Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

by Bronwyn Archer

  “Come sit next to me, Lana.” Then I saw it—the corkscrew wine opener on the shelf behind the bar. The curled steel worm ended in a sharp point.

  “All right, let me just pour myself a shot. Nastia said this vodka was amazing.” Victor’s eyes seemed to light up. I turned my back to him and poured the vodka into a shot glass with one hand as I quietly palmed the corkscrew. There was nowhere in my dress to hide it, so I kept it hidden in my hand. I whirled around and held the hand with the corkscrew behind my back. I sipped the drink. The ice-cold liquid burned my lungs. “Delicious,” I lied.

  I had to force myself to walk towards him. My heart raced. I’d never stabbed anyone before. I’d have to aim for his neck, and I’d only have one chance. My hands shook as I sat next to him. If I missed, I’d die. Painfully.

  Any second, I’d hear sirens and a police boat would pull up alongside the yacht. A SWAT team would board the boat. Rescue me.

  If not, I’d have to rescue myself.

  He ran a rough finger down my arm. I fought the powerful urge to recoil.

  “Lana, I want to be nice. But I can also be . . . not so nice. If you try anything like last time, I will be forced to have Evgeny make you be nice. You don’t want that, do you?” I shook my head and sipped my vodka. “Sometimes, I let him have a turn.” He traced a finger along my jawline from my chin to my ear. “I owe him a favor.”

  He’s trying to scare you. Just buy time. Get him comfortable. Buy time!

  I threw my shoulders back and smiled at him.

  “Bad news, Victor. I called the police before I got on your boat. If you let me go now, maybe they’ll go easier on you.”

  He laughed. “We’ll be at the Channel Islands in an hour to switch boats. By the time anyone knows you’re gone, we’ll be in Mexican waters.” Switching boats. Mexico. “You don’t understand, Lana. This is not about money. Not anymore.” His angry grimace shifted and his features collapsed into a sheepish grin. “It’s about you.” He traced the path of my tears down my cheeks with his clammy fingers, each as thick as a sausage link. “You, Lana. Just you.”

  I twisted my head away from his fingers. He grabbed the back of my head with his meaty grip and sank his fingers into my neck. He moved his hand to the front of my neck and his grip loosened. I moved and it tightened. I froze and it loosened again. I gripped the corkscrew in my hand. My palm was sweaty—would it slip when I jammed it into his artery? Would I miss? I had to do it, fast.

  “Ramona of course had other plans for you,” he said. “You’re safer with me on this boat than with my niece,” he chuckled. “You should be thanking me.” He smiled as he said it and grazed my cheek with the side of his hand.

  “Please, Victor,” I whispered.

  He gazed into my eyes. “Ever since I first saw you that day, in your school uniform—you make me feel young.” He rubbed his nose and squinted his eyes.

  A well of bile swirled in my stomach and my skin felt hot and sticky. “You treat all your girlfriends like this? Kidnap them, terrorize them, send assassins after them?” My throat was dry—terror had a dehydrating effect. He ran his hand from my ear down the side of my neck to my shoulder to the strap of my dress. He brushed the arm holding the corkscrew. My arm tensed like a spring.

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Sending Arkady was Ramona’s idea. I will do anything you ask, Lana. Except . . . let you go.” He slipped a finger under the strap of the mini dress and pulled it down. “Because now you are mine.” He stroked my bare shoulder and I started trembling so hard I thought I would die. Hot breath that stunk of vodka blistered the skin on my neck. “I can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I like the hard way, but I don’t think you will. And I want you to like it.” His voice was a slurring hiss. He sounded drunker than before.

  He bent to kiss my shoulder. The touch of his lips on my skin triggered overwhelming nausea. His ear was just an inch from my mouth. I gripped the sharp silver point between my fingers. The back of his neck was exposed. All I had to do was jam it in as hard as I could. Do it! Do it now! You’ll have to kill him instantly. If he screams, Evgeny will come. I took a deep breath and raised my arm up away from him as high as it could go. “Okay, Victor.”

  I tensed my arm in the air above his neck, ready to strike, as he nuzzled my shoulder. Just before I plunged it down, his hand flew up. He squeezed my hand, crushing it until I screamed and dropped the corkscrew. The corners of his mouth turned down and his upper lip flared up, exposing his teeth. He looked at the corkscrew on the bed. He picked it up and smiled at me. Then he tossed it to the floor.

  “So the hard way then?” He pressed his hand to my throat and started to choke me. My hands scratched at his grip. “Fine. Better for me.” I couldn’t talk with his hand at my throat. He pushed me down and a suffocating weight pressed against me. I screamed again, this time soundlessly.

  I’d lost.

  Then, something flashed through the air—a red blur just inches from my face. There was a terrifying crunching sound and Victor’s body went completely limp. I gasped for air and wriggled out from under him. His body was dead weight. I rolled off the bed and landed on my stomach on the carpeted floor, heaving and coughing.

  Nastia stood at the foot of the bed. The glossy red sculpture of the naked, writing lady dangled from her hands upside down. Dark red blood dripped off the statue’s head onto the white carpet.

  “How did you know?” she asked me in a quiet voice.

  My heart was pounding so hard my ribs hurt. I scrambled to my feet and pulled my dress down. The white fabric was splattered with drops of bright red blood.

  “Know what?”

  “Alexei! My son! How did you know?”

  Victor was sprawled on his back on the silk duvet, his meaty face gray, his mouth hanging open, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Blood seeped out of the caved-in dent in his head, a flap of torn scalp hanging down and exposing the white of his skull. A thick splatter of blood droplets and what looked like bits of bone decorated the gray silk headboard. I grabbed his wrist and felt for his pulse.

  “Tell me if he’s still alive.” She pulled a small silver revolver from her pants.

  I tried to imagine what Evgeny and his friends would do when they saw him.

  She let the statue slip out of her hands, where it landed with a thunk on the carpet. She stared at me, her eyes wild. “Alexei is alive! I talked to him! Tell me how you knew!”

  “I told you, I know things.” What was the point of hiding the truth from her? The situation was so wild, she might actually believe me. “The dead tell me their secrets.”

  I imagined Evgeny barging in, seeing Victor. I wondered if he’d shoot us and then toss us in the water. Or would he torture us first? How did Russian gangsters treat traitors who murder their bosses?

  Maybe the police are on the way.

  The water would be so cold.

  Nastia was walking around the bed, spitting on Victor’s body from various angles.

  I shivered. “We have to get out of here RIGHT NOW.”

  She stared at me with a strange, awestruck expression. “Victor lied to me! He told me my son was dead!” Tears ran down both her cheeks leaving shiny tracks through her thick makeup. “But he’s alive!” She clutched me to her and sobbed onto my shoulder. “Please forgive me.” She sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around my ankles. “Forgive me, I beg you!” She started crying and mumbling what sounded like a prayer in Russian.

  I sent a silent thank you to Georgette. The information she’d whispered to me had made Nastia my new best friend.

  I shushed her and pulled her to her feet. “Cry later. When we’re not dead.” She blinked and composed herself. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a bloody streak over one of her eyes.

  I ran over to the door and pressed my ear up to it. The hallway outside was quiet.

  “How do we get out of here without anyone seeing us?” I asked.

  “I know a way.” Without her make
up, Nastia looked younger, but pale and tired. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. A long scar marred her left cheek. What had her life with Victor been like?

  I peeked out the darkened port hole—to my shock, we were about to sail right under the Golden Gate Bridge. The massive pylons at the northern tip of the city glowed orange in the floodlights. A huge full moon broke through the clouds and shined on the water. Good—if I ended up in the water maybe someone would see me. But there was no sign of a rescue. No police boats. No other boats around at all.

  If I jumped, I’d last maybe twenty minutes in the water. If I could swim that long. I saw the phone by the bed.

  “I have to call my friends. I need to know if they’re coming.” I ran to the side of the bed and lifted the phone receiver and held it to my ear.

  Nastia saw me. “No, stop!” she screamed.

  The voice on the phone spoke Russian. All I heard was, “Dah, Victor? Victor?” I gasped and hung up.

  Nastia’s eyes narrowed. “It calls the pilot on the bridge. There is no direct line out!” She cursed in Russian. “Now they will come.”

  “What did you think would happen after you killed your boss?”

  She glared at me. “I saved you from him. Now I will save you from them. Come.”

  There was a loud banging on the door. We both froze.

  Evgeny called out, “Victor! Everything okay?”

  My heart rocketed in my chest. What could we say?

  Nastia gripped my forearm and her talons dug into my skin. “Speak, Lana! Say something.”

  He banged on the door. “Victor, you called Mikhael. You okay? Is Nastia with you? I can’t find her.” The doorknob rattled from the outside.

  A heavy ball of fear formed in my stomach. Nastia ran to the bed and yanked the black silk duvet with Victor’s corpse until it rolled off the bed with a tremendous thump.

  “What was that?” Arkady shouted.

  “Oh, hey Arkady!” I called out. I hoped he wouldn’t hear the tremor in my voice. “I was just getting out of the bed and . . . I tripped.” He snickered. Nastia covered Victor with the duvet and piled the pillows so they hid the bloodstains on the headboard.

  “Let me in! I need to talk to Victor.”

  “He’s in the tub. I’m about to join him.” I said. Nastia nodded, and bolted into the bathroom. She ran back holding a black silk bathrobe and tossed it to me. The late Victor Savitch really loved black silk. “Ah, hang on, I just have to put something on.”

  There was no time to take my blood-spattered dress off, so I pulled the robe on over it and tightened the belt.

  Nastia pulled out her gun and stepped behind the open bathroom door. Evgeny rattled the door knob until I unlocked it and pulled it open.

  He rushed in. “Victor?”

  I yelled towards the direction of the bathroom, “Victor, it’s Evgeny! I’ll take care of him.” I smiled at him and tried to appear calm while my heart was beating a thousand beats per minute. He eyeballed me in the robe and then took in the disarray on the bed. A sly smile played on his lips. From his angle, he couldn’t see his boss’s corpse lying next to the bed. My life depended on him keeping his eyes on me.

  I bit my lip and looked up at him through my eyelashes. “Victor said I should be nice to you.”

  His eyes widened. “How about now?” He tugged at the belt around the robe. I took a step away and shook my finger at him. The engine churned below the floor and I could feel the yacht pulling into heavier waves. We’d be out of the bay soon. I glanced at the bathroom door where Nastia was hiding. Evgeny stepped closer to me. I ignored the acrid cigarette breathe and prayed. He leaned in and his breath stung my eyes.

  “There is blood on your face.” He peered closely at me.

  I frantically wiped my cheek with the sleeve of the robe, but his hand shot out and pulled the belt loose.

  The silky robe flapped open.

  When he saw my bloody dress, his eyes widened and he yelled something in Russian.

  There was a flash of movement behind his head.

  “Lana, get down!” Nastia cried. I threw myself to the floor and a split second later there was a sharp bang. I scrambled away as Evgeny crumpled to the carpet in a heap. Nastia yanked me to my feet and we ran for the door without looking back at him, my silk robe flapping, warm blood spatters on my feet.

  My heart was a pulsing supernova of panic as we bolted down a hallway and a short metal staircase. The noise of the engine throbbed in the air to the same wild staccato as the blood pounding in my head. We turned and ran down another narrow hallway. She was about to shove open a heavy silver door marked EMERGENCY EXIT when I spotted something on the wall.

  I recognized what it was. The Eleanor Rigby had one, too. An emergency beacon!

  “Wait!” I flipped up the metal plate, and pushed the heavy red switch to SEND CALL.

  “Lana!” she screamed over the whine of the engines. I followed her through the door and then there was cold salty spray in my face and wind whipping through my hair.

  We were on a tiny service deck at the rear of the boat, just a few feet above the waves. The Golden Gate bridge loomed overhead. We were about to pass under it—sailing through the same unforgiving waters that had killed my mother, chewed her body up and spat her out, along with so many others who’d made the same tragic choice.

  I tightened the silk robe around my shivering body, but it offered zero warmth. We clutched the wet metal railing as the yacht plowed through choppy water. A few feet away an enormous Russian flag flapped in the wind, clanking as it moved on the flagpole that jutted out from the stern.

  In the distance, I thought I spottded a red flashing light, just off the coast of the Marin Headlands.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Now we pray,” Nastia said. “Here.” She dug into the pocket of her pants and pulled something out. “For luck.”

  My dove glinted in her palm. “Thank you.” I pulled the chain over my head and sent out a silent prayer to the universe—and my godmother—for help.

  The boat went over a bigger wave as we passed under the bridge. The red light by the coast wasn’t receding in the distance.

  And it was flashing.

  “How many others on board?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Pilot, a cook, two guards. They were all drinking—probably won’t look for Victor until morning.” She pointed to the flashing red light. “Look!”

  Shouts split the air above our heads. Loud voices, yelling in Russian. Nastia craned her neck, listening, and cursed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What is it?”

  “He’s not dead.” She pressed her body back to the doorway of the ledge.

  “Victor??” It couldn’t be. She’d bashed a hole through his skull.

  “No, Evgeny!” she hissed.

  A voice rang out right above our heads. A spotlight searched the water right behind the yacht—just a few feet from where we crouched, huddled on the ledge.

  “Nastia! I see you, you whore! Now I kill you and other little bitch!”

  I looked up—they were right above us. I ducked back under the narrow ledge. The red lights of the boat in the distance looked slightly closer, but still much too far to matter.

  Then, someone pounded on the door behind us.

  “We might have to jump.”

  She looked at me, her eyes wide. “I’m not good swimmer.”

  The door behind us shook as someone bashed it again. It sounded like they were hitting it with a battering ram.

  “Get ready to jump!” I yelled, over the noise of the engine. In the distance, a faint siren wailed. Was it coming from the boat with flashing red lights?

  Wood splintered with an ear-piercing crack. Evgeny, wild eyed, staggered through the doorway carrying a heavy metal fire extinguisher. He swung it at me and I ducked, then threw myself into the water.

  It was like getting swallowed by the night. I fought my way to the surface and gasped at the frigid temperature. I watched as N
astia screamed and struggled with Evgeny on the tiny platform. Her mouth bit down on his hand and then she jumped too, disappearing into the inky depths.

  I fought through chop and the tangle of silk around my legs until I found her. “Nastia! Are you okay?” Her eyes shone orange in the lights from a nearby buoy and she hyperventilated.

  “My leg! I think I’m shot!”

  “Just try to float. We’re going to be okay.” We had a very small chance of being okay but reassuring her made me feel less panicky.

  A wave swept over our heads and she emerged sputtering and coughing. I knew if I got too close to her she could grab me, and in her panic, drown us both. I stayed within shouting range as we dog paddled through wave after wave.

  Victor’s boat sped out to sea. Panic threatened to overwhelm my brain, then I remembered my secret weapon.

  “Georgette,” I pleaded. “Please help us! Aide-moi! Do something!” My lungs ached in the cold and my throat burned. I couldn’t feel my toes anymore.

  Clouds over the city moved, and the moon appeared. The surface of the sea turned silver in the light. Even the water seemed to calm down. A blue and white boat with bright red flashing lights approached.

  Nastia barely held her face above the water. Her eyes were wide with fright and she muttered to herself in Russian. It sounded like she was praying. The boat was fifty feet away, then thirty, then twenty.

  The police boat passed within a few feet of us—and kept going. It shot past us as it chased Victor’s yacht out to sea.

  “Georgette!” I screamed.

  Then, like magic, that familiar feeling of calm joy flooded my body. I gasped as renewed strength raced through my arms and legs, and I felt newly buoyant.

  I kicked over to Nastia in time to see her slip below the surface. I grabbed her from behind and flipped onto my back. I managed to hold her across my legs. She was unconscious. I prayed for either death or a miracle. And then a loud engine was roaring behind us, men were shouting, and muscular, neoprene-covered arms were hauling me out of the water.

  Chapter 24

  Lacus Felicitatis ~ Lake of Happiness