Vicious Loves: Vicious City, Book Three

by Renard, Loki

  Here and there, I can see wires and things in the trees. My foot slips on a branch and I almost fall into a pit lined with sharpened stakes pointed upward. That’s when I realize - this isn’t a forest. This is acres of torture waiting for me to succumb.

  Stumbling and panting, I spot a small cave. It’s tempting to dive inside, but fuck that. It’s too obvious. I’m betting this psycho has traps all over the place, and I bet most of them are disguised to look like safety. Sure enough, when I look at it a little closer, I see a small wire running by the entrance. If I’d hit it, a goddamn mace would have swung down from the tree opposite.

  “Sick fucker,” I curse under my breath, coming to what feels like a premature halt.

  I have to stop. I have to think. Distance isn’t going to be what keeps me safe for an entire month. I’m going to have to do something that most prey won’t do. I have to fight.

  19

  Vicious

  “We lost a girl at a function with fifty CIA agents. That has to be some kind of record,” I growl bitterly.

  “We’ll get her back,” Slick assures me.

  “Sure we will. Pieces of her, anyway.”

  We are already on her trail. Once we discovered her missing, the full resources of the agency and my private army swung into action.

  Best we know, she was taken out the bathroom window during a thirty second window without cover, put into a car, and swept directly onto a private flight and taken to Russia. We followed within an hour of her abduction, but we won’t know if it was fast enough until we find her.

  The flight to Russia is almost twenty hours. That’s a long time to sit impotent while a mad Russian has the only woman you ever loved in his grip.

  I am almost insane with anger and worry by the time we touch down in Vladivostok. Sleet obscures the windows, but I know outside this private plane, there is a buzz of activity. Multiple agencies are in play, from the CIA to Interpol, to my own dear little organization. We’re all focused on one aim: get Kitty.

  The others would be probably be happy to pull the chip out of her intestines and carry on their way, but they will not succeed. This is the last straw as far a I am concerned. I have never, in my entire existence, been this angry, or this determined.

  “You ready?” Slick slaps me on the shoulder. He’s here out of guilt, wants to make everything up to me. We both know this is his fucking fault. I had Petrov’s respect until he double crossed me. None of this would have happened if Slick hadn’t decided to turn Kitty over to the agency.

  Petrov grew bolder after the attack in Pennsylvania. He sensed the schism between us and he took advantage of it. That is why I will not take my anger out on Slick, or on the agency. It is all focused on one man, one evil I should never have allowed to leave my presence that night we met in New York.

  “I’m ready!” Blaze pipes up.

  “You really didn’t need to come. This isn’t much of a honeymoon,” I say, ensuring my weapons are ready.

  “Fuck that,” Blaze says, eloquently. “We’re going to get Kitty back.”

  Blaze definitely should not be here. She’s still in her wedding dress, for god’s sakes. But she’s Slick’s problem. I’m focused on Kitty and Kitty alone. She is all that matters to me.

  “Would you get her changed? I cannot sneak up on Petrov with a damn bride on my crew,” I snipe at him. I am not in a good mood. I am not patient or kind at the best of times, and this is far from the best of times. I would tear this entire vodka-soaked country apart to get to Kitty.

  The plane door opens. A Russian official steps on. They have been apprised of our arrival and may or may not lend assistance. I don’t trust them, and I don’t care what they do. I intend to give every agency the slip and go get Kitty on my own.

  Slick speaks fluent Russian. I leave him to handle the official and while they are engaged in their discussions, I step off the plane, make my way down the stairs and walk several hundred feet away through heavy sleet before stepping into a helicopter which I booked to meet me without telling Slick or anyone else. I have been to Petrov’s home in the past. I know his hunting grounds.

  I give the pilot the order to take off and soon we are flying through wintery skies. It will be at least another hour until we reach our destination, until I can wrap my hands around Petrov’s neck and choke the life out of him.

  “So, where are we going?”

  I swing around and damn near shoot the stowaway in the face before realizing that I have a bride in the back. Fucking Blaze. How she got in there without either me or the pilot noticing I don’t know, but that is her M.O all over. She must have followed me out of the plane when I left. This is utterly ridiculous.

  “Jesus Christ, Blaze, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? You should be with Slick.”

  “Nope. You’re where the action will be, and I want my piece of it.”

  “I can’t keep you safe.”

  “I’ll keep myself safe,” she says, slipping a clip into a 9mm.

  I’m dubious, but we’re not turning back. She’s along for the ride now.

  * * *

  The forest where Petrov hunts is vast. Green canopy stretches for miles and makes seeing the horrors perpetrated beneath the leaves almost impossible.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for signs of the hunters,” I tell her. “Anything.”

  We’re not the only ones in the airspace now. I see another bird in the sky. Could be Slick. Could be Petrov. Could be another player.

  Petrov escaped me in the States, but he won’t give me the slip here. The hunter just became the hunted.

  “Is that a fire?”

  Blaze pipes up from the back. Through the fog and sleet, there is a place where smoke is rising. It’s only visible at very short range, but she’s right. There is fire there. It could be Kitty. She could be trying to signal for help. Or it could be Petrov, luring the helicopter down.

  The pilot circles around, shaking his head. “We’re not going to be able to land there. We will have to land at a secondary site and walk in.”

  We’re hovering above my girl, but I can’t get to her. I have never felt so powerless, or so compelled to prayer.

  As we hover, there are little orange bursts of light down there, bursts of flame and flashes, signs of a gun battle going on beneath the canopy.

  Jesus. God. Please let her survive this.

  20

  Kitty

  I couldn’t run. But I can fight, and I am.

  The pit of stakes makes an excellent bunker. The stakes are no longer in the base of it, instead they jut outward around the perimeter. I found more traps in the woods, some of them incredibly nasty. There were trees loaded with arrows, some explosives and detonators, even small mines. Each of them has been put to use as a defense.

  It has been six hours and ten minutes since Petrov let me go. The hunt has been going for ten minutes, and already I can hear him. He, of course, is not on foot. He has a mechanical vehicle, a motorbike or an ATV. Something I’m sure could chase me down in a matter of minutes if I’d been stupid enough just to run like deer.

  I hear the engine drawing closer. It stops every now and then, and in my mind’s eye, I can see the beast of a man checking his traps for signs of wounded prey. I wonder if he notices they are disarmed - or if he’s too bloodthirsty to notice anything but the absence of my broken body.

  The engine starts purring again. Inside the pit, I have created a shelf in the wall which I can use to get up and down. It won’t give me a quick escape, but it will give me a chance to get out if he penetrates my defenses.

  I have never felt this sick or this numb before as I hear the engine getting closer. What if he sees the trap? What if he just happens to miss it? What if he drives over it and it doesn’t….

  BOOM!

  I hear the most satisfying scream I’ve ever heard and poke my head up over the lip of the pit. An ATV is on its side. Its front left wheel was blown to shreds, as was the covering and part of the engine. That
thing is not going anywhere anytime soon.

  Better still, his shotgun must have stayed in forward motion when the rest of the ATV went flying. It lands in the pit next to me, a weapons drop from heaven.

  As far as I can tell, there’s two shells in the chamber. That takes my total arsenal up to six bullets, well, four bullets and two shells. I really only need one if things get worse.

  “Bitch!”

  I hear the maniac curse. He’s alive. I don’t know if he’s screaming at me, or if he’s just screaming in general. There’s panic and pain in his voice. There is no doubt that he is hurt, and for that I am glad. First blood goes to me.

  He’s learning what every single person I’ve encountered since this began should have learned. I’m not prey.

  I’ll probably die in this forest, but I’m past caring now. I will take as many of them with me as I can. I’ll make Vicious proud, and maybe one day I’ll see him in hell.

  The monster is gabbling in Russian. Calling for backup, I’ll bet. He won’t face me one on one, he’ll call his people to take me out. One way or another, I’ll bleed too. But he bled first.

  “You’ll pay for this!” He shrieks, his voice peaking and cracking.

  I stay down. I could pop up, try to kill him, but he’s too conscious right now, and I’m betting he is heavily armed. If he sees me now, he will riddle me with bullets.

  I hear engines in the distance. Backup is coming for him. I’m not going to escape, but neither are they. Every single person who comes is going to meet their ends in my traps and snares.

  Vicious has been preparing me for this. He has navigated me through a web of lies and half-truths. He has made me small and weak with his discipline, but he has also made me strong. He’s taught me something important. Nothing has to be as it is. Prey doesn’t have to flee - and terrible odds can be overcome.

  “Otoyti! Stay back! Otoyti!” I hear the russian shouting the warning, but his men don’t hear it over the sound of their own engines. Another explosion takes out a motorcycle. I hear the clashing of metal as the small contingent sent to save him fall prey to my machinations, one man thrown over the handlebars as the front wheel hits a small pit and propels him into the re-planted spikes where he is grotesquely impaled.

  I hear shouts. I don’t understand them, but I can get the gist. They wanted me dead before, but now they want me extra special dead. They won’t get me. Four bullets. One of them will be for me if they get close enough.

  Something hard and heavy lands in the pit behind me. I turn and see that it is a live grenade. Without thinking, I dive and throw it back out, only just in time. It detonates mid-air, a shock wave throwing dirt and pressure into the little hole in which I hide, half-burying me in my own bunker.

  “Nice try, prey,” Petrov shouts. “But a broken leg won’t stop me killing you. I’ll keep you alive as long as possible. I’ll cut you up. I’ll make you watch as I fry parts of you and eat them!”

  Gunfire begins to ring out. The advantage of the pit is that the gunmen have to get almost on top of me in order to attempt to fire down at me, but I have repurposed several traps to prevent that, something the first man to survive the second crash discovers when an arrow whips from the trees and embeds itself in his midsection.

  He collapses back with a loud cry, and I hear Petrov let out a howl of what seems to be twisted laughter.

  “Oh you are going to suffer!” He screeches. “We are not going to kill you today. We are going to keep you on the edge of death as long as possible.”

  “Shut the hell up!” I finally yell out. “You’re all talk and two broken legs!”

  He laughs, a wild, manic sound. I think he enjoys this, in some fucked up way. This is a game of death, and pain and suffering, and there is no doubt this is the realm in which he walks.

  “It’s going to be a pity when you finally succumb to your injuries.”

  More engines. More backup.

  I am running out of traps. This next wave of men will not run into the same traps as the first. They will have to be held back with live fire, and I will have to hope that there are no more than six to perhaps ten of them. A single shotgun blast might take out three at most. I have two of those.

  This will be over soon, one way, or another. I have perhaps ten minutes left of life. My thoughts to go Vicious. He’ll be so angry. At himself for letting me be taken, at the Russians for taking me. But I don’t know that he could ever have stopped this. Too many people want me for the sliver of silicone in my belly. And in this life, whoever wants something more wins.

  BOOM!

  The final trap explodes. I hear more shrieking. More swearing.

  But someone is still on two feet up there. I hear the footfalls getting close to the brink of the pit. I lift the shotgun and prepare to fire, my finger wrapped lightly around the trigger.

  BLAM!

  My ears ring and my arms shake. That was a warning shot. The next one won’t be. It is a waste of a bullet, but if they think they can’t get to me, maybe they will stay back. I never wanted to have to hurt anyone, but this is them or my grizzly, painful death.

  BLAM!

  That wasn’t my shot. That was one being returned. And suddenly, the problem of my position becomes abundantly clear. The walls of the pit kept me safe until now, but with most of my defenses spent or uncovered, all fresh reserves need to do is walk up and fire down at me. I am the fish in the proverbial barrel.

  I back up against the far wall, give myself a line of fire, knowing that in doing so, I am also exposing myself to their fire, but that is what this has come down to, a desperate shoot out in which I have one more shotgun shell to expend, and perhaps four 9mm bullets, assuming Petrov truly did give me a functioning gun.

  A man steps to the edge. I pull the trigger, closing my eyes as he falls back with a sickening cry not entirely lost in the booming discharge. I pull the 9mm out, knowing more will come, but another man does not come. At least not a new one.

  Instead, I hear rustling and grunting. Petrov has pulled himself, broken legs and all, around to the edge of the pit. He peers over and looks at me, his face bloodied, his eyes shining.

  I pull the trigger. The gun does not fire. I shouldn’t be surprised at that. Of course he didn’t give me functioning firepower. He gave me the lie of hope. He laughs loudly as he pulls out his own small sidearm and points it at me.

  “Time to say goodbye, prey. Stay still. I’ll do my best to hit you between the eyes. We don’t want to wound you and leave you to bleed out, do we?”

  That’s exactly what he wants.

  Bile rises in my throat. Fuck no I will not stand here and let him execute me, but there’s nowhere to go right now. My stand is at an end. I can dodge and dive around the pit, even try to climb up the wall where I dug the ledge, but that will just put me into his line of fire.

  I dodge. He fires. The bullet hits the wall where my head was.

  “You deny yourself a clean death even at the end,” he shouts. “Foolish! Now you will feel the pain of a slow death instead, one wound and then another, until there is nothing left but oblivion!”

  “Fuck. Off!”

  Another bullet is fired, and again it just barely misses me. I get the sense the wounded madman is toying with me. It’s not possible to dodge bullets at this short of a range. My desperate attempts to avoid being wounded or killed mean nothing.

  BLAM!

  A single bullet slams through Petrov’s skull. His head flies back, along with the erstwhile contents of his skull.

  I look up, and see the most beautiful thing in the world. Vicious is standing over me, his arm raised, gun in his hand, smoke curling from the barrel. One bullet. That’s all it takes to slay a monster. Just has to be the right bullet at the right time.

  He looks down at me. A second later he is in the pit with me, his arms wrapped around me, his lips crushing mine in a passionate kiss of pure loving possession.

  21

  Blaze

  Slick is m
ad as hell. I guess I should have expected him not to be pleased that I slipped off after Vicious, but I wanted to be there for Kitty, and… I get precisely no chance to explain that.

  I’m so fucking happy to see Kitty when Vicious carries her into the helicopter I hug her tightly, smearing the dirt and blood from her body all over my wedding dress.

  “Are you okay? Of course you’re not fucking okay. Jesus, Kitty.”

  “She’s going to be okay,” Vicious says, wrapping her in his jacket. She’s covered in blood, but I don’t know that it is hers. The smell of death clings to her, but right now that’s a sweet smell. Those fuckers deserved to die.

  Vicious radios in that he has Kitty.

  “Good. We’ve lost Blaze,” Slick replies.

  “Oh I have her too,” Vicious says, shooting a look at me over Kitty’s head. “She sneaked out after me. Not on my orders.”

  “Of course.”

  That’s all Slick says. Oh shit. This is going to be bad. Not forest of death bad, but still, pretty bad.

  * * *

  We get off the helicopter back at Vladivostok airport, and within half an hour, we are back in the air on the way back to the States. Kitty and Vicious are wrapped up together in relief, and Slick has beckoned me to the back of the plane.

  My husband is a nice, gentle, loving man. He has taken tender care of me for weeks, kissed all my bruises better. I know he won’t hurt me.

  “Okay, I know you’re pissed and all, but…”

  “Nope. Don’t want to hear it.”

  His hands are on me. He pulls me over his thighs, turns my wedding dress up over my back, and his palm lands across my cheeks, catching my ass in a hard, merciless slap.