“I’m fine. I just need to be by myself for a while.” I pull his fingers from my elbow then step out of the interrogation room.
Gabe huffs out a breath but allows me to leave without saying anything more, and I’m thankful for it. If anyone could see what I’m covering up, what I really know about Nikolai, it’s Gabe. And to keep us safe, he has to be left in total darkness.
I pull the door closed behind me and relax just a little. I’m so tired, and my side hurts beyond words. I want to cry out in agony, but I can’t. Not just yet.
I look down the corridor, hoping no one is witnessing my weakness. The bleak hallway is absent of anyone except me and an older man walking toward me.
I turn to leave, walking opposite him. Then I notice he’s holding a cell phone to his ear in one hand and a briefcase in the other. He looks like a man of importance and is a little intimidating. He’s sophisticatedly dressed in a navy suit with his well-groomed gray hair. He’s a little heavy in the midsection. I get distracted when I look at the shiny gold rings wrapped around his fingers. He sort of looks like a mob boss you would see on TV. It’s then he stops a few feet in front of me and opens the door to interrogation room three, the same room Nikolai was escorted into after Gabe’s attack. Of course, that’s Nikolai’s lawyer.
Before he leaves me alone in the hallway, the man turns and looks at me as he places his cell phone in his pocket. His eyes are warm—not at all like a menacing psycho, but in a sorry-for-what-happened-to-you way. It’s almost comforting, which I find baffling.
He pushes open the door and turns to walk through as I slowly walk by, ducking my head down. Before I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, I feel the pull of Nikolai. I can feel him looking right at me, right through me, and I feel completely exposed.
My neck acts of its own accord, and I turn and connect my gaze with his. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t smirk or make me feel hate for him like he did earlier. He shows me the secrets he keeps heavily guarded inside himself. I feel the weight of this intimate yet intense exchange. He has broken down the wall of hate once again.
Then the door shuts, my connection severed, and my head feels clouded even more.
I know I should hate him. I have every right to despise him. Yet, when he looks at me like that, I tap into the minuscule fragment of sadness I feel for him.
He was dealt a terrible hand in life, and against all odds, he survived. Still, the sensible side of my brain can’t forget who he has been trained to be. He’s a killer, and in the end, he would destroy anyone to keep himself alive.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nikolai
August 9, 2015 5:13 p.m.
Vankin shuts the door just as I was about to run after Josslyn. She can see me, the real me, and it concerns me. I have never been forthcoming with anyone except my brother. Then in walks this woman, her eyes pleading for answers, and my raw pain is dying to be released. Mixed together, it makes the unpredictable concoction of emotion I’m dealing with right now. I loathe her, yet I understand her. I want to kill her, but I can’t stop feeling for her. She frustrates me enough to send me into a blind rage, yet one dip in her Caribbean pools and I’m instantly subdued. I don’t understand it. And I don’t like it.
The night her father was murdered, I took mercy on a young girl who’d had her world ripped apart. Last night, I took mercy on a woman who’d ripped my world apart. I know Josslyn will be the link I need to get close to Stravinsky, but once it’s all said and done, then what? I can’t keep her alive, yet this small part of me wants to, anyway.
Vankin pulls out the chair and sets his briefcase down on the table. I snap my thoughts away from the detective and focus on the next phase of my plan. I need information and Vankin is going to give it to me.
Speaking in Russian I ask, “What did you find out?”
Vankin takes a sweep of the room and looks to make sure there are no recording devices present. I assume this room is for client/lawyer privacy. There is no video camera or one-way mirror. Still, he is being careful.
Releasing a relaxed breath he replies, “I did a little research and found out Victor is located at Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla. It’s over seven hours from here. Unfortunately, there is no way we can get you in contact with him and back to your cell before the day shift starts at six in the morning.”
I visibly tense. I needed to get captured because it’s crucial I see Zaretski. He is the reason I decided to get arrested in the first place. When I was with Josslyn, my mind started to think about the past and when I first join the organization. I remembered a drunken conversation with Stravinsky when he divulged his allegiance to the one person he trusted with the most delicate, private secrets regarding the organization—Zaretski.
As my first year progressed Zaretski started to unravel and Ademar took notice. As time when on, Boris replaced Victor as Ademar’s right hand man. It was Boris—that piece of shit—who was fortunate enough to have the exchanges with Stravinsky. I always wanted to get that close to Stravinsky. I wanted to be right next to him, the man he could lean on for advice, and eventually succeed him. But that was a promise Stravinsky would never make. He would drop those hints here and there to keep my hope dangling every single day. However, he only used me as his trained monkey. I would have never overseen the organization, and I would have never been his right hand man. I was an assassin, the muscle, the trained ape, and I would have never been anything more.
My jaw clenches when I think of the past. The impossible rage rolls wildly through my veins. I clear my throat and close my eyes, shaking off the immense anger, swallowing down the hate. When I open my eyes again, I focus on what I need to do now. The past will not help my current situation.
Going back to my plan, if I could get to Zaretski and probe him for details, then I’m certain it would lead me to Stravinsky’s location or somewhere close. Time is ticking for me to follow through with this part of my plan.
Stravinsky will soon find out Boris is dead. The second he hears about Boris’s death and the condition I left his body—missing his stars and the large V carved out in his back—he’ll definitely know I’m alive. The removal of the Vory V Zakone eight-pointed star is reserved for the undeserving, the betrayers, and the wannabes. Only members of the organization would understand the significance, and only Ademar would know it was me who removed them from his dear cousin.
Boris would have never betrayed the organization. If he had, Stravinsky would have been the person to issue his assassination. He knows the deep-seeded hate I have for that man. I detested Boris and everything he stood for.
The second Stravinsky gets word, a hit will be issued for my head. However, I’m ready for that battle. After all, it’s been part of the plan all along. I will destroy Stravinsky and everything he has worked so hard to achieve. I will take down his throne and slam my Bowie knife deep inside the walls of his chest. I will twist the blade enough to watch the blood seep out below him. And as he lies there, wishing he were dead, I will smile knowing it was me who took it all away.
Vankin huffs out a frustrated breath, and I snap back to thinking about how I will get closer to Victor Zaretski. I rack my brain, contemplating how the hell I can get into the penitentiary. It’s nearly impossible. Death row inmates are not allowed visitors, with the exception of their attorney and members of the clergy. Even if they did, it could take months. Considering Zaretski’s mental state at the time of his crimes and how far detached he was from our organization, he probably only secured a public defender. I really have no idea, because I was locked up in Russia at the time. There is no way I could sneak in as his attorney. The prison system will have records of that.
I pull my cuffed hands up and run them over my face. I feel tired, exhausted even, but I can’t rest until I know what the plan is. I start thinking about infiltrating the prison, however that would be unfeasible. It’s one of the most heavily monitored correctional facilities on the West Coast. I have clout with techni
cal geniuses, but I would have to go through the trouble of hiring a team and getting them on board with my plan. It would take months to accomplish, and I don’t have months.
Unclenching my jaw, I reply. “This is not the information I wanted to hear, Vankin.”
“I suspect it isn’t. However, I may have another idea.” He smiles slightly.
I’m very intrigued. At this point, I’m willing to consider just about anything to get in to see Victor Zaretski.
I let out an exhausted breath.
“Please, continue.”
“I have a lady friend who works for the board of health, specializing in mental health services. It was a long shot, but I decided to give Regina a call to see if I could muster up something. It just so happens that Zaretski is undergoing a heavy round of psychiatric testing as part of the training for med students from the university. Anyway, he’s getting evaluated tomorrow.” Vankin gives a happy-go-lucky smile as he continues our conversation in our native language. “This morning, Zaretski was moved to Western State Hospital in Lakewood, which is only three hours away.”
His grin is as big as a child on Christmas morning, his teeth gleaming from behind his well-groomed gray beard.
My mood seems to lighten a little when I think about how much Vankin is excited to help me on my quest. He is as loyal to me as I was once to Stravinsky. I motion with my cuffed hands in front of me. “Okay? What do you propose we do?”
“I already have the plan in motion. I arranged for you to be transferred to the hospital at six o’clock tomorrow morning to undergo similar testing. The transport team will be in charge of moving you, ushering you to the testing room where you’ll wait to be evaluated.”
“Okay, but this still doesn’t tell me how I’m going to get to Zaretski. I’m sure he’ll be heavily guarded due to the nature of his crimes. As will I for mine, for that matter.” I shake my head, seeing the gigantic holes in this plan of his. My frustration skyrockets again.
“Well, Regina gave me the name of the doctor who will be overseeing testing for Zaretski, and I arranged to have the same doctor see you. You’ll be located on the same floor. From there, you’ll have to find a way to get to him.”
Mulling over his plan, I think how it will be a challenge once I’m in the hospital. However, if I can get the word out to Manny, maybe he knows someone with medical credentials who would be willing to take a stack of cash to sneak me into the room Victor is in. It’s a stretch, but in my opinion, anyone can be bought if what is presented is desirable enough. Most people accept cash. Now we need to find the perfect person and fast.
Unpredictably, I think of Josslyn. Money would not be enough to convince her to concede to my plot for revenge. In her case, I will need to buy her with the knowledge I possess of her father’s murder. That’s how I will get her to go along with my plan. It won’t be easy, but I’m sure she’ll agree once she knows I can get her in the same room with the man who took her father’s life. However, if she fights me, she’ll ride bound in the trunk of my car until what is done is done. Either way, she is going.
“Understood,” I agree. “I will need to connect with Manny and secure someone to get me in with Zaretski.” Thinking of my tools of the trade, I’m curious to know what happened to my briefcase and suitcase full of money. So I ask, “Do you know what items of mine the police collected as evidence when I was arrested?”
“No, but I can find out.” Vankin looks at his watch and pulls his briefcase from the table. “I will connect with Manny again and make arrangements for someone to help you once you’re inside the hospital.” Vankin looks down, a little sad, and then says, “Once the conversation with Victor Zaretski is over, I will no longer be able to legally assist you. I know there will be an opportunity to leave and never come back. The heat will come down on me, and I will have to cut all communication with you until I know I’m in the clear.”
Vankin is right. He knows, once I get the information I need from Zaretski, I will not be returning to prison. I will be continuing with my plan to hunt down Stravinsky and make him bleed. I will be on the warpath to taking the entire Stravinsky organization down. I will be on the run from the authorities. He can’t help me from here.
Vankin stands and holds out his hand. I waste no time before placing my palm into his. Erik Vankin has been a loyal acquaintance of mine, or dare I think friend? He wants nothing more than to help me on my quest to kill Stravinsky, and I want nothing more than to fulfill my quest.
He nods to me, and I to him. Then Vankin steps out the room. If all goes according to plan, this will be the last time I ever see him.
CHAPTER NINE
Josslyn
August 9, 2015 7:36 PM
The torture is finally over. My lieutenant and his superiors interviewed—well, I should say interrogated—me regarding the details of my capture. I was on my way out, waiting for the elevator, when my boss pulled me into his office to grill me about my experience. I wasn’t expecting to speak to anyone just yet, so when I refused, he insisted. I admit I was very nervous. I didn’t want to slip up and share facts that I shouldn’t. It is my responsibility to hold the truth about Nikolai’s identity from everyone.
Over the past several hours, I have sensed this black cloud forming and shrouding my soul. It looms over my head, waiting for me to slip up. I fear the moment I do, a bolt of lightning will strike me down, incinerating me from the inside.
From the second Nikolai spoke, I could feel this sensation slowly trickle into my body. It’s sinister, bizarre, and consuming as it grows. It’s also becoming impossible to ignore.
During my interrogation, I did my best to shake off the invading fears and clear my mind of everything. I kept picturing Nikolai’s twisted, killer face lurking in the corner of the room, which helped immensely with keeping my focus solely on the little details I was allowed to share.
The police psychiatrist was there to add input when needed. I admit, Dr. Stevens really helped back up my case. She stated the shock of what occurred is still clearly affecting me, that details of what I went through may not surface until I have started to move past the events of my capture. She also answered my lieutenant as to why Nikolai chooses to remain silent. Dr. Stevens informed us he is making a statement, probably because he wasn’t able to fulfill his plans of torture and murder. Therefore, to defy the authorities, he is saying nothing. She also mentioned that, if Nikolai is affiliated with a certain organization, he would be in a great deal of trouble if he spoke. Her educated answers appeased my boss and his superiors enough to let me go.
Unbeknownst to the room, both of her theories were correct. He is a disgruntled killer for the Vory V Zakone and his mission is to destroy the man who tried unsuccessfully to destroy him.
As my mind pulls away from the interview with my boss, I stare out the window and watch life happen on the other side of the glass. The cab drives down Hyde Avenue, one of the main roads in town and the one road that leads straight to the evil abyss. The Ruins are located at the end, and if the taxi driver kept going, we would see the scenery out the window change abruptly from an average, middle-class business district to the horrible, dangerous side of town.
When he turns down Fifth Street, I exhale a sigh of relief and focus once again on the objects on the other side of the glass. As soon as I slightly relax, I detect the stale smell of restaurant grease that lingers on the taxi driver’s clothes and it suffocates me. It’s strong enough that one would assume he washed his clothes in fryer oil. I realize I must have been really distracted by my thoughts not to recognize the pungent, choking stench until now. I lean back in my seat and roll the window down slightly to get a little bit of fresh air.
My body is sore, but my agitated nerves need to be exercised and put to sleep. I need to move to the point of absolute exhaustion and then pass out. I won’t be able to kick-box—not for a while anyway—but I have to move somewhat to keep my invading feelings away.
Once the taxi pulls into the parking lot
of my apartment, I look down the aisle and see my car still hasn’t been returned. I left it in the hands of the forensic team. I told them they wouldn’t find any evidence of Nikolai in there, but the lieutenant insisted it get worked over by the crime lab.
Leaning forward, I say to the driver, “Can you please wait here? I will need you to take me to another place.”
“Whatever,” he responds, not looking up from his cell phone.
As quickly as I can, I move up the stairs and into my apartment. I scramble to my dresser and pull out my sports bra and exercise pants then change. It hurts to lift my arms over my head, but I don’t let it stop me from moving.
Pulling open my dresser drawer, I find an old cloth bandage I purchased a year ago when I rolled my ankle. I unravel it, determining it’s long enough to wrap around my ribs. I was instructed not to wrap myself, but I need some support for exercising.
I wind the brown sports bandage around my midsection, going over a couple of times and keeping it tight enough to provide some support. Once done, I yank my zip-up hoodie from where it was hooked on the chair and shrug it on. I find my gym bag tucked in the corner of my room, check to make sure I have everything I need, and then leave.
It only takes five minutes for the taxi to drive to the gym ten blocks away. I’m certain I almost died on the trip, because the asshole was driving like a damn race car driver.
I walk through the glass door, and the comforting smell of the gym allows me to relax from my intense day. It sounds strange, but I enjoy the smell. Not necessarily because I like the odor of sweat, cleaner, and leather, but I’m reminded of how much I enjoy being in this place.
Working out is my stress reliever. I don’t have to talk to people or look beautiful for anyone. I can simply plug in my ear phones and let my music take my body over. I walk from the locker room, shoes secure on my feet and ear buds fastened in my ears. I find a treadmill and scroll through my list of songs. “Beautiful People” by Marilyn Manson pops up on my screen. It is the exact beat I need to get my body moving.
Away with You (The Revenge Series Book 2) Page 6