The bathroom is rather nice, but it isn’t as lavish as I’d expect from a man like Kasym Slokavich.
I suppose he’s most likely not planning to stay in America long-term. That would explain his heinous behavior over the past few months he’s been in New York City. My research on Kasym brought me to places I never thought I’d have to visit again but felt like revisiting old friends — partly because it was, oftentimes.
The lower-ranking Bratva were the only ones who had anything interesting to say about the hedonistic son of Sergei. To the higher ups, he was a saint, a visionary, and a rising star, particularly within the sex ring — the industry he’s been partaking in almost nonstop since arriving.
His handlers, the initiates, and the other less notable muscle tell a very different story. They’ve never seen a more violent, abrasive, spoiled, and lustful human being sweep through the city in all their short careers put together.
He’s been throwing money into the dog fighting rings for amusement, a business the Bratva usually leave for the less dignified dregs of the city. Anyone who dares cross him, he has killed if he doesn’t do it himself.
After I left the auction that fateful night I’d bought Cassie, Kasym went home with five of the other girls out of spite that he’d been outbid. Within a month, all of them turned up dead, a trail of bribes covering up their disappearances as runaways or accidents. To hear the pimps talk, his swathe of bloodshed didn’t end there, as Boris’s assessment of the man was true.
To think that Cassie was so close to being bought by this monster fills me with enough rage to step outside my profession and murder him with my own bare hands. I need to kill this man to keep Cassie safe from him. If he’s that bitter about being outbid, it’s only going to be a matter of time before he goes after what’s mine. It is enough to make me think my dear wife’s God does indeed watch out for her.
Even if he must use foul men such as me.
The contract from one of the relatives of the murdered girls calling for Kasym’s death could not have been more timely. Nor is it a surprise. I’ve garnered something of a reputation for such hits since completing the contract that ended Boris’s life. I may be the Shadow, but witnesses spread rumors, and the woman I saved could not be expected not to talk. I knew it was a liability, but I can no longer turn a blind eye to plights like hers. I have to take action, and I will do so the only way I know how.
And my time making friends in low places has been more of a help than I could ever have imagined. As I gathered information on Kasym, I realized how many of the men are quietly disgruntled with the change in tone he’s brought with him to the Bratva. Many of them don’t care for his fast and loose lifestyle, nor for the brutality that inevitably comes with such displays of wealth. He’s bringing risk to all our Brotherhood with his brutality, and they all know it’s only a matter of time before his carelessness brings us all down. He has no concern with greasing cops, or setting up a fall guy.
More than a few of those connections helped me get here tonight.
I hear the door to the bedroom swing open, muffled through the bathroom door, Kasym’s loud laughter roaring and boisterous. There are two other sets of footsteps that accompany his, just as expected.
“...and that dog won me more money than all the other pups that night combined! Ha! To think it was the runt of the litter! Didn’t seem so runtish with all that blood on its jaws!” Kasym’s voice makes a bizarre barking noise, and the feminine voices with him give a forced laugh at his disgusting antics.
“Now you,” he says to one of them, “get to start with me early. You,” he says presumably to the other, “go get yourself cleaned up before the fun. Don’t want you stinking up the new sheets.”
“I won’t keep you waiting too long,” the voice of the second woman teases, but I can hear the fear behind her voice.
The bathroom door opens, and I remain deathly still. She knows I’m behind the curtain, but whether she can pretend she doesn’t may jeopardize the entire hit. She closes the door and runs the water in the sink, and the moment she thinks she’s out of earshot of Kasym, I hear her suppress a sob. I want desperately to tap the side of the tub to remind her this is all part of the game, but I know I have to resist.
I hear her freshen up a bit before stripping some of the clothes from her body and stepping back outside.
“All yours, baby,” she says, and she’s soon answered by a dark chuckle from Kasym. I can already hear the first woman grinding on him, her breathy gasps loud and forced — that much is obvious to someone who’s heard the real thing.
I wait only a minute. I hear Kasym’s voice whispering to the girls as they begin their work on him, and I know we have a time limit to work with.
Stealthy as a wolf, I rise from my position in the bath and very slowly pull the curtain back.
The sex worker who had been in the bathroom had left the door open but nearly shut, and something on the mirror caught my eye. She’d used the lipstick she was applying to write a message on the corner of the mirror:
First moan
I cock my gun and put my shoulder against the door gingerly, waiting, listening. Contact like this is dangerous, because there’s so much room for error or miscommunication. Every small gasp I hear faked from the girls in the room could make me twitch, but I wait, a bead of sweat rolling down my forehead as I prepare for the most dangerous hit of my life.
Then, an unmistakable cry of feigned ecstasy.
I shove the door open, and as I do, like clockwork, the two naked women on either side of Kasym in his satin-sheeted bed seize one of his arms and pin him down. Kasym, his eyes wide as baseballs and his body naked and exposed, hardly has time to react before I step forward, my face stony as a statue of a saint, and I unload three rounds into him: two to the chest, then one to the head.
In all of two seconds, it’s over.
The women had held their heads down the moment I pushed the door open, bracing for what would happen. It was such a risk, having them so close like that, but it was one they had volunteered for when I contacted them for information about the hit.
Sex workers all over the state knew and hated Kasym. He was hurting them, and no doubt word has spread not to take him as a client, leaving him to prey on only the most vulnerable girls.
And now they were free from him forever.
The two women leap out of the bed and back away from the pool of blood soaking into the sheets around the man, but neither of them look away.
“Thank fuck,” one of them murmurs.
“What now?” asks the other.
“Now,” I say as I step forward to inspect the body, “the two of you need to disappear. Things are going to get very hot, very soon.”
“The goons outside won’t give you any trouble?” the second asks.
“No. They’re almost as tired of these rich bastards’ abuses as you are. The staff tonight is who got me here in the first place.”
The two of them exchange glances, then nod. “We’ll get the word around that this fucker’s dead. Make it sound like someone on the inside did him in, maybe put the fear of God back in the higher-ups.”
I give a single nod. “Good.”
“You gonna be okay?”
I glance at her briefly. “Don’t worry about me. I was never here.”
The door opens, and one of the bodyguards with an uzi at his side peers in. We exchange a look, and he nods, beckoning me out to the escape route he has planned.
Despite all my precaution, I know this is almost a foolishly brazen move on my part, but I had to do it to keep Cassie safe. I may have succeeded in rallying the blue-collar criminals against the sex ring in New York, but silence can’t be assured from so many people, even in the best of conditions.
There may be retaliation from this. The only question is how much the Bratva still knows about me.
20
Cassie
I wake up from a pleasant dream just past midnight to a horrifying, loud crack foll
owed by the sounds of glass shattering. I sit up ramrod straight in bed, looking around in terror. For a moment, some part of my brain tries to dismiss the sounds as psychosomatic, just figments of my hazy, sleepy mind. But then the bedroom door bursts open and Andrei comes bolting in. Blinking my eyes in the low light, I can just make out his grim expression and panicked eyes. I have never seen him look like this. Andrei is never afraid. Never.
As he rushes to my side I grab for him and ask, “What was that? What happened? I heard a horrible noise — ”
“Nothing, printsessa, but I need you to get up and put on some warm clothes for me, okay? It’s time for us to go,” Andrei says, helping me out of bed and running to grab me a sweater and a coat. As I ease into the sleeves of the sweater, struggling to pull it closed over my bulging stomach in my nightdress and warm leggings, I look up at him in confusion. The clock reads 12:17. Where would we possibly have to go in the middle of the night? What is going on?
“Where are we going?”
Andrei yanks a duffel bag out of the closet and starts stuffing random sweaters and pants into it — all winter clothing, though it isn’t even that cool outside anymore. He doesn’t answer me as he hurriedly tosses a pair of boots my way and squishes several thick scarves into the bag.
“Andrei!” I cry, stomping my foot. “What are we doing?”
“Put on the boots,” he says simply, not even looking up.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I fight the urge to just give in and submit to his order, standing my ground. This is insane!
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Finally he looks over at me, fixing me with one of those cold, hard glares. A chill runs down my spine. I know he is angry — even if the anger isn’t actually directed at me.
“Cassie. Please. We need to leave, now.”
His voice is low and deliberate, and I sigh, sitting down to pull on the boots. Andrei opens a box in the back of the closet, one I have never noticed before, and withdraws a little blue booklet, along with a manila folder filled with some official-looking documents. He stuffs these items into the front zipper pocket of the duffel bag, as well as a thick wad of hundred dollar bills.
“What is all that for?” I demand to know, running up to him and trying to unzip the bag.
Andrei catches me in his arms and holds me by the shoulders, peering into my eyes.
“You have to trust me, lapochka. It is my job to keep you safe, and I will do exactly that. But you have to listen to me and do as I say,” he explains softly. Suddenly I am truly afraid. Keep me safe? From what?
“Okay,” I reply weakly.
Andrei grabs the duffel bag, takes me by the hand, and leads me quickly out of the bedroom into the living room. There is a loud zinging noise as something impossibly small and fast whizzes by just in front of us, putting a hole in the wall. I scream and fall back into Andrei’s arms, my heart racing.
“Wh-what was that?” I ask, my eyes huge.
Andrei holds me close and covers me with his body as we rush out of the apartment, down the hall, and into the elevator. I’m still shaking when we reach the ground floor lobby, Andrei nearly carrying me as we run out to his Corvette in the parking garage.
“Andrei!” I shout, tears in my eyes. “I’m scared! Please tell me what is happening!”
“There’s no time,” he says flatly, easing me into the back seat and throwing the duffel bag in the trunk. I put my hands protectively over my pregnant belly, looking out the windows.
“Why can’t I sit up there with you?” I ask, leaning over the console as Andrei slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. We peel out of the parking garage just as another car zooms out of a spot just a few rows away and quickly falls in behind us.
“Get down!” Andrei shouts, spinning the wheel so that the car turns a sharp corner, slinging me back into the seat. “Lay down on the seat! Don’t sit up for anything, don’t look out the windows!”
I fall back on my side, curling my legs up to my belly and wrapping my arms around the unborn child inside me, whispering nonsensical words of comfort to him as though he could hear me. We fly around corners so fast that I feel the tires come up off the road slightly, the Corvette drifting around hairpin turns. It occurs to me that Andrei is trying to shake off someone who is tailing us.
Somebody is chasing us.
Probably the same people who fired into our living room.
“What are we gonna do?” I whimper, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“You’re going someplace safe, moya lyubova. Don’t you worry.”
“Who’s after us?”
“Bad people. You don’t need to think about that. Just focus on yourself and that little baby, okay? I promise everything will work out, just trust me.”
Finally, the wild, sudden turns give way to an engine-roaring, pedal-to-the-floor increase in speed as we shoot straight forward down what I assume is a highway. I know we’ve got to be driving at least thirty over the speed limit, but Andrei doesn’t slow the car at all.
“Did we lose them?” I ask, sounding very frail and terrified.
“For now, yes. But we have to hurry,” Andrei answers. Then, in a more serious tone, he continues. “Listen to me, malyshka. I am going to take care of everything. You’re going ahead of me, and I know you’ll be scared, but just know that I will be right behind you. Everything is already set up and you have nothing to worry about. They already know you’re coming —”
“They? Who? Where?” I ask, sitting up in the seat against Andrei’s orders.
I see that we are pulling down a dirt road, barreling along the narrow path through the thick trees, branches scraping the sides of the Corvette. Andrei doesn’t seem to care; he is completely focused on the road ahead. Finally the car screeches to a stop in front of a small building with a massive black concrete field behind it. Peeking through the trees is what looks to be… a small airplane.
“No,” I murmur under my breath. Andrei leaps out of the car, takes the duffel bag out of the trunk, and starts wheeling it away, beckoning for me to follow.
I reluctantly get out of the car and hurry after him, holding my belly.
“Mi prishli, Pavel!” he calls out as we run to the little concrete structure. A short, squat, bespectacled man with receding brown hair and a bearded face full of laugh lines peeks out of the door, gesturing for us to hurry inside.
“Toropis!” the man barks at us. “Come on!”
He ushers us in, takes the duffel bag, and starts waddling away toward the plane outside. But then suddenly he turns around and does a double-take, blinking rapidly as he looks me up and down. He adjusts his tiny, round-frame glasses and then frowns at me, shaking his head. He folds his arms over his chest and gives Andrei a dubious look.
“What is it? We have to hurry!” Andrei hisses at him, his large frame towering over Pavel’s in an almost comical way.
But the older man clucks his tongue. “Gospodin Petrov, you know I cannot fly her.”
Andrei rounds on him, aggressively reaching for the man’s collar, but Pavel moves out of the way and points accusingly at me — more specifically, at my pregnant belly.
“Slishkom opasno! She is too beremenna! Bad for the baby!” Pavel exclaims.
Andrei’s face hardens and he looks at me with panic in his eyes.
“Are you sure? Is there really no way?” he asks.
The smaller man shakes his head. “Not safe, moy drug. I cannot take her in good conscience. The flight to Sibir is long and hard.”
“Sibir?” I repeat, the word falling from my mouth awkwardly. Then it dawns on me. “Siberia? You’re sending me to Yakutsk?” I shout, backing away and holding my arms over my stomach instinctively.
Andrei hurries forward to take me in his arms, even though I fight him in vain. He pulls me close and kisses the top of my head, soothing me with his stroking hands.
“You would have been safe there to wait for my return, Cassie,” he assures me.
Then, looking over at Pavel, he asks, “Is there no other choice? Is there nowhere else?”
Pavel sighs and puts his hands on his hips, tapping his foot thoughtfully. “Well, I might have someplace you could go, for now. Moya sestra… she has a commercial property just north of here off the interstate. A warehouse. Pustoy. Funding fell through and now it’s just sitting there, unused.” He gives some directions in Russian I can’t even begin to follow.
Andrei is already nodding and leading me out of the building to the car. He calls over his shoulder, “And you will tell her we’re coming?”
“Da, da. Of course,” Pavel calls in response, waving his hand dismissively.
We get back into the car and speed away down the dirt road back to the highway, crossing quickly onto the interstate. It only takes us half an hour to reach our destination, and it is a pure miracle that we aren’t pulled over for speeding on the way.
Finally breaking my silence as he pulls me out of the car and guides me toward the big, looming gray warehouse, I spit, “You were going to just send me away like my parents did?”
Andrei looks at me with genuine hurt in his eyes, and I immediately regret my accusatory tone. Shifting the duffel bag on his shoulder as he opens a weather-beaten side door, he answers quietly, “No, Cassie. I would never do that to you. I would have followed you there once it was safe to do so.”
“Safe from what?” I press him.
He closes the door behind us and flicks a light on. After a second of flickering hesitation, a fluorescent light hums to light far overhead. It’s still quite dim, but at least now we can see where we’re going. The huge building is musty and eerie, completely abandoned yet clean enough to indicate that someone still intends to make something of it. There are big boxes stacked in ten-foot piles, and Andrei leads me toward what looks to be a tiny, nondescript office.
Once inside the office room, he sits me down on a dusty swivel chair and finally answers my question. “Cassie, moya printsessa, there are bad people who want to hurt me… and you.”
Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Page 17