“You heard her, Sip. We’re home safe now.”
Sip nodded. He frowned for an instant as he looked between the two. He schooled his features to their previous impassive stoicism before taking up a position by the door.
A man of few words. Nice… Tee frowned and turned toward Novak to ask, “Sip?”
“Yep.” Novak lowered himself onto her sofa with a groan that quickly morphed into a yawn. He parked his bikers on the coffee table, crossing his legs at the ankle casual-as-you-please. “His name is Osip, but we just call him Sip for short.”
Tee shook her head as she struggled to wrap her brain around what the hell he was talking about and why he was still here.
“Yeah, because if Sip gets his hands on you after you piss him off, you’ll be eating and drinking through a straw for a long, long time.”
“Oh…” At his use of the phrase ‘long, long’, Tee found her eyes irresistibly drawn back to Sip. She squinted, concentrating hard to get a better look at the mountain of a man. Starting at the bottom of his designer leather Italian shoes, working her way up powerful thighs elegantly encased in tailored pants… Sure enough, she hadn’t imagined it. There it was, that beautiful bulge in all its fabric-encased glory. She tore her gaze away to pay some serious respect to his taut abs, massive chest, and broad shoulders. His hair was pitch black and worn in a closely cropped, simple style. And those full lips were certainly made for sin.
Her face felt scorching hot when she met his blue eyes. They really were beautiful; a distinctive, cerulean blue, like the ocean or a cloudless sky. Wow.
The cocky grin on his face made it clear that he’d caught her checking him out; all of him. She clutched the doorjamb, placing her hand on her forehead as if she suspected she might have a fever. Confident that the only thing getting hot was a lot farther south, she pulled herself together and directed her embarrassed gaze at Novak. “So, like I said, boys, both of you can leave now. Go. Shoo.”
“Not gonna happen,” Novak said as he stared down at the coin he was weaving through his fingers.
“And how are you doing that coin trick drunk, anyway?”
“Dexterity, baby,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“Okay, Mr. Dexterity. You’re very talented. Good boy. Now, leave.” She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting.
“And I didn’t have as much to drink as you think I did. You didn’t either.” Again with the grin. “Hey, it pays to know the bartender,” he said in response to her wide eyes. “Now, go get some sleep. You’ll be good to go before you know it.”
“Good to go where?”
“Go to bed, Tee.” A shadow crossed over Novak’s face as he glanced at Sip and nodded toward the door. The guard left. Again, no words were spoken between them because none was needed. Novak glanced at Tee, rolling his eyes as if surprised to find her still standing there. “What part of ‘I’m using you for bait’ don’t you get?”
Tee’s body sagged as she realized that Novak had every intention of spending the night on her couch. She hadn’t known him all that long, but she knew enough to understand that once his mind was made up there was no changing it. “Fine. I’m going to bed.”
“Sweet dreams, baby, and don’t forget to say your prayers. You need ‘em.”
“That’s a little like the pot calling the kettle black, right?” When his laughter rang through the air, she bristled. “I’m glad I entertain you. Cocky bastard.”
“That you do, my lady,” he said with a yawn. He bent down, unlaced his boots, and slid them off. He pulled a silencer from his pocket and screwed it onto his gun, then stuffed a throw pillow behind his head. He glanced at his watch and did a quick calculation in his head. Then he closed his eyes on a deep sigh, his hand lightly fisted at his side. He would sleep holding his beloved, as he always did.
Chapter Fifty Nine
“This is bad, Turner,” Rene said, shaking her head as she looked down at the brutalized body.
At the sound of his surname on her lips, he turned toward her. She never called him Turner unless shit was serious. He dropped to a knee and bent over the body. Damn. Poor woman never had a chance.
She had been beaten. The injuries were horrific. The body hadn’t been moved from its original position as they awaited the ME. Broken limbs extended out from the torso in a random fashion, the unnatural angles probably due to the body being tossed or shoved from a moving car—unless they were that way before they hit the ground.
It wasn’t her sallow complexion or even her gaunt, bony body that was so horrifying. The tracks on her arms, standing out in harsh relief against her pale skin, were evidence of a hard life on the streets but weren’t particularly surprising. But the hundreds of cuts, slices, and stabs that she’d been subjected to before her death nearly turned his stomach.
Despite years of cultivating impeccable objectivity and restraint, Turner couldn’t help the wave of sympathy that washed over him. For an instant, he was lost in a moment of communion with a soul that was long gone and beyond caring about any of this.
“At least we know she wasn’t killed here. There’s no blood, nothing that we would expect to see if the murder had occurred here.” He squared his jaw as he rose to his feet. “She was thrown out like a piece of garbage.”
Rene joined him to get a closer look. “Looks like he bathed her before he dumped her. If he bathed her to remove evidence, then why put her dirty clothes back on her and take a chance of hair or fibers being left behind? It doesn’t make sense.”
Richardson rocked back on his heels, taking a generous bite of the Twizzler he’d been working in his mouth like a farmer chewing on a piece of straw. He rolled the remaining length back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. He said nothing for a moment, then, “No stab wounds through the clothes. No blood, either. She was naked when he tortured her. Maybe he was sure nothing would be left behind. Any sign of sexual assault?”
“Won’t know until the ME examines her,” Turner said. “It isn’t this guy’s MO, though. He’s more about punishing women.”
“Or proving he can outwit us.” Rene could feel her teeth grinding with the anger that coursed through her.
Richardson finished off the Twizzler, chomping as he hitched his pants up. “All those stab wounds and nicks and cuts, though. Makes me wonder if his kink isn’t picquerism.”
Turner ran a hand over his hair. “Our boy’s all about two things: torturing women and proving he’s smarter than us. It’s all a game to him. These women are like game pieces he moves around a board like fucking Candyland. Personally, I’m tired of playing.”
Turner knew he was moving inexorably into dangerous territory, whether he wanted to or not. Like anyone else, Turner had a dark side. It remained to be seen if his rigorous professional training would be enough to stave it off. He was walking a tightrope between justice and vigilantism. As he looked down at the broken body at his feet, he couldn’t decide which was better or worse.
Chapter Sixty
A few hours later, Benzo was slouched in the front seat of his car outside Tee’s apartment, sulking. He knew she was in there. Her car was parked out front.
Those two stupid bitches at the bar had ruined everything. No matter what he said or did, they wouldn’t put their drinks down. They even took their cocktails with them to the restroom. It had been impossible to drug them.
He’d grown tired of listening to their cackling laughter. More than once during the night he’d imagined reaching across the table and choking them both. He had finally decided it was better to just give up before his anger took over and his rational mind left the building. Now he was out a pocketful of wasted money and two kills. He was hunting for someone to take it out on. Who better than the bitch that got away? She’d made a fool out of him. She had to pay.
His spirits lifted like a kid on Christmas morning when he saw Tee walking out of the apartment building. The drizzle of rain gave him the cover he needed. She was more concerned about pulling the hoodie
over her head and getting into her car before she got wet. She didn’t even bother to look around to see if she was being watched. She hadn’t learned a damn thing.
He liked to kill when the weather was cold and rainy like this. It was as if the sky had opened up, revealing all the muted hues of gray and unleashing the shadows his demons loved to play in.
He. Was. A. God. He would live forever and Tee would die tonight. Then he would turn his attention to FBI Agent Rene Murphy. His plans for her were altogether different than for any other woman he’d ever selected. His reaction to her was completely different, too. She had been trained to thwart men like him; maybe that explained the attraction. Whatever the reason, his plans for her had taken on a distinctly sexual edge. When she auditioned for him, he would make sure her body was capable of so much more than dancing. Really, what better way to demoralize the FBI than to take one of their own.
But first, he had to deal with Tee. He pulled out behind her car, leaving enough space to not draw attention to himself. The rain was coming down heavier now; another point in his favor. She would be more concerned about driving safely than checking to see if she was being followed.
The thought crossed his mind that she could be going to see a boyfriend. He hadn’t considered that. But, no. She didn’t strike him as a whore who would make a booty call. And, anyway, the sun would be coming up in a few hours. Nobody went on booty calls this late.
So where the hell was she going?
~~~
After Novak had managed to wake her up, Tee’s stomach had churned from all the coffee he’d made her drink. Her head hadn’t felt so good, either. She’d been in a dead sleep when he had yanked her out of bed and told her it was time to go. She had only been asleep for a couple of hours, so she was baffled. What could have happened to get him so worked up?
Novak had been like a madman in his mission to get her out of the apartment. He kept saying, “Tonight’s the night.” When she asked him how he could possibly know something like that, he’d lost his cool. “I don’t know, Tee. Call it a sixth sense, a premonition, maybe the fucking Bratva gods.”
Even though she hadn’t known him that long, she knew it was pointless to argue. Novak would always be Novak. And apparently, tonight was the night.
So now she was driving her car and obsessively checking the rearview mirror for headlights. Novak had given her a head start but was somewhere behind her by now. She was sure of it. As she left the city behind, the terrain became more rural. She hoped like hell she was going the right way.
The rain, the murky gray skies, the countless tree limbs leaning and dancing in the wind—it all combined to create an eerie malaise that sent a shiver down Tee’s spine. She wouldn’t have been surprised if a tree had started hurling apples at the windshield, like something out of The Wizard of Oz.
She straightened in the driver’s seat, white knuckling the steering wheel as she stole another glance in the rearview mirror. She didn’t have time for whimsical fantasies; this was all getting a little too real. Novak was going to kill a man for her. He hadn’t been joking. He didn’t need to say a word for her to know that. Knowing his intentions made her feel safer…for now. She didn’t even want to think about how being an accessory to murder would link her forever to the most dangerous criminal element in the city, maybe even the world.
She was relieved to see the turnoff she was looking for. Novak’s home in the country was a contradiction to the gangster who had practically overnight become a close friend and protector. Perhaps he needed peaceful surroundings to cope with the life he had chosen. She had tried to ask him about it in between shots only hours ago, and his only response was: “We’re Born Bratva. We’ll die Bratva.” That was Novak for you: straight to the point.
She pulled up next to the house and rummaged around in her pocket for the keys Novak had given her. One look around told her the guys weren’t here yet—if they were even coming. She had no idea what he was planning. He had only told her to go to bed and pretend to be asleep, even if she wasn’t. He had seemed like a stranger, not the cocky, sardonic asshole she enjoyed bantering back and forth with.
She pushed the front door open and stepped inside. As Novak had instructed, she turned on the light just long enough to do what he’d told her: Get out of your wet clothes, put on one of my t-shirts, and get your ass in bed.
Chapter Sixty One
Novak closed his eyes and exhaled, surrendering to the bloodlust as it thrummed in his veins. If Benzo was the ghost from the past that Novak believed he was, then tonight had been a long time coming.
He lifted the Russian coin to his lips for a long moment before shoving it back into his pocket. He grinned as he stroked the surface of the coin with his thumb. Tonight his beloved would take on even more meaning.
Sip pulled the SUV into the barn at the edge of the woods and cut the engine. When he leaned his head against the headrest and turned to nod at Novak, his eyes gleamed with sadistic heat. Novak was pleased.
It was no accident that Novak had picked Sip to back him up tonight. He and Sip were kindred spirits. Sip loved the feeling of bones buckling under the force of a perfectly executed punch as much as Novak did. Sip didn’t own any brass knuckles, though; his huge hands were lethal weapons and didn’t need any help. Violence wasn’t something the two men did; it was who they were.
The rain gave them cover as each man ran to his hiding place. Novak peered through the branches of the tree that shielded him from view. His house was dark. Tee was a good girl. She had done exactly as he’d told her to; not an easy task for someone as independent as she was.
Now all there was to do was wait. You wanna play, Benzo? Game-fucking-on.
Chapter Sixty Two
Aw, little Tee must have a granny to run home to when she’s scared. Such a quaint little country home. Too bad we won’t have time for her to show me around…
Maybe he’d get his two kills tonight after all. True, Benzo hadn’t planned on killing another little old lady tonight. But if fate decided to smile on him, who was he to refuse? Death loved him. He loved death. Death was a debauched mistress who couldn’t get enough of him. The feeling was mutual.
He cut the headlights and drove slowly up the driveway. He parked in the shadows and cut the engine, determined to have the element of surprise on his side. The lights were still on so he’d need to wait, then go in when she was asleep. He smiled at the thought of how shocked she was going to be when she opened her eyes and realized that her nightmare was far from over; it was just beginning.
He must have dozed off because suddenly he was surrounded by the sound of glass shattering. The side of his face stung as glass fragments nicked his skin with a thousand paper cuts. It felt that way to him, anyway. It all happened so fast; he had no time to react before huge, strong hands were ripping him from the shelter of the car.
His legs kicked out frantically as two hands, then four hands, dragged him over the grass and into a barn on the other side of the house. He was shoved into the center of the enclosure. Massive hands clutched his arms and tied them together at the elbows with rope. A pair of headlights flared to life, blinding him as an ominous creaking sound echoed across the space. Benzo cried out in alarm as the tension in the rope tightened and drew his arms up high behind him.
What the fuck was going on? His shoulders felt like they were on fire as the rope continued its upward trajectory, lifting him onto his toes. Were they going to leave him dangling in mid-air? It wouldn’t take much to dislocate both shoulders if the rope lifted him any higher. How had he allowed this to happen? What detail had he missed that had made him vulnerable? Who the fuck was doing this to him?!
“Back that fuckin’ SUV up and cut the lights. I want this bastard to see who’s killing him.”
Alarm bells began to sound in the back of Benzo’s panic-stricken mind. The voice was familiar. So arrogant and full of rage. Did he know him? At this point, did it even matter? The life that Benzo had always been able to co
ntrol so perfectly was now teetering on an axis of uncertainty.
No, it didn’t matter after all. Nothing did. The man had said he was going to kill him, and Benzo wasn’t in a position to do much about it. At that, Benzo laughed; a caustic, hollow sound in a moment of jarring clarity. So this was how it was going to end…
He was sent hurtling from his reverie at the first sickening crunch of bone. His nose shattered. Pain exploded in his head, sending a kaleidoscope of colors careening behind his eyelids. Things only went downhill from there.
It was going to be a long night.
~~~
Tee eased out of bed when she heard glass shattering in the distance. She knew that no gangster ever slept without a gun within reach, and, sure enough, the nightstand drawer held Novak’s favorite brand: a Glock. She recalled him telling her that he liked them because there was no manual safety.
Fear had her heart slamming against her ribs. She made her way through the house, bracing for the unexpected as she eased around corners, watching for intruders as she went. She padded over to the front door and shoved it open.
As she stepped outside, she could practically hear Novak’s voice in her mind from a conversation they’d had earlier that night about self-defense. Actually, Novak had told her that self-defense was crap; the key was to strike first and strike hard: Engage your enemy when they’re least expecting it, Tee. Use the element of surprise to your advantage.
A light was on in the barn. She tiptoed hurriedly through the grass and mud, eventually leaning against the side of the barn to catch her breath. Moving stealthily, she eased over to the entrance and peered inside. What she saw both horrified and exhilarated her.
Benzo was strung up with a rope. His feet barely touched the ground as his limp body listed back and forth. They were raining hellfire down on him with their fists and had been doing so for a while, it seemed. One side of Benzo’s jaw looked strange, like a door off its hinges. His eyes were already bruising and puffy. His lips were mangled, like a bad filler job you’d see in a testimonial about plastic surgery gone wrong. His nose no longer existed; a bloody, flat flap of skin drooped uselessly where his nose used to be.
The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2) Page 17