Black Swan

by London Miller

  Yet he’d been just as careless with a life as the man she loved.

  He needed to answer for it.

  After a moment and a calm, rattling breath, she turned in the opposite direction and headed back to the secluded area to watch the fight from high above.

  The crowd of men surrounding the pit were electric in a primal way, all banging their hands against the enclosure to rile up everyone around them. They were here, if she had to guess, for the sport of the event. They wanted the bloodshed and mayhem.

  Men in dark suits sat in the shadows, phones to their ears, holding tablets as they recorded the space in front of them. Those were the bidders—whether for themselves or high-paying members who wanted to get off on the spectacle from miles away.

  For all their reasons, she was almost sure she was the only one truly invested in the way this night ended. Because there was a chance she didn’t know what all Grimm was capable of.

  There was a chance that he would walk out of this place alive, and once he did, it wouldn’t be long before Uilleam learned the truth.

  She couldn’t have that.

  From a separate corner of the room, Jackal came out, his hands shackled in front of him. His hair hung limp around his face as he kept his gaze on the floor, but even at her distance, she could see the way his eyes shifted from one side of the room to the next—anxious and alert.

  No part of him relaxed until he was within the circle and sitting on a stool. Only then was one man brave enough to remove the cuffs from his wrists, then the mask from his face.

  The harsh line of his jaw didn’t soften what she had already seen of his face, but if anything, seeing his entire face only managed to show her just how sad he looked.

  An emptiness that always tugged at her.

  He didn’t move like a man who was getting ready to fight for his life. He merely opened his mouth when someone tapped his cheek before biting down on the mouthguard they put in.

  Not even a blink.

  She thought of the truths she’d told him before they parted ways earlier. Considering the very one-sided conversations they’d had up until this point, she didn’t imagine that anything she said would make much of a difference to him, but it was imperative that he knew what she would ask of him.

  Every man deserved to know what they were putting their life on the line for.

  Grimm finally stirred, slowly moving to his feet, swaying back and forth as he steadied himself with a hand against the fencing.

  Seconds passed, more, and then finally, his surroundings seemed to sink in. But he was experienced enough not to show fear.

  It wouldn’t be that simple.

  Instead, he looked at the director as the man entered the ring, only giving caution when he noticed the two guards trailing him.

  It wasn’t until he noticed Jackal that he stilled, assessing his threat level. He wouldn’t know why they were there, not until later, but it was clear enough for him to see what was expected of him.

  “Good even ladies and gentlemen!” the director called in a booming voice, appearing far too eager for what was to come. “We have a special show for you tonight.”

  Karina’s gaze shifted from him and Grimm to where Jackal remained standing. Something about his expression made her wonder what he was thinking. Unlike the other fighters she had seen here, he didn’t look eager to participate—there was an almost haunted sort of expression to his face that had her wishing it didn’t have to be this way.

  And worse, she had to watch as one of the director’s guards held up a mouthguard in front of his face, shaking it back and forth until Jackal opened his mouth, and he shoved it in.

  “In tonight’s match, we have the man who’s defied death—” He gestured at Jackal with a flourish, the crowd growing louder, their bloodlust nearly palpable. “And his opponent is a man known only to some—a man as formidable as the one he works for. Here before you is one of the Kingmaker’s legendary mercenaries.”

  Voices hushed at the mention of Uilleam’s moniker as if they expected him to appear at any moment.

  Even hundreds—thousands—of miles away, he still evoked fear.

  “There can only be one winner here today,” the director continued, his voice echoing as he looked back at Grimm. “The winner will get to leave this place. The loser, however … well—” His smile grew maniacal. “The loser will take the winner’s place.”

  Curious enough, he spoke as if he knew Jackal would win.

  As he moved the mic he held away from his mouth, the noise in the room grew louder once more, drowning out whatever Grimm was saying.

  But it didn’t matter. Not when she had paid, at great cost, to get him here and inside that ring. There was no leaving, no matter what he said or whatever threats he issued.

  If he wanted to leave, there was only one way he’d be able to do that—and that was to go through the man who still had yet to speak a word. It was up to Jackal now to decide his fate.

  To her surprise, Jackal’s gaze shifted in her direction for the barest of seconds—hardly more than a heartbeat—before he was focusing back on his opponent. As if he knew what she was thinking.

  She couldn’t begin to know why—not when he hadn’t indicated at any time that he’d ever heard a word she said—yet now, at the mention of his potential freedom, his gaze immediately moved to her.

  As if he did know.

  Perhaps the man wasn’t as mindless as they said he was. Perhaps not all of him had been broken beyond repair.

  Not a second later, an ominous gunshot rang out, signaling the beginning of the fight. And all too quickly, it looked as if a veil fell over the jackal—as if all the light had fled, leaving only darkness in his eyes.

  Even Grimm, a man as well trained as he was with an ability to be a ghost when he wanted to be, forced himself to stand a little straighter. The effects of the Taser had started to fade, and now that he had his wits about him, he started to understand what was happening.

  And what was expected of him.

  Some part of her had actually doubted they would fall for the trap she’d set. She’d thought it would be much harder arranging from Grimm to be here himself. She had expected to fail, despite her belief that it could work.

  But here it was in all of its glory—vengeance.

  It was a bittersweetness that lingered on the back of her tongue.

  The cost of this would always be too high.

  Karina wasn’t sure who threw the first punch—it might have happened simultaneously—but between one breath and the next, the brawl started.

  And now … she saw it.

  That carefully hidden killer that lurked beneath the surface of a man who’d yet to speak a word. She saw the fury in the cords of his muscles as he fought with everything he was worth, hardly flinching when Grimm returned punches of his own.

  But in his eyes, there was a kaleidoscope of emptiness and despair.

  Even as the thought made her hands clench, she understood now why the director would fight so hard to keep him. She’d never seen anyone fight like that.

  As if standing in that circle was his mission, and there was only success or failure.

  “How many more of these do you think he has?” Isla asked, her gaze on Grimm. She looked troubled.

  Too many, Karina thought. Thinking of the names and monikers and everything else she could find on his operation that hadn’t been completely shut off by his new malware.

  Grimm was good, and she was woman enough to admit that even as the thought burned.

  But Jackal … he was better.

  This wasn’t a man fighting simply because he was skilled at it or particularly enjoyed the act. Jackal fought as if it were life or death.

  As if his mere existence was defined by the outcome of this fight.

  “The rumors are true then,” Karina said as she watched Grimm pick himself back up off the floor. “He’s creating an army?”

  It hadn’t been so long that she forgot the many hour
s he’d spent awake and working, though he’d never shared just what he was working on.

  Nights when he had fallen into bed beside her, utterly exhausted, and passing out within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

  Back then, she’d merely smiled at the sight he made, marveling at his tenacity and drive.

  That he was the hardest working man she knew.

  Some part of her had been proud. Happy for him. Ecstatic that she got to call him her own.

  Oh, how she despised that ambition now.

  It had led to their ruin after all.

  In the blink of an eye, Grimm managed to land a punch that resonated in her own face, though Jackal didn’t seem to react at all.

  “It won’t matter,” Karina said, the words coming before she could truly think about them.

  “How do you mean?”

  “In the end, it won’t matter how many men he surrounds himself with.”

  Because she knew him.

  There was a leak somewhere in the barren dungeons of this facility. She could hear the way the droplets plunked as they hit the puddle of water beneath it.

  At some point over the course of the night, the emotion had bled out of her. Her heart no longer raced, and her mind was at ease.

  And the closer she came to the cell at the end, the calmer she felt.

  Karina couldn’t say how long she’d been waiting for this moment—it felt like ages now—yet she still didn’t know what she would say to the man who’d taken everything from her.

  One who hadn’t even recognized her as she’d watched him fight.

  And perhaps, she now reflected, that was when things had changed for her. That there was no reason to feel guilty for what she was about to do to him and the man she loved.

  If they cared so very little about their victims, then she certainly shouldn’t care about making victims out of them.

  Karina stopped in front of the bars, eyeing the old metal, wondering at their strength.

  The man resting on his side in the middle of the floor could barely open his eyes even as he trembled visibly. She was certain, even if she had never taken a beating quite like this, that he was in pain.

  Blood vessels had ruptured beneath the surface of his skin, causing great purple blotches all over his body. Even his face was a far cry from the clean-shaven mercenary who had walked in mere hours ago.

  A shade of the man he had once been.

  Yet she still felt no sympathy.

  But as Karina got close, she could see that he wasn’t unconscious as she’d first suspected.

  “This is you, right?” he asked, his voice dark and gritty. Pain lanced across his face as he forced himself up into a sitting position “You’re the chick from the crowd?”

  Grimm might have been beaten bloody and within an inch of his life, but it hadn’t affected his attitude in the slightest. And had he not been injured, she was sure he would be standing right there in front of her, ready to take her head off if it meant he got out of that cell.

  “We were never formally introduced,” she began, proud at the way her voice didn’t waver. But that was easy enough, considering she didn’t feel anything at all at the moment.

  “Yeah, I think I’d remember that.” He coughed, his chest heaving with the motion.

  “I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you,” she said, meaning those words more than any others.

  Even after she had gotten video evidence of what he had done, she’d still wanted to put a face to the man who had haunted her for three years.

  She’d been expecting a monster—a man as ugly on the outside as he had to be on the inside considering what he had done—but he wasn’t monstrous at all.

  He was a man.

  Nothing more.

  He probably needed a medic to tend to his wounds because even she could guess that there might have been some internal bleeding somewhere.

  She also remained where she stood.

  “He’s told me so very much about his work, but he never mentioned you,” she said with a cant of her head. “Why is that?”

  “Listen, I haven’t the foggiest—”

  “Uilleam Runehart,” she answered before he could finish. “You know him as the Kingmaker.”

  It was amusing watching the array of emotions reflected in his gaze. This was a name he thought she wouldn’t know.

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  “So what’s this to be? You trying to use me to get to him?”

  “You’re a cog in the wheel, yes,” she agreed with a nod, “but you’re also very special.”

  “I’m getting that, but what you’re not telling me is why?”

  “You truly don’t remember me, do you?” she asked, her disbelief clear.

  She couldn’t decide what was worse. The possibility that Uilleam had contracted this because he was furious at her deception as much as he’d been with Omerti’s betrayal or the knowledge that neither he nor Uilleam had intended to kill her.

  Just the woman, whoever she might be, that would be with Omerti at that lunch.

  She hadn’t even been a factor. “Jordan Omerti was a smart man. He could be a bit arrogant, sure, but it only took a little bit of coaxing to have him doing what you offered. Sometimes, it’s merely the way you speak to someone that can change the tides in your favor.”

  Now she had his attention.

  What was it? she wondered.

  It couldn’t have been her voice—he hadn’t been close enough to hear her—but perhaps now that wasn’t the only thing he was taking in about her.

  Her hair was the same as she’d worn in that day.

  There was only one key difference between the woman standing in front of him now versus the woman who had sat off in the distance then.

  No words could describe the feeling that coursed through her when she saw the recognition spring to life. The way his jaw grew slack as he stared at her.

  “Ah, no. You haven’t forgotten, have you? I think you’re starting to get the picture.”

  He could have attempted to deny it—pretend it hadn’t been him that day. She was prepared for that all the same, but instead, he opted for silence.

  But he wouldn’t find solace in his silence with her.

  “What were your orders?”

  “Listen—”

  “I’m finding it troublesome that I need to repeat my questions.”

  He knew as well as she did at this point that his presence in this facility was her doing. That she had created this elaborate ruse to ensure his arrival and participation.

  Now the only question was whether she would offer him what he wanted most if he told her everything she wanted to know.

  “Eliminate Omerti,” he said after a tense second of clenching his jaw. “Get rid of any witnesses.”

  “Witnesses, you say?” She stepped closer to the bars. “Tell me, what exactly would my unborn child bear witness to?”

  He seemed at a loss for words, his gaze remaining steady on her face.

  But she saw it before she was probably meant to—the way his eyes darted down to her middle as if he were looking for any evidence of that fact.

  But there wasn’t any—not that he could see. Three years wasn’t nearly enough to remove the scars.

  They were there every time she looked in the mirror.

  She felt them as she dressed in the mornings and again at night. They were like physical entities with their very own heartbeats—it was impossible not to know they were there.

  And he was responsible for one of them.

  “I carried her for seven months, you know.” There was no satisfaction inside her when she saw the regret light up in his eyes. It was always too late that a person felt wrong for an action they’d caused. “So I’ll offer you a parting gift. In seven, you’ll be free to leave this place, if you’re alive long enough to see that day.”

  “Wait—”

  “And it only seems fitting that your years here complement that time.”
>
  Surprise slashed through his one good eye. “You think you’re going to hold me here for seven years.”

  “No one has ever escaped these walls,” she said as she turned her back once more and headed down the hallway. “You won’t be the first.”

  He shouted, though she couldn’t make out what mixtures of curses he’d spat at her before he tried to punch the bars in front of him, foolishly hoping the metal would bend.

  But it didn’t. And wouldn’t.

  Just like the bullets he’d shot into her.

  15

  The Other Volkov

  Uilleam was not the same man he used to be.

  At least in the past, he could admit to attempting to be charming—to flattering the people who came to him for his services—but now, he simply didn’t want to waste the energy.

  Which was why, as he sat in the restaurant waiting for the man who’d called on him to show, he didn’t think twice before downing his first drink and promptly ordering a second.

  Because drinking was easier than people watching. Had it truly only been now that he noticed how many couples sat around him at any given time—untouched by grief and strangers to true pain.

  They didn’t know what it was like to lose someone dear as they sat, unaware that he was contemplating dozens of ways to make them hurt the way he did. And it was a sobering thought to realize just how bitter he was on the inside.

  Not just bitter, he thought as he made a point down to down the vodka the woman sat in front of him before quickly walking away, but if he had to put into words the way he was feeling right now … it was as if he were rotting from the inside out.

  His despair was turning into something that he didn’t recognize.

  “Early for once, Kingmaker?” a voice asked from behind him.

  But Uilleam didn’t turn to face him. He merely waited until he came around to make himself visible.

  Not that he expected the Russian to have changed in appearance despite the years that had passed since he’d last seen Mikhail Volkov.

  Uilleam shrugged in answer, not even the slightest bit inclined to indulge this conversation more than he needed to. “What can I do for you, Mr. Volkov?”