Madness (Revenge Series Book 3) (11 page)

“Is it true? The case files I studied in college about the women who are sold in the auction?”

“If you read that most of the girls are sex slaves for the remainder of their lives, however long that may be, or are forced into a life of hard labor, then yes, what you read was accurate.”

Chills overtake me as my skin bumps up on the surface. I can feel them prickle everywhere. I didn’t want to ask him, but I knew I’d never be able to move past this until I did. And what he said is exactly what I studied in college.

Nikolai picks up on this and wraps his arm around me, comforting me once again. All the anger over staying in the hotel room dissipates, and I understand fully his request. However, I don’t want to be trapped in Moscow near traffickers while he’s in Chechnya. If I’m going to be stowed away in a hotel, I want it to be near him. I want to know he will be near, and I will be close to him if he ever needs me.

“I will agree to stay at the hotel, but only when we go to Chechnya. I don’t want to stay anywhere near here alone, knowing what almost happened.” The moonlight captures my attention once again as I look down and watch the beams dance across Nikolai’s tattooed physique.

I can feel him swallow hard then expel a breath when he replies, “Okay.”

We climb back in bed, and Nikolai rolls away from me. But I can’t put my erratic thoughts to bed without the comfort of knowing he’s beside me, so I slide across the king-sized mattress until my chest is flush with his back. I settle my head on the pillow next to his and inhale the comfort of his scent. For the first time in my adult life, I’m seeking out another man’s touch to calm me.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

Nikolai

August 19, 2015 10:13 a.m.

“Y
ou need to condense your belongings,” I tell Josslyn as I finish getting myself dressed. “You will be flying to Grozny, and you don’t want to check a bag.”

She starts pulling all the items out of her suitcase and garment bag while I scroll the booking website and punch in her card number, purchasing her ticket.

“The airline will allow one carry-on and one personal item. Your briefcase will be your personal item, but you need to decide what stays and what goes between your other bags.”

She’s been very cooperative since our conversation last night, finally understanding the importance of remaining in character and following directions to a T.

As she’s repacking, I notice her hands trembling slightly. She is very nervous about leaving after I shared with her about her near abduction. However, flying there shouldn’t be too dangerous. Often times, the scouts don’t go near the commercial airlines unless they are really desperate. There are too many ways to get caught. Too many cameras and guards are lingering about.

Josslyn is rehanging shirts, dresses, and clothes, storing them inside her garment bag. She dwindles her shoes down to two pairs: the sneakers and her black dress heels. The dress she wore for Vlad and the dress she wore when we danced in Vegas are left in the closet.

After spending all this time with her, I know she needs something to get her in the right mindset. I want her aware of her surroundings and how she comes off to others, but I don’t want her frightened.

“Josslyn.” I grab her arm as she tucks toiletries inside the zipper pocket of her garment bag, but she refuses to give me any attention. “Look at me,” I command, and she finally connects her eyes with mine.

My eyes are hard, and my jaw set in a firm, tense line. I need her to snap out of her self-pity and transform back into the spirited woman I first encountered. She is looking at me, but not really concentrating on me. The fiery side of Josslyn is easier to deal with than the zombie in front of me.

Needing her to snap out of it, I lift my palm and crack it across her face. The action makes her narrow her eyes and her frame tenses.

“What the fuck?” she shouts then pushes me back with a hard thrust.

My eyes widen in delight, and I can’t help the corner of my mouth sneaking up.

“Why the hell did you slap me?”

“Because, my dear, you’re in a trance, and I can’t deal with you when you’re like that,” I respond.

“I was just doing what you told me to do. Excuse me if I’m not overly excited to walk through a gauntlet of human traffickers with the hope that my cute American ass doesn’t get snagged.” Her breaths are deepening and labored. The fire is definitely back.

“This … This right here is the woman you need to be, Josslyn. I need you aware of your surroundings while being a complete and total bitch to the outside world. Do you understand?” My voice is gruff, and I keep my tone short, wanting her to think I’m pissed. “If you act like a wounded little girl or a fucking robot, you will get taken, and you will die. Do you understand me? Give people a reason not to fuck with you. If you’re going to remain active in this plan, then I need the woman I met two weeks ago. The cop with the fight. Not some weak, worthless woman. Do you get it? Make them see the side of you that you seem to reserve for me.”

Josslyn takes a deep breath and expels it through her nose. She stands slightly taller, and her eyes keep the hate pushed to the forefront.

Good.

We finish packing our stuff, and I nod, telling her it’s time.

Josslyn has yet to break character. I actually don’t think she is in character. This is the Josslyn I know, only dressed in fine threads versus cotton sweatshirts and denim.

The hotel door closes behind her, and I leave her to check out and hail a cab to the airport. This, I know she can manage, but I will still be there, lurking in the shadows as she travels to the safety of the airport. Once inside, I don’t know when I will see her again, but as I promised, I will always find her.

.*.*.*.

August
 
20, 2015 11:01 p.m.

I made an expensive yet necessary purchase for my journey into Chechnya—a car. Missing my brand new Dodge Challenger in the States, I opted to get the fastest and sleekest car the used dealer had on his lot—a 2015 Jaguar F-Type R Coupe. The car was barely touched by its previous owner, and damn, it is as sexy as hell. It’s almost as beautiful as my girl back in the States … almost. It was a quick buy, which is what I need because the journey in Chechnya takes more than twenty hours by car through some rough areas.

Normally, spending four hundred and seventy-eight thousand rubles on a car is way too exorbitant, but I have been looser with my funds since leaving prison. Prior to this revenge mission, I was tight with my money. I never stayed in the expensive suites or luxury hotels, and I sure as shit didn’t spend nearly seventy-five thousand American dollars on a car, but lately, I haven’t given it a second thought. Hell, I have millions upon millions of dollars in my Swiss accounts. More money than one person can spend in two lifetimes, so why not spend some of it before I die?

They are hunting me, and I’m hunting them. It won’t be long before we all catch up with each other. My gut can sense it. I can feel the pot boiling, and it will explode with blood and death sooner rather than later. However, I still have my secret weapon—Josslyn. Stravinsky doesn’t know she’s alive and, like me, out for blood—his blood. I will keep her hidden away until he is in my sights.

Another card I hope to play is Cubby. I haven’t seen him in many years, and I don’t know how he will react to me. Last he knew, I was still the loyal dog to Stravinsky and would do anything and everything he requested, completely brainwashed. You would think no other man existed.

How he left didn’t put me in the highest regard in his eyes. I despised him when he chose to abandon the
thieves
, probably because he was the closest thing I had to a brother after Roman left.

I was never bitter when Roman wanted out. It was clear the
thieves
’ lifestyle was never for him. But Cubby … Being an assassin is written in his DNA. There is nothing this man could do to change that, like me.

If or when I walk away from this alive, I won’t stop my lifestyle. I will just become an opportunist instead of a slave to the code. I will create and live by the only code that will matter—my code. Part of me hopes Cubby will be there right beside me; blood in, blood out. We would make a pretty wicked duo if we were ever given the chance.

My car rolls into Grozny nearly a day after I left Moscow. The drive was long, but I’m not weary; I’m awake and ready to find Cubby and get the ball moving.

I assume Josslyn has made it safely to the city. She was told to check into Hotel Grozny, located in the heart of the booming city, and wait for my call.

On the trip, I decided I would call her once I figured out what I was going to do with Cubby. I didn’t want to concern her in regards to how I will deal with Cubby. She doesn’t know my stress surrounding our reunion.

It will go one of two ways: either we will shake hands like old brothers, or we will kill each other to stay alive. I couldn’t have Josslyn worried about this.

When I spoke with Aya, she mentioned Cubby is twenty meters outside the city in the small village of Alkhan Yurt, which is a thirty-minute drive south. Cubby will either be at the local tavern or locked away in his house. He wasn’t one for hanging out in public unless it involved vodka. Right now, I’m hoping my gut is still right.

.*.*.*.

August 20, 2015 11:57 p.m.

The dirt roads are as black as the sky when I finally make it into Alkhan Yurt. During the trip, I spent my time deciding how I was going to approach Cubby.

I turn down a secluded road and veer off to the side of the street, finding the perfect alcove to back my car into. Then I wait, watching the first tavern I see and probably the only one that exists in this small place.

I shut the engine off the settle myself into the seat, leaning my head back and thinking of the last mission Cubby and I were sent on. He was on his game that night as we snuck into a known Cuban drug lord’s house. The Cuban skimped us on payment for the whores we gave him, and when payment was asked for again by Stravinsky, the Cuban insulted him and refused to pay. Two days later, enter Cubby and me. The mission was simple: we were to fly into the country and sneak onto his property undetected.

For the average man, this would be an impossible task. Men toting machine guns surrounded the compound, and surveillance cameras mounted in every possible location. It was located on a mountain deep in the jungles of Cuba. We had to travel the rough terrain at night without the use of modern technology for the most part just to get near this place.

Cubby and I planned during the entire trip there. We rented a Jeep and found a local man to take us to the outskirts of the jungle. After that, we had to rely on an old map and the word of an old man to get us there unseen. It was an unforgettable trip; the first time we had to hike through God knows what kind of dangerous wildlife and climb a mountain by foot. However, we managed.

Once we were on the outskirts of the compound, Cubby and I switched into assassin mode. We stormed the fort, guns blazing, wielding knives as we killed man after man. Then, when the Cuban came into view, Cubby held him down while I took his head.

The door to the bar opens, snapping me from the past and slamming me into the present. I notice a man who is sitting belly up at the bar. Is that …? Could it be …? Cubby?

I step from my car and lock it behind me. There is only one way to find out if that is Cubby in the bar. However, I don’t want to go in through the front. I want to remain unseen. If it is him, I need a slow approach. If I ambush him, it may trigger the fight or flight reaction.

I walk coolly across the street, moving at a steady pace until I am outside the front door. Then I move around the structure, looking for an alternate way in. As my luck would have it, there is a door located in the back.

I pull my gun out of my jacket and unclick the safety, needing to be ready for anything. Then I crack my knuckles and roll my neck from side to side.

When I pull the door open, the rusty hinges squeak as I cross the threshold. The smell of dirt and stale beer infiltrates my nostrils. The back room is dark, the only muted light presumably coming from the seating area.

I take slow, calculated step as I ready myself for anything. My entire being is hard and ready for a fight as I finally reach the open room where old wooden tables and chairs are scattered. My feet slip slightly on the wooden floor as I walk slowly to the corner table and examine the place.

The bar is a straight line from my position, and only three other people are drowning their lives in alcohol here. One is the old man who just walked in. The second is the man standing behind the bar, staring at the newspaper—the bartender I assume. The last man is the one I came to see—Cubby. There is no doubt in my mind it’s him. I would recognize his hulking frame anywhere. I can’t see his face, but he still sits the same way he used to whenever he was bellied up to the bar—hunched forward, looking down while holding his glass of vodka.

From the way his muscles stretch across his shoulders and back, I can see he has kept himself in impeccable shape.

I take the opportunity to sit in a chair and observe the scene. My leather-clad hands are sweating, so I decide to remove the gloves and place them on the table.

I keep scanning the room as I look for alternate exits and possible areas for men to be hiding. Aside from the back hallway I came from, there isn’t much to the space. There is an old box television mounted on the wall. The volume is muted as it replays news on the screen. The bar stretches across the width of the room with bottles piled behind the counter. The other patrons and the barkeep have yet to notice me sitting in the corner.