Away with You (The Revenge Series Book 2)

by M. S. Brannon

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask through clenched teeth. My newly transformed self is confident as I seethe in Nikolai’s direction.

  “Saving your ass,” he says just as coldly as he glares at Gary.

  The words sting, leaving me feeling bitter and spiteful toward him. I swallow them down. Not until we get the Gary situation fixed will I push back. Then I will refuse to budge from this hotel room until he starts treating me like an equal and not his damn captive. That’s what logic tells me to do. My mouth has other plans.

  “I had it under control!” I fume, shaking off the pain in my midsection. My damn ribs will never heal if they keep getting kicked.

  Nikolai breaks his glare with the clerk and connects it with mine. We stare at each other with a ferocious intensity. Mere seconds away from taking the frustrations out on each other, I turn my body and square my shoulders up with him. I may not win, but I will be damned if I allow him to treat me like a wounded damsel in distress, and to prove it, I have no problems slugging him in the face. He doesn’t scare me. Not anymore. Not since I unleashed my inner rage that was awakened from its fifteen-year slumber.

  The quivering clerk attempts to make a break for it, but not before Nikolai snatches his throat. Gary gurgles as the air struggles to get into his lungs. His eyes enlarge, panic strewn across his face.

  Nikolai crouches down, getting close to Gary’s face. “What were you planning to do with this woman?” His voice is nearly silent, so quiet and so dangerous.

  Gary shakes his head, trying to mouth the words.

  “What’s that?”

  Nikolai loosens his grasp, and Gary begins to pant, thankful for the air. “No …th … ing.”

  Nikolai releases the man’s neck. He flexes his hands then twists his own neck slightly. “Wrong answer.” He then moves swiftly, placing his hands around Gary’s neck and jerking it to the right. The bones crunch, and the clerk falls limply to the ground. Dead. Just like that. No conversation. No debate within himself. He just snaps his neck and leaves him in a heap on the carpet.

  I slowly turn my head, looking completely dumbfounded at him. I have seen plenty of dead people; that’s not what stuns me. I just have never seen the killer in action. I should be appalled or terrified. I’m … not. I’m … dare I think … glad?

  “Close your mouth,” Nikolai calmly states.

  I slowly shut my mouth and swallow hard before sanity starts to flood back in. I’m standing side by side with a murderer. I was present, which makes me an accomplice. In a court of law, I could be charged with first-degree murder or, at the very least, involuntary manslaughter.

  The stress building in my chest begins to form into panic-like pants. I start to lose my cool demeanor and transition into clean up mode.

  I grab all my things and pile them in a bag. My brain starts working the crime scene. DNA—my DNA is everywhere. How the hell will I get rid of it all? I could bleach every inch of this place, but that wouldn’t get the fibers and hairs left behind. I’m everywhere, and I’m screwed.

  I move like a crazed person, getting every inch of my trace evidence away. I look under the sink in the bathroom and find household cleaners, one of which is bleach. I put the stopper in the sink and start filling it with bleach. I’m prepared to clean as much as I can and get my DNA off every surface.

  Nikolai’s voice stops me in my tracks.

  “Leave it. We need to go.”

  I storm from the bathroom, ready to argue, when I see him hoisting Gary’s dead body over his shoulder.

  “Put that shit down. We’ve got to move.” He continues to stun me with every move he makes, but I don’t dispute him.

  I unplug the sink and return the cleaner to the cupboard. I quickly make the bed, making the room presentable, and grab my things. With a quick once-over, it looks like no one was ever checked-in to this room. We were only here a few hours. All we did was shower and sleep, and every trace of that is gone.

  I follow behind Nikolai as he walks with Gary over his shoulder to the door. Without speaking, we work as a team for the first time since this entire trip started. I open the door and make sure the coast is clear of onlookers. It’s broad daylight, and the possibility of being seen is high.

  I wave my hand, and then he walks with Gary’s limp body and puts him in the passenger seat. Nikolai walks to the back of his car, getting something out of his trunk, then goes back inside the room. I don’t follow him, and I don’t question what he’s doing. I’m not the expert when it comes to disposing of dead bodies. Therefore, I will wait for him to guide me. I fall into the back seat as he retreats to the car.

  Nikolai doesn’t drive far, only around the back of the building to the living quarters of the motel where there is a back entrance hidden away from the road out front.

  Before I can turn to see what he is doing, Nikolai walks to the screened door and picks it open with a small, metal tool. Next, he opens the passenger door and jerks Gary’s body off the seat then carries him inside.

  I sit in the back seat, debating whether or not I should go in there and help him. I may not know about how to dispose of a dead body, but I do know how one can stage a crime scene. I have seen many in my day, and it’s easy to learn what not to do as a criminal. But before I make it to the door, Nikolai is back out.

  “Time to go.” Nikolai drives with as much calm as he did when he killed Gary.

  I look through the dirty window and see orange flames start to engulf the interior of the home. Soon, the back of the motel starts to blaze. By the time we make it to the road, the entire building is burning at both ends. The motel room where we stayed has large flames shooting from the window, and the roofing is starting to collapse.

  It gets me thinking that, if he needs my help to find the man responsible for killing our families, then the man is not someone easily obtained. We are toying with our lives as much as a drug addict does every time they plunge a needle in their arm.

  As we speed down the road, I watch the flames dance and the smoke roll up into a billowing, black cloud. There it is; our future. Nikolai and I, we are that motel. We are burning at both ends as we run from one life to take another. By the time it all collides, all traces of us will be ash, every part of us … gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Nikolai

  August 11, 2015 5:27 p.m.

  The sun gleams through the windshield as the late afternoon sun shines over the horizon. We have been driving for five hours by the time I pull off Interstate 5 to gas up near Redding, California. It’s been a nonstop trek. My body is tired, and my stomach is groaning to be nourished. The trip has been completely silent except for the sound of the Tchaikovsky sounding through the speakers.

  I know Josslyn is confused or frightened by what happened in the hotel room. I’m surprised she hasn’t asked a single question. It’s almost like she is agreeing to do as I say without argument. That’s not the Josslyn I know.

  I pull up to a gas pump and shut the car off, debating on what to do with Josslyn. Then she shocks me slightly by holding up her arm with the dangling handcuff. She has a doorway into my mind, which I find alarming yet comforting.

  Josslyn says nothing, remaining silent as she holds her arm up, waiting to be restrained, her eyes focused out the windshield ahead.

  I pull the handcuff key from my pants pocket and unlatch the loose end. She moves closer to me, her hair brushing my face, as I hook the steel cuff around the steering wheel.

  I want to say something. I want to tell her I know how she feels. Do I really know, though? It’s been so long since the first time I saw someone kill a man. In fact, it was when I was in prison the first time, before I turned fifteen. He was a bunk mate, sharing a room with twenty other kids around my age. The young boy was killed by a guard for lying about stealing an extra piece of bread at dinner, beat to death and left as a bloody husk in his bunk. The guards did it in front of us. They meant it as a warning. If you steal, you die. However, I really don’t reme
mber how I felt when that kid was struggling for his life. Today, I can’t attach my emotions to that day. I’m numb to the violence around me, the violence because of me. It’s been a way of life since I was ten years old.

  I pull the handle on the door, and her voice catches me before I stand up and exit the car. The sound is barely audible as she whispers, “Something happened to me in that hotel.”

  My memory flashes back to the clerk standing over her crumpled body, his foot just leaving her midsection. My hatred for men like him starts to flood rapidly back in. I know what that man was up to with Josslyn. He wanted to take advantage of her, and luckily for her, I was there to stop something tragic from happening again.

  I nod my head then reply, “I know. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner, Josslyn.”

  “I’m not talking about what happened with the clerk. I’m talking about what didn’t happen with him.” She releases a breath and raises her eyes, peering into mine like one would with a window. “He had me pinned down, and I started to check out like I always do in situations like that.”

  I nod again, remembering how she revealed who she was to me while being my captive, the tune she morbidly sung as her mind drifted farther and farther away.

  “But something snapped deep inside. I found my fight. I found my hate for people like him, and I was able to keep myself alive.” She holds up her cuffed hand. “This isn’t necessary anymore, Nikolai. Whether you like it or not, you’ll have to start trusting me. If we are going to get out of this alive, then you need to treat me as an equal and not your prisoner. We’re going to have to rely on each other to do that.”

  Trust her? I have never really trusted anyone, not when it comes to my life. Then again, when I really think about it, I did trust someone—Stravinsky. He’s the reason I’m seething against the corruption of others. Regardless, Josslyn has a point. What we are walking into is very dangerous, and chances are we will be dead when it’s all said and done. The odds are stacked against us, but until I let her in on the plan, we don’t have a chance in hell. If we work together, our chances for survival will be greater.

  I swallow hard and pull the key from my pocket then unfasten her hands from the cuffs. She shakes her wrists and rubs the discomfort away.

  Leaning to the side, I grab forty dollars out of my wallet and hand it to her. She looks down at the money like it’s covered with the black plague then looks at me like I’m.

  “You’re right.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise. The words even stun me.

  “I will share everything with you because it’s something we have to do together. But first, get us some food while I gas up.” My face hardens again as I threaten, “Don’t make me regret this, detective. Keep in mind, before you decide to draw attention, you’re running from your freedom. Do I also need to remind you of what we left in Eugene? You were there when that clerk died. If you flee, you better find a good hiding place, because it won’t only be me looking for you.”

  She swallows hard then rolls her shoulders back with boldness. “Ditto.”

  .*.*.*.

  August 11, 2015 5:47 p.m.

  I finish the last of my greasy hamburger. It’s probably the best tasting food I have had yet. I savor every bite before I chug down the bottle of water and wipe my face on a napkin then pass it over to Josslyn. We haven’t really said anything; both of us were so hungry the conversation could wait. We have less than five hours to go, and this will be the time to talk.

  “Why the tattoos?” Josslyn asks before taking a bit of her burger.

  “I thought you did your research on them.”

  “I did, but I was too engrossed in finding you to read up about them extensively. Besides, I’m talking with an actual person from the Vory V Zakone, so I’d suspect you’re a more reliable source than the internet.” She looks over at me, her cheeks stuff full of food as she shoves another bite into her mouth.

  Why, indeed? I have never had to explain it to anyone before. No one outside the organization has ever asked me about it, not even Anna. Although, I assumed she had some idea.

  “They’re a way of telling a story, so to speak.”

  “A story?” she questions.

  “Yes, those of us around my age were adolescent when the Soviet Union dismantled. The government was in disarray, and the Russian Mafia, as you Americans like to call it, rose to power.” I love the way programs will demonize us when, in hindsight, all we were doing was trying to survive. “I was orphaned, abandoned by my mother; Roman and I both were. We were mistreated while living in the orphanage, and at ten years old, my brother and I escaped.”

  “Mistreated?”

  “Well, if you call getting beaten with a wooden paddle board on a daily basis, being malnourished, and forced to live amongst the rats wrong, then I would say I was mistreated.” My tone sharpens when I think of my time spent in that place. That’s why we left. We had a better chance of survival on the streets than spending another second behind those walls.

  “I’m sorry. Go on.” Josslyn turns to me, giving me her full attention, and I find it impossible to keep my eyes on the road ahead.

  “So you’re getting the picture. Being a criminal was imminent and the only way I knew how to keep us alive. But when you’re a child living on the street, you aren’t smart at first. I got caught stealing food and was sentence to five years in a prison for boys. It’s there I learned about the Vory V Zakone and how, if I wanted to protect myself, my brother, and make money in the process, I needed to hook up with them. They had a code they lived by, and I was an impressionable kid. I guess I was looking for something I never had …” I swallow down the bitterness when I think of the first time I saw Ademar Stravinsky. He was like a god to me. He claimed he needed me, that this organization would only thrive because of me, and I ate up every single word.

  “You were looking for a father figure, and he provided that,” Josslyn’s voice breaks up my putrid thoughts, and I only nod in agreement. “Is he located in San Francisco?”

  “No, he’s not in San Francisco, but a high-ranking member is.”

  “How do you know this?” Her curiosity is surging, and the glimmer in her eyes lightens because she is finally getting answers. It’s not easy for me to share, but I’m not an idiot. She needs to be aware if she wants to get out of this alive.

  “Before I came to your apartment, I killed a man who was looking for me. I didn’t outright know him, but I knew he was an assassin who had direct orders from the San Francisco leader. The epaulette on his shoulder educated me on where he stands with the organization.”

  “The tattoos.” Josslyn is starting to put it all together.

  “I was able to get where he was sent from and who sent him out of him.” I swallow hard and continue, “Does the name Vlad Ivankov sound familiar?”

  She looks out the window, probably mentally processing her run-ins with criminals. Her fingers strum the top of her thigh as she seems to try to recall something. She looks over at me and says, “No, I don’t know him.”

  “He’s one of the major players in the organization and works directly with the man we’re looking for. If anyone knows where that man is, it’s him. And …” I start to tell her what significance he has in her life, but I’m not sure if I should. I don’t know how she’ll react.

  “And what?”

  “Nothing,” I snap back.

  “Trust, Nikolai. You have to trust me, or this isn’t going to work.” Her voice is bitter and heartbreaking all in one.

  “He is one of the two men who are responsible for that night, Josslyn.” I look over at her.

  I watch as all the air escape her body as she freezes in the seat.

  “He killed my father?”

  “He was there when your father was murdered, but he didn’t kill him.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “He was one of the men who raped you, Josslyn.”

  Her body wilts against the leather seat. She pulls
her legs up to her chest, cradling her body in a tight, protective ball. Her eyes glisten, and I know she is revisiting that horrible night. It’s a night she’ll never forget, but hopefully, if we make it out alive, it will be a night she’ll finally be able to get over.

  It’s rare—actually, damn near impossible—for me to feel discomfort with other’s emotional turmoil, but Josslyn is not like anyone I have ever met. She is strong yet delicate, smart yet ignorant. Therefore, my cold heart thaws when the first tear rolls down her cheek. It’s been fifteen long years of living with the horrors, and now she is finally going to have the man within her grasp.

  “Who was the other man?” Her quiet coldness filters through her words, leaving a chill in the air.

  “His name was Boris Stravinsky. I killed him days ago, him and his accomplice.”

  She slowly looks to me, her mind absorbing my words.

  I continue, “He was also the man responsible for raping and killing my brother’s family. He was sent to kill them by order of the man we are pursuing.”

  I can see the puzzle pieces starting to fall together for her. She’s certain I’m the killer of the two men she found cut up and dumped near the ports. Of course she’s right, but I never admitted it.

  “How do you know all this? How do you know who was involved or what happened that night?”

  It’s the only question I don’t want to answer, yet I know I will eventually have to. The night her father was murdered, I suffocated her father while Stravinsky stabbed his chest. I’m an accomplice and just as guilty. I can’t tell her that, though. She’ll never know what role I played.

  “I’ve been around a long time, and the night your father was murdered was talked about amongst our organization for quite some time.” I regret telling her this already, but she needed to know. It wasn’t a lie. The group did brag about the events of that night, but what I’m about to admit is not how I knew the song she sang that night. “Boris would hum that song … the one you sang while he was raping you.”