Leverage (The Mistaken Series)

by Nancy S Thompson

  With a cock of his head, Roman advanced, narrowing the gap between us. He stopped a mere two feet away and stuffed his gun into the back of his waistband. “They resent you, Hannah, for having so much more than they ever had. Money. A dashing, attentive husband. And a sexy Latin lover just steps away.”

  “What?” I roared. “What are you talking—” I began, but stopped abruptly. I already knew the answer just by the smug look on his face. “Is that what you told them? That we were lovers?” I spat with revulsion.

  Roman pounced, his hands like vices on each of my arms. He pulled me close so my face was but a few inches from his own. Then he shook me once, hard, so hard my teeth rattled. I bit my tongue and tasted blood.

  Roman loosened his grip and smoothed the fabric along my sleeves. “You say that like it never even crossed your mind, when I know it did. I could tell by the way you looked at me.”

  “No! You’re wrong!”

  Roman sneered, and I flinched when he raised his hand, but all he did was brush the back of it against my cheek. His gaze softened as it followed the path of his fingertips, grazing along the edge of my jaw. The sneer melted away, and he smiled softly.

  “We would’ve made a lovely couple,” he declared quietly, his eyes locked onto my mouth. Deliberate and slow, he leaned in.

  I clawed at his face and screamed, “Get away, you sick bastard!”

  He bobbed his head to the side, his expression twisted in rage, and he seized my face between both his hands. His fingers dug into my flesh as he hurled me backward against wall, smashing my head into the Sheetrock so hard, the framed pictures next to me fell to the hardwood floor and shattered. Roman leaned his forearms into my upper body. His weight crushed my tender breasts and his mouth descended onto mine.

  Bile rose up my throat, hot and acrid. I tried to twist away, but Roman held me firm. I jabbed my knee upward, hoping to hit him in the groin, but I failed and only caught the sensitive flesh along the inside of his thigh. He grunted and leaned away. With his teeth gnashed together and his face contorted in anger, he pulled his hand back and hit me upside the head.

  Katy and I yelped in unison, and I started to slide downward along the wall. Roman released his hold and stepped back, watching me with contempt as I settled to the floor.

  “Stop!” Katy urged. “You’re hurting her. Grigory won’t like that.”

  Roman chuckled as he stared down at me. He bent to his knees, leaned into my face, and ran a hand over my belly. “Somehow, I don’t think it will matter much, not with what he has planned for her.”

  I spat into Roman’s face. His arm instantly jerked back only to be caught in Katy’s grasp. He spun his head in her direction.

  “That’s enough,” she soothed with her eyes locked on his. “Go get ready. It’s time.”

  Roman pressed his lips together, and with a nod, he stood and walked away. Katy turned her attention back to me. She knelt down and rested her hand along my forearm where it laid across my bulge.

  “Hannah, it would be safer if you’d just—”

  “Get your hands off me,” I seethed, ripping my arm from her grip.

  Katy huffed in exasperation. “I didn’t want it to end this way. I swear. But—”

  “How could you do this to us, betray us like this? After everything we’ve done for you, that Conner’s done for you. My God, Katy, you’re pregnant with his child!”

  She dropped her eyes and smoothed one hand over her gentle swell then shook her head, but remained silent.

  It was my turn to grab her arm. “Katy. It is Conner’s child, right?”

  She ignored the question and raised misty eyes at me. “I’m so sorry, Hannah, I am, but…I had no choice. Grigory has my sister. That’s what he does, you know. He uses people we love against us to get what he wants.” She looked away again, her fingers plucking at imaginary lint in her lap. “They make her do unspeakable things. This is the only way I can help her. I do this, and they’ll let her go free. But if I don’t…” she added then peered back up at me. “You have no idea what they’re capable of, Hannah. I can’t condemn my sister to that.”

  I was at a loss for words and actually felt sorry for Katy. I knew exactly what she was talking about, the life her sister had been condemned to. I’d been sentenced to that same doomed future once, too, enslaved to a monster, used for debased sport. I’d do anything to prevent someone I loved from the same fate. How could I expect any less from this young girl?

  I tugged at her wrist and laced my fingers through hers when she dropped her hand to her lap. I smiled weakly and tried to reassure her with a nod, but Roman stomped back over.

  “Sorry to interrupt this little soirée, but it’s time to go,” he ordered.

  Katy gave my hand a quick squeeze then did as commanded and climbed to her feet. But I remained where I was, determined not to cooperate. Aaron’s team was due any minute. All I had to do was stall for a little more time. I locked my gaze onto Roman.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I declared. My only hope of safety was to stay in this house. I was prepared to do whatever it took to achieve that.

  Roman, on the other hand, had another idea. He snatched his gun from his waistband and pointed it at my head. “I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Mrs. Karras. Now get your ass up and come with me, quietly.”

  “Or what?” I said, throwing his words back at him. “Are you going to kill me? Wouldn’t that ruin whatever plans Grigory has for me?”

  Roman didn’t find that amusing. Losing any measure of patience he might have had, he grabbed me by the arm and began to haul me to my feet. Clambering for anything to defend myself, I snatched a piece of broken glass from the floor and slashed out at Roman, tearing through the sleeve of his shirt and drawing blood from a deep gash in his flesh. He pulled back with a pained wail and clutched at his wound. It was a momentary lapse that allowed me enough time to scramble to my feet and dash for the front door. But it was dead-bolted and chained. I twisted the latch then struggled to remove the chain, but it wouldn’t come free.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. Roman held me from behind, his hand tight against my mouth, and a sickeningly sweet, antiseptic-like smell began to overwhelm me. My skin started to tingle and my vision became grainy and dark. Dizziness swept over my entire body, then, as every muscle in my body turned to Jell-O, the floor raced up to meet me.

  CHAPTER 33

  Tyler

  I couldn’t take a decent breath to save my life. I stumbled and fell into a hard wooden chair, clutching at my chest, trying to slow the thrashing within. Ezra and Maks appeared at my side. They each patted my shoulders, as if that would somehow help. I couldn’t speak intelligibly. My voice came in raspy pants. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. My thoughts whirled, frenetic and inarticulate, bouncing from one crazy ‘what if’ to the next.

  Aaron was dead, and in the most heinous, grotesquely violent way possible.

  As a thick knot took root in my stomach, I looked up at Maks and fisted the lapel of his suit jacket. “What about…Hannah?” I panted as I tried to pull myself to my feet.

  He and Ezra urged me back down, but I lashed out and swatted their hands away.

  “Stop!” I roared. “I have…to get…to Hannah.” I pushed by both men and stumbled toward the door.

  “Ty, wait,” Maks called out.

  “No, I…I can’t. I have to get to…to my wife.” I pulled the doors open a crack.

  Maks rushed over and slammed them shut again. “Ty, please, we need to talk.”

  I bowled him backwards with a stern shove to his chest. “Get out of my way!”

  “Karras! Listen to me!”

  But I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to hear it. Trapped, I began to pace from one corner of the small room to the other, pointing my finger at Sidorov. “No, you’re…you’re wrong. It’s not them. It’s not the Bratva. Aaron must’ve had other cases. It could’ve been any of them.�
�

  Maks shifted from foot to foot each time I passed. “It’s not, Ty. He had no other cases. Just this one.”

  I slowed for a moment, lingering over Sidorov’s words, contemplating his meaning, then rejecting it out of hand. I continued to march, imagining Moody’s last moments, the fear he must have felt, the pain of knowing he would never see his wife and kids again, the terror and agony when they’d put the knife to his throat. Oh God! I shook my head, unwilling to believe anyone could torture another human being like that.

  “It’s not them. It’s not,” I mumbled over and over, trying to convince myself of things I knew weren’t true.

  Finally, Maks took a step and blocked my path. “Tyler,” he whispered solemnly, “I’ve seen this before. They carved a tattoo into Aaron’s chest, a crude one.”

  “What?” I asked. “Where? Where did you see it before?”

  Maks lowered his chin and looked away then shook his head before engaging with me again. His jaw ticked repeatedly. “On…your brother. Nick. He had the exact same mark engraved on his chest. It’s a message, Ty. They want us to know.”

  I stared Maks in the eye for a long moment then collapsed back into the chair, shell-shocked. That was news to me. No one had ever shared the fact that Dmitri had ordered Nick marked in such a cruel manner. I’d been whisked away so quickly, I never even had the chance to see Nick again before he was buried. Why hadn’t Maks told me? It was obviously significant, at least to the Bratva. But I was ignorant as to what it meant. I turned to Maks, the question burning hot in my eyes.

  “Because, Ty, it’s how they brand traitors,” Maks answered before I even opened my mouth to ask. “It’s their mark of dishonor, a kill warrant, if you will. So the poor bastard knows exactly what’s coming.” He shook his head again, turned, and walked away.

  Jesus Christ. It was a message, but not for the FBI, but rather for me, and only me. This was my war, and it was personal. Yet I couldn’t figure out the connection, how Greg and the men at the bookstore were allied to the Bratva. Who were they, and what the fuck did they want? Why go after my family when they could easily come after me instead? And why Aaron? Didn’t they know the world of shit they were bringing down on their heads by killing a federal agent? How did they even know about him?

  My God, it was probably his connection to me that had provoked his execution. Another innocent victim dead because of me. It seemed no matter how much time went by, no matter what I did, my past continued to haunt me and punish those closest to me.

  I was responsible. Again.

  My shoulders shook as I began to sob. Would it never end? Would I always curse every single life I touched? Would I damn those I loved most to death. I leaned over and cried into my hands. But while I mourned the loss of Aaron Moody, my good friend, the man who’d seen me through the darkest period of my life, while my heart ached for his family, all I could think about now was Hannah.

  If there was any chance she was in danger, Maks would have already sent his men in hot. If she could be saved, he would have ordered it done then told me. He would have reassured me she was safe. He would have let me return home and bring her in myself. But he hadn’t. My brain could only fathom one reason for that.

  It was already too late.

  Maks rested his hand atop my shoulder. After several deep breaths, I swiped the tears from my eyes and looked up at him.

  “Please…Maks…tell me she’s okay. Tell me Aaron’s team made it to the house.”

  His lips pressed together in a thin line, and his shoulders fell as he sighed. “They made it, Ty, but…she wasn’t there. The front door was open, and the living room was in a shambles. There’s a…a dent…in the wall, and pictures, broken frames and glass, scattered across the floor. And a good amount of blood, too.”

  I raised my hand to my temple.

  “Hannah’s car was still in the driveway. They found her purse and some keys on the kitchen counter, but there was no sign of Hannah, or Katy Holender. I’m sorry, Ty. They’re gone.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Hannah

  I was trapped inside my own body, unable to move, to open my eyes, to hear anything coherently, just muffles as I was lifted in someone’s arms and placed along a soft, cushiony surface. It was a car I guessed when the world began to move beneath me. Music played around me, hip-hop or rap, but not in English. Something else. Something familiar. But I couldn’t focus any longer before even the sounds and motion fell away.

  It seemed but a moment later when I felt a hand gently stroking my arm, then my hair, my face, my belly. It was accompanied by a soothing voice, one I couldn’t identify, yet found oddly comforting, because I recognized the accent. It was the same soft burr of my husband, though higher in pitch and speaking in a way Tyler never had before.

  That’s when I realized I was in serious trouble.

  I screamed at myself to move, to open my eyes. Why wouldn’t my body obey? Then I remembered the rag over my mouth and that sickly-sweet scent before I tumbled to the floor. I’d been drugged. Oh my God, was my baby okay? I tried to move my hand to my belly, so I could detect her movement. A soft moan escaped my mouth as my dry, sticky lips pulled apart.

  I pried each eye open slowly, one at a time, but all I saw were fuzzy blocks of shifting color and light. Then the closest shape moved, and I couldn’t help but jump. In drowsy confusion, I tried to pull away from the mysterious form. It was the man who’d been stroking my body and speaking to me in that familiar British cadence. He hovered over me. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision then stared when the man’s face finally came into sharp focus.

  He was young, late twenties, and handsome in a delicate way, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, a slender nose, and strangely familiar eyes, green, but intensely dark. I peered at them, riveted by the weirdest sense of déjà vu, like I knew him already when I was positive we’d never met. Then a shield seemed to close down, preventing me from seeing any further. He smiled with a curt nod, and a thick, black curl loosened from his otherwise closely trimmed hair and fell across his forehead.

  “My, my, my,” he said in a peculiar sing-song rhythm.

  His voice—again, so familiar—startled me, and I pushed myself away from the stranger. I looked around and saw I was lying on an overstuffed sofa with richly embroidered fabric. The room was dim and heavily paneled with wood beams and coffers at the ceiling, and library shelves at the walls, stuffed full with leather-bound books. Dark plantation shutters blocked most of the sunlight, allowing only narrow slats to strike the thick Oriental rug atop the gleaming parquet wood floor. It was a man’s den, a lair, and it spoke loud and proud of its owner’s wealth and power. With fear coiling in my stomach, I looked back at the man.

  “So,” he said, “you’re the infamous Hannah Maguire—here, in the flesh, in my house.” He gave his shoulders an animated shudder, like it was just too good to be true.

  “No, I’m Hannah Karras now,” I said, my mouth feeling as though it were packed with cotton. “Who are you?” I glanced around again. “Where am I?” I asked and locked eyes with him once more. “How did I get here? Where’s Katy? And Roman?”

  The young man smiled then stood and sauntered to the center of the room. “Ah, yes, Roman, your accommodating neighbor. He was fairly helpful, as was our dear Katya.” He faced me with a scrunched up nose. “She is rather pliable when need be. I like that in a girl.”

  I swung my legs down slowly and pressed my feet to the floor as I sat up straight. I smoothed my hands over my belly and felt my child stir within. A soft breath of relief escaped as I turned my attention to my captor. “From what I gather, she didn’t have much choice.”

  With a roll of his eyes, he threw a quick wave. “Katya’s such a drama queen.”

  “How do you know her? How do you know me? Just who are you exactly?”

  His face split into a magnanimous grin as he glided back over with his hand out. “You may call me Greg. Everyone else does
.”

  I drew in a loud breath and balled my hands into fists, retracting them from his reach. “Greg?” I asked. “Or Gri-gor-y?” I spat, carefully articulating the foreignness of his name and making it more an accusation than a question.

  He bent his arm at his waist, then cocked his head and raised one brow before he dipped into a slow, elegant bow. “Madame Karras,” he announced and bounced back up. “I am, indeed, Grigory. Grigory Dmitriev to be exact. But originally, a Chernov.”

  I nearly choked. “Chernov?” I said in shock, wrapping my arms around myself.

  “Yes. I believe you knew my father, Dmitri, and my Uncle Alexi.” He smiled, small and bitter. “Tragic they can’t be here to reacquaint themselves. I believe you might have had something to do with that, did you not?”

  With my legs shaking beneath me, I stood and spit at him. “They were monsters, both of them, especially your father, and I hope they’re burning in hell. They got what they deserved. They used people in despicable ways.” I wobbled then stumbled back onto the sofa.

  “Rather like your son, I would say,” he threw back. “After all I did for him, offering him my stage, giving him a job, then he turns around and uses me as a virtual cash machine.”

  I stared at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  Greg screwed his mouth into an exaggerated frown. “Oh, poor Mama. Seems your sweet boy has been withholding information from you, has he not?”

  He finished with a smile, turned, and walked over to an enormous wood desk. Slipping between it and the built-in credenza behind, Greg pulled out the rolling executive chair and took a seat on the supple brown leather, his elbows on the desktop and his fingers steepled beneath his nose. He studied me silently for a stretch of time.

  “Conner’s dug himself into a rather deep hole, I’m afraid, gambling with borrowed funds, wading in a pool of drugs and alcohol.” He slouched back in his seat, his arms languid against the armrests and his eyes hooded in contempt.