I doubt I would have looked outside the city just yet, or even at old bomb shelters for that matter.
I rise from the desk, expression set.
Time to suit up and get my equipment. I also need to contact Reed and Jonah. What’s more, I’m bewildered why P
eter has turned on me, but I am damned well going to find out before I kill him.
THIRTY-ONE
Blakely
The numbness in my limbs is beginning to fade, but now it’s too late to fight. The mystery man that had kidnapped me brought me to an old abandoned building that had small signs outside by the door—three, yellow triangles. I’d assumed it was an old bomb shelter, and my assessment was confirmed when I’d been forced down two flights of stairs, down a corridor, through a doorway, down another dark corridor, and then into the room that we’re now currently in.
Darkness lurks in the corners of the room like gaping voids of unending blackness. When we’d arrived, my kidnapper had two lights on tripods already set up, but the lights aren’t bright enough to reach the far recesses of the room.
From what I can see, the walls are made of thick cement blocks, and there are no windows. The room is entirely vacant of furniture, and every sound—no matter how small—seems to echo around us. It’s also incredibly chilly in here, and the cement floor had felt like ice on my bare feet when he'd half dragged me across the room.
I watch as my kidnapper attaches a camcorder to a nearby tripod before my eyes shift beyond him to the door that he’d left open. The dark hallway beyond is cruelly taunting me.
Freedom is so close and yet so far away.
The handcuffs on my wrists clank together as I yank hard on them along with the chain they are attached to. Unfortunately, they’re not going to give—not when the chain is attached to a bolt in the wall. I’m currently lying on an old, twin mattress that’s been situated against the wall, and I’m still clad in only my bra and panties.
I’m chilled to the bone, but my captor seems oblivious to the lack of heat in the building.
I give up pulling on the chain, and frustration rises that I’d taken self-defense classes so I could defend myself, and it had been pointless.
No, that’s not true. It saved my life back at the apartment.
Ava.
I think I was the target after all, and my chest aches over the knowledge.
I’m the reason she’s dead.
My eyes sting, and I blink away the unshed tears. I can’t dwell over how or why this has happened; I need to focus on the present and getting out of this mess.
Shivering from the cold, I grit my jaw to keep my teeth from clattering loudly. The less attention I draw to myself, the better. I turn my head and focus on the man.
He’s still standing beside the camcorder as he adjusts it. The sight of it has left a bad taste in my mouth. Things are about to go from bad to worse.
My lips are dry, and I wet them as I debate what to do. If I can somehow delay whatever this man’s plans are, it’ll give Nikolai more time to find me. By now, Jonah has likely alerted him that I’d disappeared.
Once again, my eyes roam over the room. How will he figure out where I am though?
Stay positive, I tell myself and refocus on the man.
He’s picking up the tripod with the attached camcorder and situating it about ten feet away from the mattress.
I quickly realize that not drawing attention to myself is giving him plenty of time to focus on whatever his plans are. That’s going to backfire on me, badly.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, breaking the heavy silence. If I can get him to answer my questions, it could buy me some time.
He completely ignores me as he turns away and walks across the room.
I study him intently, but see nothing out of the ordinary that would betray why he’s doing this. He’s wearing a black jacket, jeans, and boots. In fact, he looks like an ordinary man in his late twenties. He isn’t handsome like Nikolai, but he also isn’t hard to look at.
I watch as he picks up a flashlight and exits the room, disappearing from sight as the light from the flashlight fades down the darkened hallway.
I yank once more on the handcuffs and chain—and the clanging of metal echoes loudly throughout the room. Neither will give. I’d scream my head off if I thought anyone could hear me, but the entire building is vacant. Plus, we’re in the lowest level of the shelter, I doubt my voice would go very far anyway.
There is absolutely nothing I can do, and it’s a defeating feeling. But then, I recall waking up in the cage in Nikolai’s basement last year. There hadn’t been a thing I could do then, either. Yet, here I am, alive.
This isn’t over until I’m actually dead.
When the beam of the flashlight reappears down the hall, I watch as the man enters the room. He’s carrying a black case that he must have retrieved from his car, and a black stool. He brings them over near the tripod and sets the bag down. The distinct clang of metal bumping metal inside the case reaches my ears.
I am at this man’s mercy, and I highly doubt he has a conscious like Nikolai has. The earlier comment the man had made about Nikolai comes back to me. He’d sounded like he was familiar with him. Is that why I’m here? He knows Nikolai?
My heart begins to lift with hope.
If that’s true and Nikolai knows this man, his chances of finding me increase greatly.
Something scurries across the floor on the opposite side of the room, and I stiffen until I realize it’s just a rat. Rats have never bothered me. It’s the cruelness of humanity that has always disturbed me far more than rodents or spiders.
The man walks towards me with the stool, and I tense as he sets it down about three feet away. When he returns to the camcorder and adjusts its view, I realize the stool is for him, and he wants me in sight of the camera as well.
He appears to turn on the camcorder and then walks over to the stool, sitting down casually as if he were sitting down for lunch with a friend. His body language is completely relaxed as he slips off his jacket and sets it on the floor.
He gazes down at me. “Hello, Blakely. I’m Peter,” he says pleasantly, but his eyes are bottomless pits of nothingness.
“You killed Ava,” I accuse bitterly.
“Not quite. That was someone I hired, who is dead now by the way. I don’t leave loose ends that can turn on me,” he replies.
I stare up at him, completely bewildered. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
He turns so that he’s partially facing me still, but his eyes are now focused on the camcorder. “She wants to know why, Nikolai. I bet you do, too. Before I begin my plans for your sweet Blakely, I’ll fill you in on why this is being filmed, and why you’ll receive it in a few days after I’ve already had my fun.”
His expression turns almost feral. “Does the name George Amundson ring any bells?” he asks in a cold tone that has a deadly edge to it.
So I am here out of some sort of revenge against Nikolai. Now all the pieces are beginning to fit together. I listen intently as Peter continues speaking.
“Do you remember the names of the men you kill? Or do you forget them, because they’re nothing more than a paycheck to you?”
I was cold before, but now even my blood chills. Nikolai had killed someone close to Peter.
I’m more screwed than I originally thought.
“I was there that night, you know,” he says bitterly. “I was seven at the time and happened to be playing with my toy cars under his desk by his feet while he worked. When you came in, my father used his foot to hold me down, hiding me from view. You put a single bullet through his head, because a rival colleague of my father’s put a hit out on him,” he says darkly.
As I listen to Peter’s account of his father’s death, I honestly feel bad for the little boy he’d once been. But the man he is today brings no sympathy to the surface. He’d killed innocent people over his obsession for vengeance.
“What you don’t know is that I was curious what the sound of the silencer was,” Peter continues. “I crawled around my father’s feet to peek around the corner of the desk. There you were, calmly removing the silencer and putting your gun in your coat,” he says flatly, and I can hear the unmistakable note of contempt in his tone. “It was then that I
realized what was going on and pissed my pants thinking you might see me. Lucky for me, you never even considered that he might have a kid, and you left, never looking back. Do you know what it’s like for a child to see his father with a bullet in his head? That night, I vowed I would never forget your face, and when I grew older, I figured out you were a hired assassin. Once I turned eighteen, I began to move in those circles to find my father’s killer. Eventually, I recognized you and planned to take someone important from you like you had taken my father from me, but you had no one. So instead, I spent the last four years gaining your trust and biding my time.”
Peter makes a disgusted face. “I wasted years waiting for you to feel something for someone. Finally, I lost my patience and took out Theo. I figured if you didn’t care about anyone, or weren’t capable of it, I’d destroy your business. Of course, I didn’t want to get caught, so I decided once a year, one of the others would have some sort of accident,” he says mockingly. “And then eventually, I would release your identity when you had no one to help protect you. Granted, I wanted to do the job myself and put the bullet in you, but watching you lose everything seemed so much more satisfying than a quick death.”
Who in the world is Theo? I’m assuming he was an employee… Wait, the day Nikolai lost his temper and we had sex in his basement…he’d lost Theo that day, I’m assuming. I recall the anguish in his gaze, and Peter can claim Nikolai doesn’t care about the others, but I know better.
Peter continues speaking as if I’m not there, hanging on his every word. “It was getting close to the time I was going to make another move on one of the men, but then I thought it might be wise to actually have an accident of my own. That way, the severity of the next accident wouldn’t seem so out of the ordinary. So yes, I shot myself,” he says with an odd hint of satisfaction. “It actually benefited me far more than I thought it would, because during my time off, I could drop by your estate under the guise of visiting Jonah or Reed to see what you were up to during the day.”
Peter turns to look at me, his eyes gleaming as he shrewdly smiles. “I had plenty of extra time on my hands since I was out of commission, so I tailed Nikolai a few times and learned that he had a thing for you.” He turns back to the camera. “I assumed it was just casual, but you were obviously quite interested in her, so I altered my plans once again. Now was my chance to take someone from you as well as destroy you. As much as I wanted to do it myself, I didn’t want to take the chance of being caught. I still had a lot of work to do in order to destroy you after all. So instead, I hired an amateur, that way you wouldn’t become suspicious. He killed the blonde first, so it would appear she was the target, but then Blakely fought back and survived.”