Lawless 2 (The Finale) Page 6

  “I apologize for my interruption, but I have to know. Mother Sofiya, you were a-at m-my home,” I stammer, “with the Armenians. I believe they were Armenians. I’m sorry for cutting you off, but I need to know.” And I don’t give a fuck about Anatoly.

  “They were Armenians. . .”

  Her infinitesimal voice trails off, hardly meeting my ears. Or maybe it’s the blood rushing against my eardrums.

  Licking my lips, I further inquire, “Did Anatoly coerce you into assisting them?”

  “Luka, will you,” she arches an eyebrow, her gaze flitting toward the door.

  My friend glances at me. Emotion is wrought in his eyes, mirroring my tangled reaction. Though it pains me to, my chin dips in a slight nod.

  Luka stops behind me, squeezes my shoulder, then retreats into the house. My attention returns to Sofiya. The glacial wind sends silver tendrils over her pale skin as she watches Luka close the door. Then her lips curve into a sneer.

  “I assumed you were too traumatized to recall. You shouldn’t—”

  “I shouldn’t what,” I grit out, hands on my hips.

  “Recall, daughter.” She cuts each word, lips screwed up. “Anatoly hadn’t the slightest hand in that day, Anastasiya.”

  An ice wind surges through every muscle in my body, immobilizing me.

  “You were such a pretty flower, a rose, comparable to my prized blood roses. Yet, I had pruned you all wrong.”

  Her fingers curve gingerly around the cluster of buds. She plucks at a silky red petal. It falls between us. I crush it under my boot.

  “See, you understand quite well, moya docherniy. Your disposal was necessary. Unfortunately, those idiots didn’t follow through with my orders.”

  My hand cleaves to the Colt beneath my leather jacket yet stays weighted at the back of my belt. Sofiya’s empty eyes threaten me to follow through.

  “I have nothing to live for, Anastasiya. Your presence ruined everything for me!”

  I gargle on the word: “How?”

  Blood rushing through my vessels moves so swiftly I cannot hear her twisted, jaded lies. I clamor to the doorframe, images of Simeon flitting through my mind. If I kill her, he will torture me to death!

  On troubled legs, I head toward the bedroom door and out of the room. I grip the banister, my breathing labored, and start down the stairs. The floor below swims before my vision. Sofiya hasn’t moved a muscle from her lounger on the balcony—and her filthy heart still beats. My only regret is that if she takes a short drop from her balcony, she might break her legs and not her scrawny ass neck.

  Luka is starting out of the door when he turns around. “What the fuck, Asya?”

  “Get me out of here,” I growl low. “Get me out, before I strangle the life out of her, and suffer the ramifications with Simeon, later.”

  He calls out to the nearest byki, issues a few commands for them to go up the stairs. They’re asking if Sofiya is all right, if I’m all right.

  “Check on Sofiya,” he barks. “Women’s issues.” He nods to me, shielding me with an arm.

  We start out of the house and down the passageway to the SUV. Luka opens the door and ushers me inside.

  “What happened, Asya?”

  “Get me out of here before I kill you too!”

  “Is she . . .”

  “No!” I toss my fists at Luka’s chest. His eyes seer over me again, and he slams the door.

  I pull out my cellphone and dial Simeon. In my opposite hand, I weigh my colt. “Please answer or I might . . .”

  The driver’s door swings open. Luka hops inside as the voicemail comes on. He bites his tongue.

  “Simeon, I need you so bad right now,” I strangle out. “Call me.”

  “What happened?” Luka parrots as I click the off button.

  “Drive fast, or I might jump out, go back, and . . .” I hold up my shaking hands. All the love in the world is at the tips of my fingers. As an adolescent, I wondered if I loved Simeon more than myself at times for his role in setting me free. After our first fuck, I knew the truth. His love was my madness, my sanity, my all. “Drive faster, Luka,” I growl in Russian, using the language I’ve spurned for years.

  “The roads are slick!” The luxury SUV purrs as he steps a little harder on the pedal.

  Bending the corner, Luka slows. Soft pinks break through the ultra-white flurry of snow and trees. My eyebrows knead together at the sight of a tiny gated area, leading to another road. On the gate are pink-painted padlocks in the shape of a heart. It’s like a whimsical, petite version of Padlock Tree Park in Moscow. The image is dashed as Luka bends another corner. Tears blur my eyes.

  Simeon and I had a locket there, and now, I want nothing more in the world than to shatter his mother’s heart . . . like she did mine.

  “Drive faster!”

  “I can’t!” Luka retorts, fisting the steering wheel. The pensive setting of his mouth and attentive look on his face cease my whining.

  The rear tires veer to the left, though Luka hadn’t turned the wheel. In an instant, we’re flying around in circles. The side of my temple shatters the passenger window. The SUV tumbles over the slick asphalt.

  Trees and blue skies.

  Gravel and snow.

  Trees.

  Snow.

  My vision is jostled from earth to the heavens with each flip. The airbags deploy, twisting my face sideways. My vision is obscured by the thick, airy cloth. The vehicle slams down an incline into the forest area.

  My spine all but cracks when Luka’s side of the SUV concaves, wedged against a massive tree. Whimpering with each move, I reach around, slide my gun beneath some of the material, and shoot. Then I do the same with Luka’s airbag. Blood bubbles from his lips.

  “Brat,” I groan, every utterance escaping my trembling lips. “S-say you’re alright, ple-please.”

  Luka’s neck is twisted in an unnatural position against the steering wheel. When his eyes pop open, wet, hot tears drench down my face, burning at my cheeks. Everything hurts, and looking at him, my pain cannot compare.

  “I-I can’t move, sestra,” Luka wheezes.

  Warm, stickiness drips into my eyes, causing my vision to swim in redness. Blood from my temple mingles in with the tears. Get up, Asya, no time to be weak.

  I mumble, “Give me a moment, Luka. I’ll help you.”

  With a thunk, the passenger door whips open. Cold air trickles over my bruised body. In relief that someone had seen our accident, I drop the gun to the ground. The weight of it is too much for me to bear. An unfamiliar masculine voice calls out. He doesn’t have a Russian accent, British maybe. Yet, this stranger identifies me—by name.

  Chapter 8

  Simeon

  When Anastasiya called this morning, I’d been leaving the factory where the twins had kept Rudolf’s older brother comfortable overnight. Now, I’ve climbed out of the backseat of an SUV, inside of an open hanger. The pilot is speaking with Kirill, and he’s utilizing lots of gestures. People succumb to hand motions when they’re at their wit's end. What the fuck is his problem? Kirill moves away from the jet and the pilot I’m not acquainted with and heads toward me.

  “What the fuck, Kirill? Where is Tim?”

  “Tim’s too drunk to drive here, let alone fly, which isn’t the problem, Pakhan. Traveling to Syria is.”

  “Who the fuck is he?”

  “Again,” Kirill groans, “Not the fucking problem. You called me sixty minutes ago. Every second since, I’ve attempted to gain clearance to land in Syria.”

  I curse underneath my breath. “We’ve landed there a lot. Get access from an airway we’ve used before.”

  “I’ve tried,” he grits out. “Luka told me Chutin gave you drones and a horde of peace offerings since you’ve become Tsar. I’ll ask—”

  “Not an option!” I cut in, forking a hand across the bristles at my jaw. The mudak was never a friend of mine. He can shove all those drones up his fucking ass. “You had ample time to make this
happen.”

  “With all due respect, I’ve been kissing an entire country’s ass, so that we aren’t shot the fuck down by entering its airspace. We have yet to gather the appropriate authorization. The few commissioners I spoke with, they’re working on a backlog. That’s where Chutin comes in. Make a friend in him, Kazen.”

  I run my knuckles over my bottom teeth. Following Anastasiya’s requests were impossible. Our child deserves this, and so I force down the guilt gnawing at my gut.

  “Get me into Syria now!”

  Kirill’s cellphone vibrates in his slacks. He pulls it out. “Excuse me, Tsar, this looks like the one last hope I had. They’re calling now. May I?”

  “Answer it. If the person on the other end of the line hard balls you, asking for more capital, threaten their entire lineage!”

  Chapter 9

  Anastasiya

  A mass of swelling flesh mangles Luka’s features. His face slumped against the steering wheel, Luka’s only movement is that of his shocked gaze and tensed lips. “Who are you?” he asks the stranger.

  “Nobody,” replies the British man. My gut screams that he isn’t just a helpful bystander.

  “How do you know my name?” Each word shudders from my lips with effort. The pounding in my head refuses to cease, but I spit out, “We’re Resnovs.”

  “I’m well aware, luv. Sorry for hosing down the road back there. I know it was already frozen, but I had to get your attention.” The Brit reaches inside my door. Something pricks against the side of my neck.

  He injected me with a substance, which causes an autonomous response. Liquid fills my mouth. I can’t gulp it down fast enough.

  “The name’s Trick. Don’t worry. My job is to deliver you,” his British voice purrs against my cheek. My fingers shake profusely. All the muscles in my body seem to be shutting down. All the power left sparks at my nerve endings. “It’s your typical drug, luv. By the way, you won’t recall a thing once you fall into a nice slumber. I use it when I’m knackered. Best sleep of my life, I always say.”

  His leather-clad hand picks up my Colt. He places it into my palm and nestles my finger on the trigger. Devoid of consent, I’m training the gun toward Luka.

  No, no, please stop! Screaming jars at my brains but won’t break free. Tears fill Luka’s eyes. Unable to move, he watches us.

  “Well, mate, I’m the man who has been paid dearly to transport your gorgeous friend here. And because my primary gig is assassin, someone has to meet their maker. So, it’ll have to be,” the gun goes off. The power in the recoil is enough to jolt my limp wrist. “You.”

  Trick scoops me into his arms. My body weighs heavily into him. My face lulls against his hard chest. He stands there. The snow-capped trees around us are dwarfed in comparison to the Brit. He’s omnipotent, superhuman. Something in his eyes is sad, though. As his gaze tracks over my face, contentment shines through.

  He reminds me of Simeon. The world did something to him, and now his enjoyment resides in the darkness. He won’t kill me. And he’s already claimed to be the delivery boy, so what enemy has caused this. A ghost of a smile forms on Trick’s thin lips. He has secrets that he refuses to tell.

  “You’re a strong one, eh.” He clicks his tongue and readjusts his hold on my body.

  As he trudges down the incline, frigid cold causes tears to crystalize across my cheeks. He places his mouth a fraction away, the warmth of him removing the burning chill on my skin.

  Absorbed in assessing the Brit, I notice how he’s no longer trudging. I can’t swivel my head around, but from my peripheral, there’s a road. We’ve traveled all the way down the incline to the next opening. SUVs line the area.

  “You said she’ll forget?” A voice as familiar to me as my own reflection in a mirror calls out.

  “That’s right. Usually takes about five to ten minutes for ‘em to be totally knackered. This little lass is a beast.” Trick praises me, squeezing me tightly again.

  Kosta is in my face, holding up a piece of paper.

  Trick rolls his eyes. “What is this? My job is done. How about you have the girl-fight when the score is even, luv?”

  She shoves the paper against my nose. Vision starting to fade, I focus harder. “You wrote this to me, Anastasiya. The truth while you stood at my door in Italy for the longest. Then you left that piece of shit short little note in its stead. I rather like this one!”

  “I’m a tad unamused by your need to argue.” Trick stiff arms her. “She’s falling asleep, and she will not remember, lass. So, fyi, you remind her about me later, I’ll kill you in ways you can’t fathom. This may be personal for you, but this is just a job for me. It’s time to get moving.”

  “No need for threats. I’m almost to my point.” Kosta’s angry eyes flash at me again. “I found the real note. The truth must’ve fallen from your pocket when you left the hostel. But don’t worry, that pathetic apology you left me, well, Simeon will find it now. Seems fitting since you left me twice. Now you left the mudak twice, suka!”

  That day comes to the forefront of my mind. I’d fleshed out every misdeed on the notebook paper I received from the Italian who had a room across the way. Kosta had always been my weakness, and I’d apologized for more than was necessary. Then I balled it up and placed it into my pocket. The note I left read,

  “Though it seems I’ve abandoned you twice, you have to know how much I’ve always cared. For now, all I can give you are my—”

  Kosta’s words are still ringing in my ears before I’m drowning in darkness.

  Kosta should’ve understood no matter what happens, we gravitate toward each other. I didn’t want to rectify all my wrongs on a piece of paper. I wanted to be woman enough to apologize to her face once and for all. And if she didn’t care, as Luka had claimed, then fuck her.

  Guess the joke is on me.

  Chapter 10

  Simeon

  With my spine wedged against the butter-soft leather seats, I watch the colorful city I love so much shift past in a blur. Gray vapors start to surround the jet as it levels out in the sky. I’m en route to Syria, to more answers surrounding my child’s death, and all I can think about is Anastasiya. Instincts urge me to reach out.

  I wrestle my cellphone from my slacks to see the damn screen shows “do not disturb.” “Fuck,” I mumble. I’d mindlessly pressed it after our chat because she was safe. And I didn’t want to hear her mouth until I gave her answers.

  But she’s left me a voicemail. I press the message button. All the while, I continue to remind myself the woman I love is safe. Ligaments in my frame become rigid. Listening to Asya’s distraught message, I’m slammed back into the moldy, dank cell in the Black Dolphin, where I waited and waited for her to visit.

  “Stop the jet,” I order a byki.

  “What is it?” another byki inquires.

  “Kirill, dial Luka,” I order, attempting to return Anastasiya’s call. Anxiety torments the pit of my stomach. My woman’s previous voicemails were shock-filled worry dedicated to my mother. This one scared her.

  It doesn’t ring.

  “Kirill,” I grit out, testy. Out the windows, the city, which had whirled away, has returned into view.

  “I’m waiting, boss . . . Fuck! My brat’s mobile went to voicemail.”

  While he disconnects and dials again, the jet begins to shift around. I order calls to our forces at home. Kirill mumbles about an incoming call, then curses under his breath.

  “What?” I growl, as the nose of the jet begins to guide toward the strip again.

  “Nothing, boss. It was Faina, the liaison. She’s arrived for her lunch meeting with Asya. But the entire compound is blocked off.”

  I try the front gates myself.

  “I’m tracking my brat’s phone.” He pulls the holder from his shoulder-length hair and gives the blond strands a nervous shake. “There’s less cell service in the theater. That’s it. Those two always watched movies together. Luka’s intelligent. He reaches out when
necessary. They have orders not to leave the grounds without a detail. In case, I’ll track his phone.”

  My cellphone lights up. My body slightly jolts as the wheels of the jet kiss the ground. “Tsar, I’m sorry to say,” a byki speaks into the receiver. “The car Luka used yesterday isn’t in the lot. I’m waiting for all the servants to finish a sweep of each room . . . but I thought you should know that. Please forgive me.”

  “Of course, you’re forgiven because when I see you, you’re dead.” I hang up the phone, then unlock my belt and climb from the seat.

  Kirill reaches the door first and activates the lever. “I have Luka’s cellphone location, Anastasiya’s too. They’re together, Kazen. No movement. Maybe they had a blowout.”

  “Where the fuck are they? Asya loves to defy me. Are they headed toward one of the Castles?” I attempt to calm myself. Maybe she couldn’t wait for Faina to discuss what happened to the girls?

  “Nyet. An hour away from us . . . about five minutes from Aunt Sofiya’s. There’s a clearing in the road.” He gestures toward another byki. “Grab the pilot. Let’s take the helicopter to get there sooner.”

  Fisting my cellphone, I allow my eyes to rove over freshly impacted snow as I’m seated in the backseat of yet another car. The chopper landed a few kilometers north at a clearing. Beam was in position to transport us the rest of the way.

  I glare at Kirill. There’s no implication of a blowout—or any signs of a vehicle. Mother Nature has been known to turn tragedy into beautiful, white serenity. But my gut warns bad shit happened here.

  “Boss,” Beam murmurs, slowing down around a snowy crook.

  I glance through the windowsill. A fleet of politsyia, police vehicles, are parallel parked at the side of the road. The only proof of a car crash is from the uniform officers uncovering scrap metal. Based on the number of vehicles, the majority of them have taken a hike down the summit.