Chapter 58
2174words
ONE WEEK LATER
I've always loved the smell of the ocean.
When I was a kid, I'd spend my evenings with my father on the docks. It had to be late, nearly sundown, because of his busy schedule, but I didn't care. I didn't even mind that all we did together was carve driftwood with our pocketknives. No amount of splinters could ruin the joy I felt from being at his side.
Will I get the chance to do the same with my own children? Imagining sitting with them on the docks, our feet hanging over the water, has my heart thrumming. They'd count the boats or ask me to name the different fish strung up on lines. They might want me to take them out to cast our own poles. The idea of such serenity gives me strength.
'It stinks out here," Mila grumbles next to me. 'Like dead fish."
Ignoring her comment, I turn my face away from the gust of wind that tugs at my thick, knee-length jacket. The chill of winter is unmistakable in the air. 'You're sure this is the place?" I ask.
'I don't fall for false information," she huffs.
Shoving her hair from her eyes, she nods at the large building in the distance. It's a warehouse for storing shipping containers. Or that's what it looks like on the surface. If Mila is right, waiting for us inside are multiple armed men.
Allies of Yannick.
My fingers itch under my jacket. I can't keep them away from the handle of my gun. I've brought two, but it's the Colt Python that's my favorite. Nothing beats the barrel spin of a six-shooter. 'How many?"
Mila gives me a pensive look. 'When I counted, I saw twenty-two. Asher, are you sure you want to do things this way?"
'Yes, very sure."
'It's pointlessly dangerous for just us two to go in there. Why not call for reinforcement?"
I can't, I think. But what I say is, 'I don't need any." Camila's absence from the house has not gone unnoticed. My soldiers have started to whisper rumors. I don't believe the news that Yannick is her father has gotten around, but it's only a matter of time.
Without Camila, I have no trump card.
And I have to remind them why I'm still the pakhan.
Pulling out my Colt Python, I check the bullets. Mila watches in silence. After examining my Glock next, I catch her eye. 'Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask bluntly. 'I can always go without you."
'Please," she snorts. 'As if I'd let you have all the fun."
Grinning helplessly at her snark, I cast my attention back to the building. 'You're the expert on keeping a low profile. How should we enter?"
'The way they won't expect." Mila flips her leather jacket up; I glimpse the pistol on her hip, sitting above the band stacked with three different knives. She'll use a gun in a pinch, but her preference for a blade can't be overstated. 'Through the front."
There are no lights outside, but through the windows comes a yellow glow that diffuses the night. Excitement flares through my blood. It makes me lighter, like I'm floating as we cross the quiet, empty docks toward the building. This feeling is a welcome change to the misery I've been wallowing in.
Camila is gone ...
I can't change that. Not yet.
But I can make the world a safer place in my own way for her and my baby.
Mila ducks low, spotting something I don't. In a blur of motion, she sprints to the right. I don't see the guard in the shadows of a dumpster until she has him at her feet. There's just enough visibility for me to watch her grip his hair, yank his head back, then slit his throat. She doesn't glance back at the dead man when she's finished. He doesn't matter anymore.
Her eyes lock on mine. There's red on her knife; it vanishes as she slips it into its sheath. 'One for me," she chuckles. 'I'll end up with a bigger tally than you at this rate."
A quick breath exits my lips—my muscles flex eagerly. 'You need the head start. I don't."
Moving as a unit, we rush the door. Mila grips it, giving me a single look to confirm she has my permission before she rips it open. It isn't locked. And why would it be? These men aren't expecting a head-on assault, and they would have set a guard to alert them of anything strange.
She darts away to guard my flank, giving me a clear view of the room. It's massive inside, with metal containers in rusted red and faded blue lining the walls. In the center are five men sitting at a cheap foldout table covered in poker chips, as well as a mountain of white powder. Someone has his head bent into it, in the middle of snorting, but his shocked eyes are locked on me.
There are others in the space—lining the walls, reclining lazily on the containers. All are frozen with uncertainty. It's the only chance I'll get to act before they can respond. My hand is bone dry on the hilt of my gun. I'm not nervous, and there's no reason to sweat. I aim my weapon, placing a bullet through the forehead of the man closest to me, and feel euphoria flood through me.
Like a kicked hornet's nest, the room comes alive.
'Shit!" a man roars, but whatever he says next is just a sloppy gurgle. Talking is hard when your windpipe has been sliced open. Mila rolls to one side, dodging into the metal containers and out of view. I keep shooting, making sure to aim away from where she is so I don't hit her accidentally.
One ... two ... three ... I count the men as they fall. After the dead guard outside, the man I nailed, Mila's recent kill, and these three, there should be sixteen remaining. My pistol has six bullets. It's emptied before the first man draws his own gun.
'It's him!" I hear someone yell. I recognize him from voice alone—a large man with a reddish beard and gauges in his ears. Sergio. One of Yannick's brigadiers who never defected when I took control of the Bratva. The sight of someone of such a high rank sends me into a frenzy. Maybe I'm luckier than I thought.
A bullet grazes my shoulder. I don't feel any pain, not even as the blood saturates my jacket.
Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.
Ducking behind a stack of boxes, I try to get a bead on my attacker. He's around my age, maybe older, with three different scars across the bridge of his nose. Lavrentiy ... another brigadier. Reaching for my Glock because my pistol is empty, I prepare to fire back. Before I do, Mila springs from the shadows.
Like a large cat, she lands smoothly on top of Lavrentiy's shoulders. She's half his size, but with her knife to his ear, cutting it clean off, she drops him to the ground. He screams in agony as blood pours down his neck and shoulder.
'That's it!" she laughs, stepping over him as he bucks on the floor. She stamps her foot on his windpipe as hard as possible. 'Cry for me, Lavrentiy. Just the way you made me cry for you all those years ago."
Lavrentiy's shouting has distracted the other men; I take the opportunity to pick off three more of them. My Glock has a bigger capacity than my other gun. I like it less for that reason, but it does the job efficiently.
Bullets shatter all other sounds. Carnage buries every thought in my brain except kill. Kill. Kill. I cling to the wicked urge to decorate the place with the blood of my enemies. This surge of violence is the perfect bubble to wrap myself in.
Here, where I'm nothing but a tool designed for murder, I don't have to feel remorse.
I'm free of the agony of losing the woman I love.
Or … that's what I think.
The bodies litter the floor, each one sending a jolt of delight into my core. But when there are only five men left to stand against us, I sense the awful burrs returning. They were never gone, I realize. They're embedded too firmly in my soul. Gritting my jaw angrily, I kick Sergio in the stomach. He doubles over with a groan. Even when I embrace this monstrous side of me … I can't escape the pain of Camila's absence.
The woman left a canyon in me that nothing can fill.
Nothing but her.
'Wait!" Sergio coughs, holding up his hand. He's supine on the floor. He tries to stand, but there's too much blood. Without traction, he slips backward, kicking his feet uselessly. 'Don't kill me, Asher Volkov! Please! I have something you need!"
'All I need from you is to see the light fade from your eyes." I press the tip of my gun to his chest. Sergio sucks in breath after breath. He's terrified. I wish it made me feel better. No death I've caused has healed me. But maybe his will.
I'm happy to find out.
I start to close my finger on the trigger. He shudders down to his knees. 'I know where Camila is!"
All the tension vanishes from my hand; I let go of the trigger, searching Sergio's face for evidence that he's lying. 'How could you possibly know that?"
Hope returns to his eyes. 'Let me go, and I'll tell you everything."
'Don't listen to him, Asher," Mila says. She's coated in blood from her chin to her ankles. Behind her is a parade of corpses. No one is alive but us three. Crouching beside Sergio, she lines the edge of her knife up with his chin. 'He'll say anything to save his own skin."
'No!" he argues, eyes bulging like boiled eggs. He attempts to sit up, but Mila pushes the blade into his jaw, drawing a bead of ruby-red blood. He flinches, returning his eyes to me. I'm the one he has to convince if he wants to live.
'Please, Asher Volkov. Believe me. I know where she is."
I lift my gun away from his skin. He visibly relaxes while Mila scowls at me. 'How?"
'We have a spy." He licks his lips once, twice. 'He works in the office of Jonah Sanders. That's the lawyer who's married to Camila Marakov best friend. We know the exact spot they've hidden her away."
At first my mood soars—with this info, I can see Camila again. But my joy turns to ash a second later. This means Yannick knows where she is as well. I can't ignore this information. If I do, he'll get her before I can. 'You'll take us there," I tell him firmly.
'Asher, this is clearly a trap," Mila hisses.
Placing my knee on Sergio's chest, I transfer all my weight there. He groans under the pressure that threatens to crack his ribs. 'If you're lying, I won't simply put a bullet in your skull." Tracing the barrel of my gun down his cheek, I shove it under his chin, pushing Mila's knife away to do so. Sergio swallows nervously, and I feel it through my weapon. 'I will take my time over several weeks. You'll suffer in pure agony until I'm finally satisfied, and trust me … I am not easily satisfied."
'I understand," he wheezes.
Tucking my gun into its sheath, I stand up. Mila watches me with disapproval. 'You're an idiot," she whispers, so Sergio can't hear. At least she has the grace to keep her insults between us. 'You actually plan to go to this place?"
I survey the carnage in the building. 'Yannick will be furious when he finds out what we've done. I have to do whatever I can to try and get Camila away from him before it's too late."
'You're risking your life."
'I know." The smile I offer Mila is a solemn one. 'You don't have to come with me."
Shaking her head angrily, she waves her arm over the pile of bodies we've created.
'Idiot. All these men hurt me in some way. Getting to return the favor was the best gift you could ever have given me. As a thank you, I'm not going to let you waltz into a death trap. You'd never survive without me."
Her words stoke a fire in my heart. All this time, she's been indebted to me. But she has no reason to die in the name of my revenge. If anything, having gotten what she wanted, she could leave me tonight without looking back. Her loyalty is unwavering.
Mine must be the same.
Bending down, I yank Sergio up by his shirt. He stands on shaky legs.
'Take me to Camila."
