by Abbi Cook
As he walks away, I say, “I heard you’re married with a kid nowadays. That have anything to do with why Victor needs to go?”
Ryker stops and turns to look back at me. “Kaia and Maxim definitely play into it, yeah. I guess it was time to settle down. Stop playing games.”
“And settled down Ryker Varens doesn’t need a wildcard like your brother messing up your happy home life?”
My subtle ball busting makes him throw his head back and laugh. “Spoken like the single man I used to be. Just wait, Alexei. Someday you’re going to settle down. Then you’ll see.”
I don’t bother answering him before he closes the door behind him. I’m a killer, a hit man hired to take people out of this world. There is no settling down for me.
I don’t know the second man coming to see me this evening, and I have no interest in whatever he may have to say to me. Who he really wants to speak to is my father. Too bad he’s long gone. Well, too bad for him.
My office door opens and I watch a nondescript man in a black business suit walk in tentatively. He’s utterly forgettable in every way. Typical of the people in that fucking cult my father used to belong to. Bland, washed out human beings with no ability to think for themselves.
I know he thinks I’m one of them. Why wouldn’t he? My father spent millions of my family’s money on that bullshit for so long they probably thought he’d leave the entire fucking fortune to them. I made sure that didn’t happen.
For the most part, ghosts of that time in my father’s history don’t bother with me, but every so often, one of them surfaces and thinks I’m someone who can help them. That’s what Adam Anchoff is doing here this evening.
At least that’s what I assume as he slowly walks toward me, inch by inch stepping closer to a place he likely shouldn’t be. I’m not a man to play games with, as the unfortunate soul in my basement can attest to, and I’m not a man who has any interest in that quackery my father believed in.
“Mr. Wolfe,” he says in a shaky voice. “Mr. Alexei Wolfe?”
How quickly he moves from sounding hopeful to sounding unsure. Timid man. The hint of grey at his temples says he’s older than me but not a man to be reckoned with by any means. He’ll be easily handled and then I can get back to my more important business downstairs.
I’ve gotten so used to answering to the Americanized version of my family’s ancestral name that I don’t even blink at how wrong it is anymore. My grandfather thought it would be a good idea to change our name from Volkov when he came to this country. Immigrants stood out, and that’s the last thing he wanted to do.
So Volkov morphed into Wolfe in public. He always thought he was clever changing the name to what Volkov means in Russian. Personally, I prefer our Russian name, but Wolfe seems to put people at ease.
It shouldn’t. A wolf should never put anyone at ease.
Standing, I extend my hand and shake Adam Anchoff’s, instantly assessing how weak his fingers feel against mine. Soft, like milk-fed veal, his hand reminds me of a woman’s.
“Please, sit,” I say, offering him a seat in one of the black leather chairs in front of my desk.
Nervous, he silently obeys. Perched on the edge of the seat, he’s eager, if not confident. Not that I’m curious about what. These Genesis jackasses always want the same thing.
Money.
“What can I do for you tonight, Mr. Anchoff?”
He clears his throat and takes a deep breath in before his words practically fall out of his mouth in a rush. “I need help with something regarding my wife. I remember your father used to handle things like that with the group.”
His words pin me to the back of my chair. My father used to handle things? What kind of things does this forgettable man mean?
Now I am curious about Adam Anchoff.
I glance down at the gold wedding band cutting into his ring finger on his left hand and then back up at him. Is he asking me what I think he’s asking?
“And just what kind of help do you need regarding this wife of yours?” I ask with a smile as I steeple my fingers in front of me to hide my amusement, more intrigued by this meeting than I ever imagined I could be.
Unable to look me in the eye, he shifts his gaze to the glass and marble globe on the edge of my desk. “He…I mean, your father used to know how to handle unwanted wives.” After the words finish leaving his mouth, he looks up at me with hope in his eyes that seems misplaced. “I have money.”
And right there is the key to this forgettable man who wants to get rid of his wife. Money. He doesn’t want to simply leave her because she’ll get some of that almighty dollar he so clearly worships.
So much for that religious belief of his.
Then again, that cult never really gave much of a damn for anything I’d call godliness anyway.
My interest quickly morphs into disgust. Not that I’m opposed to killing. Or money. Or the combination of the two in most ways.
No, my disgust is because he happily confused me with my misguided father.
“I’m a businessman, Mr. Anchoff. What would make you think I’d be interested in handling this for you?”
Clearly sensing my unwillingness to join in his crime, he leans forward and whispers, “I remember your father talking about what your family does. He was a very revered man in the Church of Genesis.”
A fucking cult. A very revered man among a bunch of mindless, crazy people. What a way to compliment someone.
“I’m not my father, Mr. Anchoff. Why don’t you just handle this situation with your wife?”
His shoulders sag as an expression of disappointment washes over his bland face. “I tried, but the man messed up. All she got was a lump on her head. Now she’s having all kinds of thoughts about things she shouldn’t.”
A woman with thoughts in her head. Definitely not something one of those cult members would want in a wife.
I shrug, quickly growing bored by his story. “Then do the deed yourself.”
Adam Anchoff shakes his head wildly, his eyes wide with fear. “I can’t! I’m not good at things like that. Please, I need your help. I have money.”
He has money. How much money could this middle-manager type have?
As much as I don’t really care about him or his problem, I’m open to toying with him for some fun. There’s nothing better than playing with religious hypocrites like this guy.
“I doubt you have enough to make me want to kill some woman,” I say in a bored voice. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing that comes in at a bargain price, Mr. Anchoff.”
“How much would it cost?” he asks too eagerly.
I may have given him too much credit by thinking he’s a middle manager. He certainly isn’t a man who knows how to conduct financial business.
Looking up at the ceiling, I pretend to calculate the cost for killing the unlucky Mrs. Anchoff. When I sense he’s about to launch out of his seat after waiting nearly a minute, I lower my head and sigh.
“I’m thinking this is out of your range. I’m afraid you’ll just have to remain unhappily married.”
“Please! I need this to happen. How much? I can get it. I swear!”
“Two hundred grand,” I blurt out, almost jokingly.
For fuck’s sake, I’ve known people who killed for less than half of that. But this will chase him away and maybe he’ll do it himself.
Poor Mrs. Anchoff. She likely has no idea what her scumbag of a husband is up to.
“I have fifty thousand,” he quickly says, surprising me.
I’m a much better negotiator than he is, so I slowly lean forward and level my gaze on him. “Then all you need is another hundred and fifty grand. That can’t be that hard to get.”
“I’d have to cash in some of my retirement money,” he says sadly, like he’s disappointed that later in life after he’s killed her that he won’t get to enjoy his golden years as much as he’d planned.
“Hmmm. Maybe you should just forget this whole thing.”
>
That’s his out. I serve it to him on a silver platter, and he immediately pushes it away.
“No, no. I can get it. Two hundred thousand dollars and you’ll get rid of her?” he asks wide-eyed.
I don’t honestly know how I moved from not giving a fuck about meeting with Adam Anchoff to having my interest piqued by his problem to where I am at this moment. I certainly can say no. It’s not like I need the money.
Yet taking two hundred grand off this asshole appeals to me in some strange way. He’s going to find a way to kill the woman anyhow, and at least if I do the job, she won’t end up crippled or simply suffering in some half-dead state.
“Two hundred grand is the price, and you tell no one about this or I’ll kill you for free. Got it?”
Adam Anchoff nods his head like a bobblehead doll. “I won’t. I swear. I can have that to you in a few days. Is that okay?”
“Nothing happens until I have all the money. Cash. Once I get that, it can happen.”
“Okay. Good. Thank you so much! I knew I could come to you because of how wonderful your father was. Her name is Natalie. My wife, I mean.”
As he stands to leave, I ask a question I’ve never asked before concerning a situation like this. “Why do you want your wife gone, Mr. Anchoff?”
He answers without a moment’s hesitation. “I found something better.”
That one woman would willingly want this guy makes me question what kind of woman Natalie Anchoff must be, but a second woman too?
I smile at his answer, even as I don’t understand this fucker’s appeal. “Such is the way of the world, I guess.”
Adam Anchoff practically bounces out of my office, walking on air at the idea that he’ll soon be relieved of his wife. Love is truly grand.
Fucking hypocrite. He won’t divorce her, but he’s happy to have her killed. I can’t believe my father bought into that religious crap. What a bunch of bullshit the Church of Genesis was and all its goddamned members.
Before I head back downstairs, I do a quick search for the poor woman who married him. Little comes up, but what I find intrigues me far more than he did. Beautiful and much younger than her husband, she’s clearly a step up for him. Nothing about the image on my screen says she’s a bitch or a shrew, and the more I study her, the more I wish she’d been the one to come in to kill him.
So why does he want to off his gorgeous young wife?
Thoughts of some trashy secretary willing to take it up the ass so Adam Anchoff can feel like a big man float through my brain. He probably tells her his wife is a complete bitch who doesn’t understand him, and she buys it hook, line, and sinker.
I push the image of the two of them fucking on the couch in his shitty office out of my mind and close my laptop after taking one last look at the future dead Mrs. Anchoff. She’s got a beautiful mouth. That fuck has probably never used it to its full ability.
Stupid men and the stupid women who love them. I think I’ve seen that on a book cover somewhere. If not, it’s a book that should be written.
Enough thinking about the unhappy Anchoff marriage. If he gets the money, I’ll do the job. If not, then I won’t give them another thought.
For now, I have other, more pressing matters to attend to. I will find out where my money went to, and Landers will tell me.
Or he’ll die tonight.
Grabbing my revolver out of my desk drawer, I head back downstairs to see Samson standing in front of Landers, arms crossed and scowling down at him. Not a good sign.
“So, have you done the right thing or have you decided you don’t like living anymore?”
Landers gives me a terrified wide-eyed look and shakes his head as I take my place in front of him. “I swear to God, he never gave it to me. I wouldn’t screw with you. You know that.”
I take a deep breath and let out my frustration with this whole situation. “One last time. Where is the money Benton gave you to give me? I know he handed it to you before they grabbed him. Now he’s inside, and I don’t have my fucking money. All roads lead to you, Landers.”
He gives me another shake of his head and the same bullshit answer I’ve heard for the past three hours. “He never gave me anything, Alexei. I swear to God.”
Pulling out my gun, I place a single round in chamber and press the muzzle against his head. “Well, let’s see what God says about the truth of that. You know how this game goes, don’t you? I pull the trigger, and then if the bullet doesn’t rip through your skull, I’ll ask you again where my money is. Ready?”
Tears stream down his cheeks as the reality of what he faces in a moment fills him. “Please believe me. I never got anything to give to you. I swear.”
“Okay, Landers. Let’s see what happens.”
I pull the trigger. Click. That’s one.
“Hmmm…you might be luckier than I thought. So let’s try this again. Where is my money?”
Landers tries to answer but nothing but a sob comes out.
For a second time, I slowly pull the trigger and wait to see what fate has in store for him. Click.
I glance over at Samson in disbelief. “Fuck. It’s like the universe knows he has the answer to my question and wants to give him another chance.”
Samson merely shrugs. Clearly, he’s not enjoying this as much as I am.
Turning back to focus on Landers, I say, “All you have to do is tell me where my money is and all this ends.”
And once more, he answers, “I don’t know. I swear.”
“Okay. Then let’s try this again.”
My finger tugs the trigger back, and a second later, the bullet explodes out of the barrel of the gun, killing my thief instantly. His head droops down onto his chest, the final move of a man who thought he could cross me.
“I tried every way I could to get the information out of him, Alexei. I started to believe he might not have known for real.”
Looking over at Samson, I shake my head. “He knew, and now he knows what happens to people who fucking steal from me.”
“Stupid fuck.”
As I pass by him on my way upstairs, I look over at Landers’ lifeless body. “Get rid of him.”
Samson nods somberly. “Got it, boss.”
“And make sure the word gets out what happened to him. I’m not interested in having to play these goddamned games with anyone else.”
Chapter Four
Natalie
The St. George Country Club has never looked better than it does this afternoon for the Avalon Preservation Society's annual tea to raise funds for the town's library. Decorated in shades of red and white, the colors of the Society, the room named The Nineteenth Hole looks nothing like it usually does when it serves as a bar for the club's golfers after a round on the links. From the large centerpieces filled with coordinating red and white carnations to the deep red tablecloths covering each of the eight round tables jammed into the room, the Society's decorating committee has outdone itself remaking the normally overly green bar.
Housed in one of the Society's oldest buildings on Rochester Avenue, the Avalon Public Library is truly an example of house poor. While it uses the building rent-free, the cost to heat, cool, and maintain a building constructed in the mid-eighteen hundreds means the library is close to being broke every year by the first of March.
So the Avalon Preservation Society holds fundraisers like today’s tea throughout the year in an attempt to support the library. It's truly the only effort the Society makes to fulfill any civic duty. More often than not, we're simply a carefully crafted homogeneous group of people who meet once a month and do little more than drink in the middle of the day.
My phone vibrates in my purse, so I turn and walk back to the main hall as I look to see who's texting me. It's a message from Claire.
NOT SURE I CAN MAKE IT OVER TODAY.
I sigh and think about what I should text back to her. I have nothing to say that will help. She's been depressed since Lauren ran away. We haven’t heard a peep a
bout her whereabouts, and with every day that passes, Claire grows more and more convinced she’s dead. No supportive words from anyone, including her husband and me, have succeeded in pulling her out of her sadness.
The youngest of the four of us, Lauren is the baby in nearly every sense of the word, especially to Claire. From the day she came into our world, Claire fawned over her. While I had never been sure I wanted other sisters once Claire arrived at the house, the surprise that Tess would be coming just a few months after that night my mother had broken the news that I would have a baby sister and then Lauren would join the family two years later thrilled Claire. Truly a mother by nature, she loved them from the first day.
And it was that unconditional love that Claire felt for our sisters that makes the loss of Lauren so hard for her to deal with. I worried when we found out the horrible truth that she'd run away that we'd lose Claire too, that her grief would drag her down so far that she'd swallow a handful of pills to end it all.
So I invite her to my house every Tuesday in an attempt to get her out of the house. In coordination with her husband Albert, we all make the effort, but it's to no avail.
Nearly all of us.
My mother, like Claire, doesn't leave the house much now since Lauren left, but her confinement isn't due to depression. If anything, my mother feels anger, not sadness, at her leaving.
The sight of Pilar Kendall coming toward me as I stand in the country club's main hall trying to figure out what to do about my sister forces me to push my family troubles out of my mind for appearance's sake. Plastering a smile onto my face, I greet the fellow member with the pleasantries expected between two people who could be considered social friends, if nothing else.
"The room has been decorated beautifully," she chirps happily before taking my hands in hers to give them a gentle squeeze. It's her way of saying hello as a very touchy-feely person.
She's worn a pale olive green sleeveless dress that accentuates her rather muscular arms she's quite proud of. It's an ugly color next to her very dark hair and pale skin, but I guess the point of the outfit is to highlight her figure, which unlike the dress is quite incredible.