The Hit

by SR Jones

Chapter Eleven

  Andrius

  I’m driving like a bat out of hell. Thank fuck the place Boris told me to go to is mere minutes from the house. All I can see is Violet’s face.

  I’d planned to man the fuck up and tell her how I felt about her tonight.

  When I met with Carmel for lunch to go over the legal stuff, she cried all over me because she told me she had feelings for me. She even leaned over the table and kissed me at one point. I had ample opportunity to fuck around on Violet there and then.

  I could have taken Carmel up on her offer and played both women along. Fucked her, tried to get Violet out of my system, but I couldn’t do it.

  Carmel is a beautiful, smart woman, but when we screwed it was only that. Mere sex. With Violet, it is always so much more.

  I’d let Carmel down gently, walked her to her car, thanked her for the help, and gave her a hug. Then all the way home, I swore to myself I’d tell Violet how I felt.

  But I was too fucking late.

  Boris has her. He texted me, saying he had something of mine and to meet him alone, or that something would be harmed beyond repair.

  The moment I opened door after door in my fucking far too big house, only to find each room empty will stay with me forever.

  Violet has come to mean so much to me, and now my enemies have her in their grasp, and because of my cowardice I never told her how I feel.

  She gave way more about her feelings away than me. Hinted, even outright told me she was falling for me, and I never gave her a scrap in return. I told her she was mine, that I owned her basically, when nothing could be further from the truth.

  She owns me.

  Too late. It’s all too fucking late, and I might be about to lose another important person in my life. This time it will all be on me.

  One thing bugging me is how Boris got to her? Liam said she’d come in and gone to her room feeling sick, but he said she’d acted strange when they’d gone out. Maybe Boris lured her out of the house. Or more likely, when they were out today and she said suddenly she was sick, Boris had got to her then. He could have threatened me, or Justina, and knowing Violet, she would have gone to him thinking she was saving us.

  I should have asked Liam where the fuck they’d gone this afternoon, but at that point I was out of my mind finding the house empty of her.

  I pull up outside the old, abandoned building Boris gave me directions to and am out of the car before it’s fully stopped, running to the rickety, old wooden doors and banging on them.

  They’re opened wide by a big, bald fucker, and I stare in utter shock. Tied to a chair, in only her underwear is Carmel.

  My knees sag, and I have to place my hand on the wall to steady myself.

  Not Violet.

  Is Violet safe, or has he killed her? Oh fuck, is she already dead?

  “Where is she, you fucker?” I lunge toward Boris who dances back with a laugh.

  Nimble for such a big fucker carrying too much weight. “Where is Violet?”

  “What the fuck are you on? She’s here, right in front of you. Your lady friend who you enjoyed a touchingly romantic lunch with today.”

  My mind works super quick, and as always in situations like this, although I’m terrified, my training kicks in, and I run through the permutations. Violet isn’t here, and Boris clearly thinks Carmel is with me.

  Carmel has been crying. Her face is streaked with mascara, and she has marks on her chest, a bruise, on her breast, and what looks like a cut to her cheek. I’ll kill the fucker who did those things to her. But before I do anything else, I need to know where Violet is.

  I look at Carmel and tell her it is going to be okay. I’ll get her out of there. Then I turn to Boris and demand, “Where is Violet?”

  He looks at me as if I’m insane and shakes his head. “I don’t know who this Violet is you keep blabbering on about. Are you fucking losing it? Too many blows to the head?”

  I want to smash his face in, but the two big men either side of him have holsters visible under their jackets, so it’s a dumb move.

  “It’s simple, Andrius. Tell me where Allyov is, and I will let this little lady and your good self go. Maybe you and I, we can be the new bosses? Do business together?”

  His accent is heavier than mine, and he speaks more slowly, and it takes me a moment to take in what he is saying.

  “I’m not telling you where Allyov is.”

  Now I know he doesn’t have Violet, my mind is clearing, and I can think again.

  “You don’t and she dies.” He points to Carmel.

  “She dies, and you all die. It really is that simple. Don’t do this. Don’t start a fucking war when you’ve got the top job. Why would you? We didn’t have anything to do with Kyrylo’s death. I know we can’t prove it, but I’ll work with you to find out who did. I promise you, though, you don’t have to go after Allyov because it wasn’t him. In fact, you could do a lot of business with him and expand a lot of your operations. He wants to go legit.”

  Boris eyes me with those cold, little orbs, disdain filling his face. “I don’t give a shit about Kyrylo. I was loyal to him in life; in death, I am loyal to myself.”

  His English doesn’t quite make sense, but I know what he means.

  “Okay? So why do you want Allyov?”

  Boris taps the leg he always limps on. “He did this to me. I want to pay the fucker back.”

  I stare at him and shake my head. “Really? You want to blow the chance to make millions, to take over some of Allyov’s business, because he hurt you in an altercation years ago? Boris, come on. Don’t be so fucking stupid.”

  He sighs, and it’s almost a growl. “It’s not fucking stupid; it’s only right. An eye for an eye, or in my case, a leg for a leg.”

  Then he looks at me, and his gaze turns speculative. “I hear you’re Allyov’s second now. That he thinks of you like a son or brother. Clearly he cares for you a lot, or he wouldn’t have bypassed his own flesh and blood to put you in such a position.”

  I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but maybe he wants to cut a deal. “Yes, I’m his partner now. More than a second really. And yes, he told me he thinks of me as a son.”

  “Then you’ll do,” he says.

  I’m struggling to keep up here, when he gestures to the two men. “Untie her. She can go.”

  Carmel hesitates when the men have freed her, looking at me with huge brown eyes. Terrified and unsure.

  “Fucking go!” I yell at her.

  She does, as if my shouting snaps her out of the daze she was in.

  She runs to the door, hesitates once more, and Boris shouts, “You call the police and I’ll find you, and then … you are dead.”

  “Don’t call the police,” I reassure her. “It’s okay, just go. Go on home. Forget any of this ever happened. Forget you met me, and forget the club. Don’t go back. Don’t take anymore shifts. Just … go.”

  I’m telling her to get far away from here, and I hope she understands, gets home and packs her bags. She can finish her course in some other city.

  Once she’s gone, Boris smirks at me. I register that his goons have taken their guns out, and I think maybe all the death and destruction I’ve dealt out are catching up with me.

  It’s my turn.

  My only thought is I’m glad Violet hasn’t been hurt here. I don’t know where the fuck she is, but surely if I die, she’ll live. Some cosmic scales will be balanced in the right way.

  There’s a length of metal pipe on the floor by Boris, and he picks it up and swings it, cutting through the air with a determined and maniacal glint in his eyes.

  “You can be the prodigal son,” he says.

  I think he may be confused in his parables and their meaning, but I’m not about to tell him. Then again, maybe it fits perfectly.

  He swings the metal again, and I brace for the impact on my leg, thinking he intends to smash it up. Instead, he aims high, and the metal crashes into my cheek.

&nb
sp; I see fucking stars. I can’t focus, and for a moment I stagger about until I bump into the wall. The pain in my face is intense, and I think he’s broken my jaw and maybe my cheekbone because the whole side of my face feels … unhinged.

  “There, you won’t be so pretty now, will you?” he sneers at me and laughs.

  Tuning to one of the goons, he begins to walk out the door. “Kneecap him.”

  Oh, God, no.

  I brace myself for the pain.

  Time seems to slow to infinitesimal speed. There’s a fly in the room buzzing about, and I’m super focused on it. The goon lifts the gun, slides the rack, aims at my leg, and I brace.

  The shot rings out, so loud in the space. No suppressor, and the boom is deafening.

  The bullet hits, and I go down, but thank fuck, my brain is still online enough to register he’s hit above my knee, not the knee.

  I don’t want him taking a second shot, so I bend double, clutch my knee, and scream.

  The guy walks out of the garage after Boris and the other piece of shit thug.

  The pain is real, but it’s nothing compared to the levels I’d be feeling with a knee shot. He’s hit a good couple inches above.

  He’s not a professional whatsoever.

  Not trained. He shot at me while I was standing and still swaying about. He should have laid me down and shot my knee from behind. Thank fuck he didn’t. He’s dead. When I’m better, the fucker is dead.

  I try to force my brain to work properly. I need to call an ambulance, but then there’s going to be so many fucking questions.

  I’m bleeding, a lot, but it didn't hit the femoral artery, or I’d be halfway dead by now. I think the shot may have fractured my femur, though, judging by the amount of pain.

  What treatment will I get in the hospital? Do I need an operation?

  Nausea washes over me, violent and sharp. Fuck, I need to stay focused. Do I call an ambulance and risk the police involvement that will follow, or am I stable enough to call a good friend of mine who is a vet and can sort me out?

  A vibrating in my pocket pulls me out of the fog enveloping me.

  My phone.

  With slippery, blood-covered fingers, it takes me two attempts to pull it free of my pocket. When I do, I see Ethan’s number.

  My heart speeds up. Maybe he has news of Violet?

  I press answer and speak. “Yes.”

  “Andrius?”

  “Yeah.” I’m impatient now. “Is Violet okay?”

  “She’s fine. Safe and sound with Isla. Long story, but I’m on my way there now. What’s going on? You don’t sound right. What’s happened? Luka got a trace on your phone, and he’s headed your way now with Liam.”

  “Been shot.”

  “What? What the fuck? Where are you?”

  “In a disused out-building off the A1. I can’t remember the junction I took.”

  “Did they … are you shot in the face?”

  I suck in a painful lungful of air. “No. Hit me in the face. Shot in the leg.”

  Shit, I’m bleeding a lot. My guess is he’s hit a vein. I won’t bleed to death immediately, but I need to staunch the flow, or I’ll pass out, and no one knows where the fuck I am.

  “Call a fucking ambulance, Andrius.”

  “Can’t remember where I am. It’s not far, only five minutes from the house, but it’s … off a turning. Can’t recall it. Don’t want the cops involved.”

  “I’m hanging up and calling an ambulance. No arguing. Liam knows people in the force, he can help smooth this out, but you need to lie through your teeth. Tell the coppers who turn up you were mugged. Don’t give them anything. You’ve not done anything wrong in this instance, so don’t give them anything to go digging around into.”

  He hangs up, and I grit my teeth as I pull my t-shirt off my body and rip it, creating a long strip of material.

  I tie it around my thigh and fall back, sweat covering me at the pain and exertion. Despite my situation, a sense of peace washes over me.

  Violet is okay. She’s going to be alright. If I die, she’ll still have Levi, and Justina, who is my official next of kin and a wealthy woman, will do right by her.

  If I survive, I need to change things. Violet needs to be my next of kin. She would be automatically if she were my wife.

  The thought of her being mine, married to me, doesn’t fill me with apprehension, only joy.

  In the meantime, Justina needs to know to give Violet enough money to live on for however long she needs.

  I grab my phone and try to bring my contacts up so I can call Justina. Shit, my hands are slipping everywhere.

  What the hell is Violet doing at Isla’s? Why didn’t Ethan know where she was?

  The thought hits me then, hard and unwelcome. She was leaving me.

  The only reason for her to be at Isla’s and for Ethan not to know is if she was leaving me, but why would she do that?

  My head is a mess. I can’t organize my thoughts. I need to speak to Violet, but I can’t make my fingers work. Must be losing more blood than I realized.

  There’s noise outside. Car engines. Sirens, I think, in the distance.

  Footsteps pound toward me.

  “Mate. Andrius? Fuck me.”

  It’s Pretty Boy Luka, and when I look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to see someone in my life.

  “Shit, mate. Who did this? Boris? Why? What the fuck is going on? Can you talk? Got about thirty seconds before the cavalry gets here.”

  “Thought he had Violet, but he had Carmel. He wanted me to give up Allyov. Wanted revenge for what Allyov did to him, when he broke his leg years ago and left him with a limp. Deranged fucker.

  “Thinks he can do business with us now as normal. Thinks he’s got an eye for an eye.”

  Luka touches the side of my face with gentle fingers. “Think you’ve got a fractured cheekbone. Maybe jaw too. You’re bleeding heavily but not enough for an artery. Must have hit a pretty big vein, though. You’re going to live, but he’s fucked you up.”

  I grab ahold of his jacket. “Make sure Violet is okay. Boris is a loose cannon. Don’t think he’ll go after her, but I was asking about her as I thought he had her at first. I’ve put her on his radar.”

  “She’s at Ethan’s, and he went straight there. Liam is also going to be there once he’s talked to his copper friends. He’s getting Abi, and they’re all holing up together at the farm. It’s defendable, and they’re highly trained. I’ll be there too once you’re sorted. Ethan is a sniper, one of the best. No one gets past him, so she’s safe.” Luka whispers those last words into my ear as red and blue lights bounce off the graying whitewashed walls.

  It takes seconds for the room to go from being empty of any life except for me and Luka, to being a hive of activity. There are paramedics all over me, coppers asking Luka questions. He keeps telling them I got in an altercation with three men who were trying to rob me. The coppers aren’t having any of it, but Luka tells them repeatedly it’s all he knows, and that Liam is talking to their boss right now.

  Then he shocks the shit out of me. One of the policemen is saying he knows I’m dodgy as fuck, and Luka replies, “He’s ex-special forces, Spetsnaz. He’s been doing work for us. You need to speak to Liam, but you know as well as I do Liam can’t go into too much detail, not about high-level shit like this.”

  I’d thought Liam and his guys were simply private close-protection, but this is something more.

  The policeman sighs as he takes his phone out and walks out of the dilapidated building.

  I didn’t think Liam had this kind of clout; after all, I had to clear his wife’s mess up in New York to ensure she didn’t go to prison.

  Luka bends down and speaks low and quick. “Liam has some pull with the local plod. We’re saying you’ve been doing some work for us. We won’t give details except to say you were helping guard a vulnerable woman. Violet is that woman. You stick to the story. Violet will too. Tonight you were mugged.
They ask about Allyov and other shit, refuse to answer. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a shit hot lawyer on retainer. There’s nothing you’ve done tonight or in relation to this particular fiasco that ties you to anything.”

  I swallow hard because my throat is as dry as the Gobi desert. “Got it … and thank you.”

  He nods at me, then he leans in once more. “You want my advice? I know what you were doing. Not an idiot, had it figured out once all the pieces came together. Walk away. Walk the fuck away and take Violet and make a fucking life. Revenge is a dead fucking end road, my friend. Dead end.”

  Then he stands as the paramedics shuffle a backboard under me.

  It takes four hours in accident and emergency for me to be triaged and sorted. I have to undergo an MRI scan on my face and neck, as well as a CT scan and then further scans and x-rays on my leg. Seems I’m a lucky fuck.

  Bullet went through. Hit a vein, hence the bleeding. Luckily for me it missed my femur, but I will have muscle damage from where it tore through muscle.

  I’m being wheeled to a ward by a jovial porter, drips with fluids and antibiotics running into my veins.

  The doctors think I’ll avoid the need for surgery on my face too. I have a fractured jaw and by some miracle an intact cheekbone. They say there might be some nerve pain around my cheek area, but it should settle down.

  The biggest stumbling block recovery wise will be my leg. It will take physiotherapy and a few months to get back to normal usage.

  When we get onto the ward, the nurse at the station gives me a smile.

  “We’ve got you a private room for tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll be on here with the rest of the noisy rabble, but tonight you get some peace and quiet.” She nods to the porter. “Take him to 3C, Alan, and I’ll be there in two seconds.”

  Alan wheels me smoothly into the room and then the nurse is there. She has a couple of syringes.

  “Pain killers,” she says. “IV paracetamol, it actually seems to work better than the tablet form and can be really effective. And the good stuff, Fentanyl.”

  She puts the first syringe into the second port in my hand and presses the lever, and then the second. “You’ll be downgraded to Morphine tomorrow. Your treatment plan is to be kept in for the next few days and reviewed by the consultants each morning. If you’re doing okay by day three or four, you’ll likely be discharged. We don’t like to keep people in here longer than need be. Less infection risk that way. You’ll go home with co-codamol and oral antibiotics for seven days, and you’ll come back to see the consultants at the end of that time. Then at some point, you’ll get referred to our physiotherapy rehab services.”