Kostya

by Roxie Rivera

“Freelancing,” she grumbled, making a shooting gun motion with her left hand.

  While Fox, Sunny and Frances worked, he moved to a computer station a few feet away and cued up the security feeds from Allure. He skimmed through most of it, slowing down the fast-forward as he got closer to the abduction of Savannah and Lana. Both women were working in the supply closet. Savannah seemed to be teaching Lana her system for organizing and the digital inventory she had on a tablet. Lana took the tablet from Savannah and began inputting data while Savannah cut open boxes.

  Suddenly, the view went black as the salon lost power. A few moments later, the faint glow of emergency lighting that Fox had convinced Holly to install began to illuminate the exit paths through the salon. His gaze moved back to the supply room where the blue glow of the battery powered LEDs lit up the space. Savannah had a calming hand on Lana’s shoulder and neither were aware of the men coming into the salon through the back door.

  These men were dressed differently than the ones who had attacked Erin and Bianca. These men moved with military stealth, their steps fluid, their weapons raised and at the ready. In the supply room, Savannah finally heard the noise of the team coming to kidnap them. She pushed Lana behind her and rushed to the door, closing and locking it quickly.

  Holding the box cutter like a weapon, she walked backwards toward Lana and reached for her phone on the nearby shelf. The men were outside the door as Savannah tried to get a signal on her phone. She couldn’t know it at the time, but the kidnappers had jammed all the cell phone signals and cut the phone lines in that area. She had no way to reach the outside world or call for help.

  She shoved Lana into a small space between shelves and moved boxes quickly in front of her, trying to hide her from what was coming. The door rattled on its hinges as one of the kidnappers slammed his boot against it. It didn’t take long for the door to give.

  The team was inside the room in seconds, overwhelming Savannah. She fought like a cat, swiping two of the men across the face and neck and their arms with the razor blade in the box cutter. She wasn’t going to let them take her that easily.

  But she didn’t stand a chance. A backhanded slap knocked her to the ground, and she didn’t move for a few moments. The other men on the team kicked aside the boxes and quickly discovered Lana, dragging her out by her arms and smacking her as she screamed with fear. In less than a minute, the men had both women tied up and hooded and carted them out of the salon like hogtied animals.

  He swallowed hard at the thought of what Savannah and Lana might have suffered since being taken. Holly would likely escape any real violence because she was the high-value target, but her friends? They were expendable. Women who were expendable didn’t fare well in situations like these.

  Holly would never forgive herself if Lana or Savannah were beaten and raped or murdered. She would never forget. She would never move on from the guilt. It would consume and ruin her.

  “Fuck!” Fox growled and shoved away from her desk. She jerked off one and then the other sneaker and tossed them across the room, throwing a tantrum like a toddler. She rubbed her aching feet and scowled while muttering the filthiest string of profanity.

  “You almost knocked me out!” Sunny shouted with irritation, picking up the shoe that had landed on her desk. She was about to throw it back at Fox when she stopped and stared at the sneaker in her hand. “This isn’t your shoe.”

  “No, it’s Holly’s,” Frances said, snatching it out of Sunny’s hand. “I have the same pair. We bought them on a shopping trip.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Fox said each worth dramatically and covered her face with her hands. “I am so stupid. Stupid!” She scooted back to her keyboard and started typing furiously. “So dumb!”

  “You were in a hurry,” Frances reasoned. “I’m sure—”

  “That’s not why she’s stupid,” Sunny interrupted, standing from her chair. “She’s stupid because if she took Holly’s shoes then Holly is probably wearing hers.”

  “And?” Frances asked, brow furrowed.

  “And Fox puts GPS trackers on all of her stuff,” Sunny explained. “She’s always losing things. Her phone, her shoes, her purse, her keys—she’s like a child.”

  “I fucking heard that,” Fox grumbled. “I can’t help it. I have ADHD.”

  Sunny rolled her eyes. “Self-diagnosed.”

  Kostya raised his hand, silently telling Sunny to let it go. The two of them bickering wasn’t helping.

  “The shoes aren’t reporting a signal right now,” Fox said, “but they reported one at the airport.”

  “Which one?”

  “Bush.” Fox minimized and opened another screen. “If we use the time stamp and GPS location from the shoes,” she murmured, while scrolling through the departure data of the cargo flights, “we can narrow it down to…” She trailed off and opened another window to get the GPS locations of the runways at the airport. Back at the departure screen, she scrolled and clicked. “This one! General Francisco Javier Mina International Airport.”

  “Tampico, right?” Sunny said, almost running back to the desk she’d been using.

  “Yeah,” Fox replied. “TAM is the code.”

  “What did you find?” Kostya asked, his heartbeat kicking up as he realized his spiders were solving the puzzle.

  “This Igor guy? He used to run his coffee shipments through a port in Altamira which is right near Tampico. He had a bunch of warehouses in that area.”

  “Had?”

  “It says they were all seized by the government, but that doesn’t really mean shit does it?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Lorenzo could have bought them back at some point. You never were able to find his stock piles in Mexico. We looked everywhere, but we never had this data point.” She gestured to the pile of papers. “This might be where he’s been keeping all of his extra guns and money and drugs. Maybe where he kept some of the men who came here to kill and kidnap tonight.”

  “How long is the flight from Houston to Tampico?” Frances asked, already on her phone.

  “Two hours?” Fox said, reading the departure and arrival information on her screen.

  “We can’t just land there and expect them not to know,” Kostya warned. “We need a better plan.”

  “And that’s what I’m doing,” Frances said, turning her back on him and striding away as she began to snap instructions at the person on the other end of the line.

  Fox touched his arm and smiled encouragingly up at him. “You’re going to find her and save her. We know what we’re doing now, KGBeast.”

  The use of her nickname was a moment of levity he desperately needed. He reached out and tugged her ponytail in response.

  “We’re your team, Kostya.” Sunny had joined them. “We’re with you. Whatever you need, we’ll find it. Whatever it takes, we’ll get them back.”

  “You’re handy with a gun,” Frances addressed Sunny but it wasn’t a question.

  Sunny nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You’re coming with us.” Frances glanced at Fox. “You’re staying here. We’ll need your help once we get in country.” Holding his gaze now, Frances said, “It’s time to end this. All of it. I’m done looking over my shoulder.”

  “I don’t think that ever goes away,” Kostya remarked dryly. “Even if we kill them all.”

  “Maybe,” Frances agreed. “Either way, it will feel good to finally cut Igor’s throat.”

  That he believed wholeheartedly.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “SOMEONE IS COMING,” Lana whispered, skittering away from the door where she had been listening carefully. She hurriedly moved back between us and hauled her knees to her chest, making herself the smallest target possible.

  I swallowed anxiously and eyed the door. Once the plane had landed, we had been drugged again and brought to this strange, decrepit place. They had put us in a damp, dark room that smelled of mildew and had layers of dirt and grime all over the concrete floor. We had been released fr
om our zipties, but they had taken our shoes and watches and jewelry, even Savannah’s belt.

  With only a single bottle of water to share and a filthy plastic bucket in the corner serving as our bathroom, we had been sitting here for hours. There was an old metal bench along one wall, but it was rickety and rusty and unsafe. We had already tried to look out the small window at the rear of the room, but the murky coating of mold and dirt made it impossible to see anything clearly. It was eerily still around the building so we reasoned we were in the middle of nowhere. No road noises, no cars, no airplanes overhead. Just the steady hum of insects.

  “We need weapons,” Savannah whispered, her gaze darting around the dim room. “We need a way to protect ourselves.”

  “They have guns,” Lana replied matter-of-factly. “They’re going to do what they want with us.” She seemed suddenly older and wiser as she said, “When they take you, don’t fight. They will hurt you more if you do. Close your eyes. Open your legs. Let them take what they want. It’s easier that way. Better for you. Safer.”

  My heart ached for Lana as I fully realized what she had been through before she came into our lives. There were signs that she had been pimped out and used, but it was never a certainty. Not until now.

  “Breathe deep,” she added, her gaze haunted. “It hurts less if you relax.” She gestured between her legs. “And if they want the other, use your mouth first. They won’t last as long back there if you do. It’s easier to take when it’s quick.”

  My stomach tried to revolt, and I swallowed down the rush of bile that threatened to erupt. How many times had Lana been raped? How many times had she been sodomized? How long had she been used and abused by men? Weeks? Months? Years?

  The lock on the door clanged, and the hinges squealed as it was pushed open. Lana grasped my hand and Savannah’s, holding tight as we stared at one of our kidnappers. He looked us over, his gaze lingering on Savannah for a moment too long before it moved back to me. Pointing in my direction, he said something in Russian that I didn’t understand.

  “You have to go with him,” Lana translated softly. “Their boss wants you first.”

  “No!” Savannah put her hand out to stop me, but I shook it off, pinning her in place with a look. She silently pleaded with me not to go, but I made a gesture with my hand, telling her to stay with Lana.

  Like a shark, the Russian kidnapper eyed me with a predatory glare. A shiver coursed down my spine as I walked by him and out of the room. The hallway was just as grimy and dark, and I fought the urge to hug myself and start crying. After he had secured the door, the Russian flicked his fingers at me. I fell into step beside him, struggling to keep up with his large strides.

  With sneaky glances, I tried to make sense of him. His outfit—black tactical pants and shirt, heavy military style boots—warned me that he wasn’t a man I could escape or evade. He seemed trained, and I didn’t want to test his skills. I turned my attention to path we were taking, winding through a series of hallways before reaching the main floor of the warehouse.

  There were crates stacked all over the place. They were huge towers of them, some wooden and others metal. The smell of rust and something else I couldn’t place filled my nose. It was a strange, caustic smell, and I didn’t want to breathe it in too deeply. Staying close to the Russian, I followed him through the warren of crates, each step filling me with dread.

  He stopped, and I had to catch myself before I plowed into his back. He spoke to someone I couldn’t see and then stepped aside. His meaty hand clamped my shoulder, and he roughly shoved me forward. I stumbled over my feet, dragging the bare toes of my left foot across the uneven concrete and skinning the tips.

  Wincing, I swallowed my cry of pain. My gaze darted to the old man standing in front of crates moved together like a makeshift table. Tall and thin, he had stooped shoulders and only a few wisps of white hair on his bald head. There were dark spots on his yellowing skin, showing his age and poor health, and heavy lines of wrinkles along his neck.

  When he turned to face me, I schooled my expression and didn’t react to the absolute blackness of his eyes. They were devoid of emotion and chilled me right to the core. He smiled at me, his grin evil like a villain from a horror movie. His teeth were brown and brittle, and even from this distance, I could smell the horrendous stench coming from his mouth on every breath.

  “You look just like her,” he said, his voice gravelly and wet and his accent heavily Russian. He coughed into a stained handkerchief clenched in his bone thin right hand, his lungs sounding wet. “Just like her.”

  “Who?” I asked, afraid to get any closer and trying to buy some time. I noticed the blood specks on his ill-fitting white shirt and worried he had some kind of disease that was making him cough up bloody mucus.

  He wiped at his mouth, clearing away the sputum on his lower lip, and stuffed the handkerchief into the pocket of his black slacks. “Kira.”

  Confused, I frowned. “Who is Kira?”

  He laughed, his lungs protesting the effort as he wheezed and rattled. Taking the handkerchief out of his pocket again, he cleared his throat and dabbed at his mouth. “Your mother.”

  “My mother’s name is Frances—”

  “Your real mother,” he interrupted.

  I blinked. “I think you’re confused—”

  “I’m not confused. I know what I know. I know all the lies you’ve been told.” He turned back to the makeshift table and picked up some photos. When he walked closer to me, I stepped back, not wanting to breathe in his air, but the Russian kidnapper was standing so close behind me that he reached out and put a hand between my shoulder blades, holding me in place. “Look.”

  Reluctantly, I took the photos from him. I didn’t recognize the man, but there was something familiar about him. His eyes. His nose. I’d seen them somewhere before…

  My gaze moved to the young woman he was with, his arm around her slim waist as he pulled her close. My stomach wobbled as I studied her face. It was like looking in the mirror. She reminded me of myself when I was in college.

  I flipped to the next photo. It was my mother with the man from the first picture. They were smiling and laughing in the photo, but their closeness was different. It wasn’t the closeness of two lovers. It felt more…familial.

  “The woman you know as your mother was born in Leningrad. Her name was Ekaterina Prokhorovna when I found her in an orphanage. She was exactly what we needed. Clever. Moldable. Keen to survive. Ruthless.” He suppressed a cough as he continued, “I handpicked her. I made her into the woman she is today. I sent her to America. I gave her the chance of a lifetime—and she betrayed me.”

  “I don’t know who you think I am, but you’re wrong. My mother was born in—”

  “Longview? Yes? Her parents died when she was young. Her childhood home burned down so she doesn’t have any photos of them or her original birth certificate. Does she?”

  I hesitated. “Lots of people lose their parents young or have houses that burn down. It doesn’t make my mother a liar or whatever you think she is.”

  He shook his head and spun back to his table. He picked up another stack of photos and thrust them at me. “Look.”

  I didn’t want to look. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I wanted to run away from this crazy old man.

  But I didn’t. I took the photos. I looked.

  They were stills of my mother, much younger, in a military style uniform. She was learning to fight and shoot. In other photos, she was being trained in some kind of academia, books open in front of her, a pencil in her hand.

  Barely able to speak, I asked, “What is this?”

  “Ekaterina at the institute. She was very motivated. I’d never met any young child with a drive as strong as hers. I didn’t see it again until Kostya.”

  My head snapped up, and I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

  “I never got to train him, but I had already picked him to be my next protégé. His parents had worked for me. I ha
d found them the same way I had found Ekaterina. They were the perfect agents, and they’d been raising the perfect son. I was going to take him under my wing—and then you happened.”

  Taken aback, I asked, “Me?”

  “Kira,” he explained, pointing at the photo of the young woman who looked so much like me. “She was one of my agents. She was a honey trap for Maksim, but she broke all the rules. She fell in love with him,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “And then she conceived you.”

  I looked at the photo of Kira and Maksim again. Was he right? Were these my biological parents? But how did my mother figure into all of this?

  “Ekaterina helped Kira after she escaped my custody. She was in Russia at the time on a business trip, and once she found out that her brother was going to have a baby with one of my agents, she chose family over me and everything I’d given her.”

  “Her brother…?”

  “Ekaterina and Maksim are brother and sister. The woman you think is your mother is actually your aunt. Your real mother, Kira, died the same day you were born. Well,” he added with a vicious smile, “she didn’t exactly die. She was murdered by Nina on my orders. Nina Antonovich,” he clarified. “Kostya’s mother.”

  I tried to take in everything he had just said, but it was a whirl of words and gut-wrenching emotions. Kostya’s mother had murdered mine when I wasn’t even a day old!

  “Ekaterina took care of Nina. She caught up with her a few days later. She was quick about it. It was a clean death. Kostya’s father, though…” His voice trailed off as he sighed dramatically and then started to cough. “Well, Maksim and his temper were infamous.”

  My stomach churned at the way he so casually discussed the murders of my mother and Kostya’s parents. He acted as if they were just expendable chess pieces he had been pushing around the board for his own amusement and gains.

  “Why are you telling me this? Why did you kidnap us?” I gestured around the warehouse. “What is the point of any of this?”

  Shocking me with his swift movement and strength, he invaded my space and gripped my throat in his bony, hard hand. He squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe and started to feel my vision go fuzzy. “The point is that you are the reason I spent decades in prison. You are the reason I was tortured and starved and beaten. You and Ekaterina and Maksim ruined my life, and now I’m going to take yours.”