Carefully, I move along the tree line, staying several feet deep into the forest, the view of the manufacturing plant in my sights as I turn to look over my shoulder. My shoes crack and shuffle along the damp foliage, but I move swiftly enough to keep it muffled beneath my soles. I’m blended in with nature entirely, keeping myself camouflaged with the forest and midnight.
As I step farther away from the car, my instincts grow even more acute. I scan the dense woods in front of me, around me, and behind me. My ears zone-in on the noise created from the troop of officers busily searching for clues of my return.
I’m finally standing across from the building two blocks down from the manufacturing plant, the building that hides my car. I’m not certain my vehicle is there, but I have to check. All of my belongings—suits, money, spare weapons—are stored inside my prized machine.
I slow to a stop and observe for a moment. The police are still searching the manufacturing plant, forensics on scene, I suppose looking for clues. If I have a chance, now is it.
The building I need is located several yards across an open grassy area, though that does little to yield my determination.
I take a few more cautious steps forward, my feet squishing in the mud. The brown dress shoes sink into the wet earth, caking the leather in mud, making my escape across the dewy grass even slicker. Without another thought, I yank my feet out of the mud, bend down, and unfasten the shoes from my feet. I discard the white socks then inch my way out of the cover of the trees.
Crouching down, I put my hands to the grass, like a runner would when he is about to start a race, and I wait. The feel of the fresh rain air and moist earth below my feet send a shiver down my spine, but I dismiss it. I look for the opportune time—when no one is visible, yet the noise is still recognizable.
The seconds feel like minutes, and the minutes feel like an eternity, but I have to be cautious. Trucks from the road fire to life then start barreling down the street. The bright spot light disappears. The noise begins to fade. The police are leaving for the night or giving up on this area completely. I smile.
That’s right, assholes; leave. You’ve found nothing.
I linger in my forest cove another few minutes. Once I feel like it is safe enough, I emerge from the wooded haven. Yanking the hood of the sweatshirt over my head, I slowly ease out from the trees.
My body now completely exposed to the world surrounding the forest, I glance to my right then left, and then I accelerate. As my legs propel me across the grassy plane, I look nowhere except at the building in front of me.
My hand is gripping the steel crowbar like a runner would hold a baton as I sprint with everything I have, my naked feet aching from the rough terrain. Soon, I’m standing just behind the old structure.
Just like the manufacturing plant, this building is falling to pieces. The entire back is exposed to the elements, which makes it easy to hide my Challenger inside.
I ease around the building, making sure I was not spotted by any police officers still lingering around. Then I cross the threshold into the building.
I detect the dingy air as I walk deeper inside the broken shell. The odor reminds me of the first Russian prison I was sentenced to. Whenever you broke the rules, you found yourself down in the basement, lying on a cold, concrete floor with rats as your only friends.
I’m careful where my feet land. They are naked, cold, and wet, but they are exposed to many hazardous obstacles. Shards of glass from the punched out panes of the windows are chaotically sprinkled on the floor. There are old nails, rusted tools, and other dismantled equipment hidden amongst the other dangerous hazards.
I lift my feet and carefully step over the land mines. My body is wound tight. My fist clenches the crowbar as I inch my way closer to my car. From this distance, it appears to be just how I left it. My body urges me forward, and my feet soon follow.
Making my move for the car, I continue to lift my feet as if I were making my way through a hidden laser alarm. My heightened senses haven’t in any way diminished since coming into the building. In fact, they have grown even more aware. The building is still, only my breath and thudding heart sounding through the air. I step over a large piece of steel, barely a few feet from the driver’s side of my car.
Out of nowhere, my side screams out in excruciating pain. The hot, agonizing burn lights me up from the inside. I drop the crowbar. My hand flies to the pain in my side. My feet falter and my breath quickens when I look down and see a small cut in my clothing. Then the pain connects with the side of my face.
Jarred, I step back and gaze out in front of me, connecting my eyes to another set of orbs. The man standing across from me is not employed by the Blythe Harbor Police Department, and he’s not an FBI officer, either. The man is loyal to a crew, and it belongs to Stravinsky, which means he knows about me. I’m staring into the eyes of my fellow man, and his only mission is to kill me.
I shake off the pain in my side and jaw. My body shifts into kill mode while I feel the hurt in my body evaporate as adrenaline takes its place.
The man is holding a large knife in his left hand and his right is clinched into a fist. He is a burley, large guy with dark brown hair. I stand a few inches shorter than him.
“Murderer!” the man shouts in Russian then lunges toward me.
He holds the knife blade up in a stabbing stance as his large frame charges me. I don’t move. I keep my bare feet planted and ready myself for the impact. I tighten every muscle in my body and clench my fists so tightly my knuckles protrude from my skin.
His body meets mine as I bob my head and swiftly move to the right, ducking his lethal blade. I turn my frame around just as I step away from his path and plow my balled up fist in his kidneys. My feet slide across the debris covered floor. The man screams out, the pain in his side only slowing him for a second.
Without taking my eyes off him, I bend down, picking up the first thing my hand touches—a jagged, steel rod. It’s about as long as the crowbar, but one end is as sharp as a dull knife.
He turns around, blade up and ready to kill. He’s a rabid gorilla, a beast ready to exterminate by any means necessary. Then again, so am I.
I step to the left again; only, he meets me this time. My head jerks to the side just as the knife grazes my cheek. Warm blood oozes from my face and trickles down. The cut feels small, but there is no way of knowing until I kill this bastard.
He lunges for me again, but I lean back and hit him under his chin with my flattened palm. His head snaps back, his eyes disoriented, and I swing the jagged piece of metal. His arm deflects the steel from colliding with his face, but the goliath drops the knife in the process.
Now I stalk toward him, staring at him with a murderous gaze. I allow a small, sadistic smile etch on my face. He cringes at the sight of my enjoyment, yet I still don’t think he realizes he has met his maker.
I jerk my hand up, connecting the steel with his face. His nose explodes as blood bursts from the cavity, and he stumbles on his feet before his knees buckle.
I slowly creak my neck to the side, my bones cracking under the skin, and I look him up and down. He does nothing. I’m certain he knows exactly what I’m capable of due to my reputation amongst the Thieves.
I take one more step forward. Crouching down, I put my body within inches of his. Then I put the steel pipe in my other hand and pick up his dropped knife in the other. With a swift move, I sever the threads of his shirt. The tip of his knife blade grazes his abdominal skin, making small cuts on his flesh.
With his chest exposed, I read the man. He has several tattoos representing the Vory V Zakone, though two very particular tattoos pique my interest. The first being the two eight-pointed stars on his chest and the other is the epaulette on his shoulder.
I give him another wicked smile as I push the end of the knife into his inked flesh. The tip of the deadly steel blade enters slightly, right in the center of the left star.
I readjust my position, making my
presence slightly taller. For good measure, I lift the pipe in my hand and strike him in the side.
I lean in and say in our native language, “Who sent you?”
The man leans forward and spits blood dripping from his nose on my bare feet. I’m disgusted. It’s one of the most offensive gestures a person can do and one of the quickest ways to piss me off.
I take a deep breath in then exhale, calming myself. Then I swing the steel pipe again into his side as punishment. He bends forward, coughing and grunting out in pain.
“Again, who sent you?” I ask more curtly this time.
“Fuck you! I’m … I’m … not telling you anything!” he sputters between ragged breaths.
“Really?” I ask as I push the tip of the knife blade deeper into his fleshy, inked star.
A small river of blood bubbles then drops from the wound, trickling down his chest before rolling off and disappearing onto the dirty concrete floor. I push a little harder, inching the knife blade in.
His breaths become rapid and deep. The man sucks in air through his clenched teeth, but he refuses to say anything. Knowing I don’t have time to screw around with this asshole, I twist the blade embedded in his skin.
“Aaaaahhhhhh!” he shouts. “Okay, okay. Ivankov, you piece of shit. It was Ivankov who sent me!”
Vlad Ivankov, the next man in charge behind Boris and a loyal subject to Stravinsky. He was the third man there the night Josslyn’s father was murdered and one of her rapists.
The information excites me. It’s one more reason to get her to willingly come with me.
I twist a little more and push the knife a little deeper. “Were you sent here to kill me?”
“Y-ye-yes!” The sweat on his brow beads before it drips down the side of his face. The blood is free falling from his wounds. The second I pull the knife from his chest, it will burst open like a broken dam, causing the large vein to surge life from his body.
“Why?”
“Because … because you’re a traitor and a murderer!”
Smiling even larger, I reply, “I can’t argue with you there, my friend, but I’d like you to tell me one more thing before we part ways.” I push the knife all the way in.
His head tilts forward. He’s unable to keep his body up and starts to wilt like a dying flower.
“Where can I find Ivankov?”
He is falling forward more, almost leaning into my body, the pain consuming his energy. I place the pipe under his chin, holding him up with the end.
He looks up, his eyes slowly dying. Blood is pouring from his nose and chest.
“Let me make this easy on you, friend. You tell me where Ivankov is, and I will make all your misery go away.”
“I don’t know where he is. I was sent … from San Francisco.”
It gives me enough to work with. We had a small operation starting up there when I was sent to prison. It’s one more thing I can have Manny look into so I can find the next group of men to torture.
“Thank you.”
I push him backward with the pipe. His body thumps to the ground with a dull thud, the knife blade pulling free of his chest, and I watch as the blood waterfalls from the wound. I repeat the same action with the other star, stabbing him in the center, destroying the picture.
He whimpers, knowing what’s going to happen next. I drag the tip of the steel blade into his torso muscles, etching the letter V from his sternum to his waistline and back up. The man is covered in tattoos and blood when I’m done, but he is still alive.
Looking at him one last time, I drop the metal pipe to the concrete and swing my right hand. The knife plummets deep into his skull, entering through his temple. Then I stand from my crouched position, towering over him, and I watch as his chest deflates and finally stops moving.
The pain in my side comes back as I wipe the knife and pipe clean of fingerprints then move to my trunk. Rolling my shoulders, I tip my chin up with my fingers and slightly jerk it to the side, cracking my neck again. Then I yank off the sweatshirt and look at my own wounds.
The bleeding has slowed down, and the cut doesn’t appear deep. I complete a quick check of my car, making sure my belongings are still where I left them. My suits are still cleanly enclosed in the garment bag, and tucked safely in the spare tire compartment is my suitcase. I quickly open it up to find the money is still inside.
I toss the sweatshirt in the back then fall into the driver’s seat. As I back out of the building, my mind goes through its check list. One possession collected. Two more to go.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Josslyn
August 11, 2015 12:12 a.m.
The sounds of laughter snap me from my random, scary thoughts. Time has passed without my even noticing it. I don’t recall the premise to the movie or any conversation prior to my wandering thoughts. I only remember eating before allowing the dark, hidden thoughts to plague me.
Nikolai is presently in my soul. I can feel him there, worming his way into my mind, taking over my sanity. From the moment I laid eyes on him, he has manipulated me. All he needed was to have one face-to-face meeting with me to plant his seeds of evil deeply inside of my brain. That’s not even the frightening part.
The part that scares me the most is I kind of like it.
He understands me.
I yank my legs off the couch, getting Gabe’s attention. His smile disintegrates when he looks at my face. Ignoring him, I stand and walk to the kitchen where I yank a bottle of vodka from the cupboard and take a gulp.
I need to get Nikolai out of my head. I can’t allow my vicious desire to surface. Not now, not ever, and especially not in front of Gabe.
“Hey.” Gabe strolls in the kitchen, approaching me like I’m a wounded animal. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I snap and take another chug from the bottle.
Gabe takes the bottle and places it on the counter. Our fingers thread together as he ushers me back into the living room.
“Joss, look at me,” Gabe demands as he raises my chin, cupping my cheeks.
His large frame is in a protective stance. His amber eyes pull me closer to his goodness and further away from the Nikolai’s iniquity. I can feel my heart rate accelerate and my cold soul slowly start to warm.
His sight momentarily breaks free from mine as he studies my lips. He wants to kiss me, and in this very second, I want nothing more than to be kissed by him. I need a little hope right now. I need to feel peace in the rapidly flowing river of blackness surging through me.
With the slightest nod, I grant him permission to claim my mouth and take my aches away.
Gabe slowly eases his head down, tilting it to the side, before landing his soft, warm lips on mine. My body freezes.
We have never really kissed before. When we first started hooking up, we would kiss off and on, but then it slowly morphed into me just wanting to cut to the chase and scream out in pleasure. We have never really had an intimate moment like this—one where I’m terrified and Gabe is willing to protect me. Now, here we are. I’m shielded from the horrors, and I’m okay with it.
I lift my arms, stunned, and begin to ease my hands up his sides. I embrace the feel of his lips as they softly glide over mine. My body loosens, my thoughts becoming stifled, and my heart warms as our lips become molded to each other.
With my hands, I explore, finding my way under his shirt. His skin feels as pleasant as the sun on a cold, rainy day. I press my palms into his back, pulling him closer to me, needing to feel his warmth. It transfers to my soul, defrosting the icy river inside of me.
Gabe eases his tongue into my mouth, and I open for him, allowing us to deepen the kiss. He strokes the tip of my tongue then dances with it. I have felt his expert tongue in many fashions, but nothing like this. Nothing that warms me and fills me all in one.
He slides his hands down from my face and wraps them securely around my body, telling me I’m safe. As long as I’m in his arms, I will be safe, and nothing will happen to m
e. I will be guarded. It will all be okay.
I want to be closer to his safety. I want to climb on him and feel the passion and protection.
As if he has a magic key to my inner desires, Gabe picks me up and holds me to his body, and I wrap my legs around his frame. Our kiss never breaks and my body never chills as we stand in my living room, exploring each other.
Gabe begins to move his feet, but I keep my eyes closed tightly. I don’t want to open them and have reality wither my shred of happiness. I only want to feel the warmth and heaven.
This is unprecedented for Gabe and I. We’ve never kissed like this before. Our clothes are still on. Our words are muted. Our demands are suppressed. We hold each other and are only connected by our lips. I like feeling this slow burn.
The light from the living room diminishes as Gabe moves us into my dark bedroom. I hold him close, wanting to feel his body blanketing mine for the first time. I want to explore the scary excitement. However, when the debilitating thoughts creep in, my heart lurches.
The last man to kiss me and the last man to consume me was Nikolai. It didn’t scare me; it ignited me. The sensation was welcomed, and I craved more of it. I yearn for him.
I hold on to Gabe tightly, frantically kissing him now. I don’t want to lose the warmth, and I don’t want the blackness sewn so deeply inside of me to grow. I want to be here. I want this to work. I want to know I can handle Gabe’s body comforting mine.
I can feel him tilting forward, his knees bending as the mattress molds to his weight. He keeps me pinned against his hot torso.
Before the inevitable happens, though, every happy feeling is wiped away as a knock at the door breaks the silence.
Away with You (The Revenge Series Book 2) Page 10