by H L Day
The driver had his hands resting on the steering wheel, the engine still running.
I stared at the back of his head, trying to place if he was someone I'd seen before or yet another unknown element. It was hard to tell though from the limited view I had. It could have been the same man who'd driven me to the club in Camden, or it could have been someone else entirely. Dmitry's network of men at his disposal was beginning to seem never-ending. One of the thugs joined me in the back seat, while the other climbed in beside the driver. "Where are we going?"
The one in the front twisted his head around, giving me no more than a cursory glance. "You'll see."
That wasn't exactly comforting. The farther the car took me from home, the more my sense of disquiet grew. I'd told Valentin I'd be no longer than an hour. I wondered what conclusion he'd come to when that time passed and there was still no sign of me. That was always assuming that Valentin was safe and well. In an effort not to think about him, I concentrated on trying to work out where I was being taken. We weren't heading toward Central London, so it wasn't the theater. From what I could tell, the destination seemed to be somewhere in East London.
It was another twenty minutes before the car turned off, slowing to a halt outside a wrought-iron gate. Thug number one climbed out of the car to open it, and the car rolled through, with the gate shutting firmly behind it. It wasn't locked, but it would still provide a major obstacle to any escape attempt. We stopped and the car door next to me was wrenched open. "Get out."
I took a look at my surroundings as I followed the order. The place appeared to be an abandoned scrapyard with piles of twisted, rusty metal dotted here and there. It was also deserted, with not a soul in sight. My mind automatically recalled the gun that one of them carried. Were they going to kill me? Is that what they'd been ordered to do? If so, it was hard to see any way out. My legs started to shake, and I thought about all the people I hadn't been able to say goodbye to—my mum, my friends, and then of course there was Valentin. Would he know what had happened? If he did, he'd blame himself. But it wasn't like he hadn't tried to warn me. Several times. He'd point-blank told me to stay away from him. More than once. I was the one who had ignored him. I wished more than anything that I'd had a chance to tell him that.
Thug number two gave me a shove in the middle of the back. "Walk."
I moved in the direction he'd indicated, my legs shaking so badly they were barely capable of holding me up. We seemed to be heading toward a Portakabin that I hadn't noticed before. When we were within a few feet, the door opened, and Dmitry stepped out, followed closely by Igor and Mikhail. Now I was outnumbered by five to one. Not that I'd have been able to overpower even one of them. They were taller, broader, and packing more muscle than I could ever have dreamed of, and that was before you took the gun into consideration.
Dmitry was dressed in his usual expensive, designer suit, a lit cigar clasped between his finger and thumb. I stumbled at the sight of him and received another shove in the back for my hesitation. We halted in front of Dmitry, and despite the cold sweat trickling down my back, I tried to force myself to look him in the face and not show fear.
His lips curled into a smile. "We meet again, my friend."
It would probably have been better to stay silent, but if they were going to kill me anyway, then what was the point? I might as well go down fighting and hang on to a modicum of self-respect. "I'm not your friend."
Dmitry laughed as if I'd said something hilarious. "Oh, he has found his backbone at last. It is about time, but it will not do you any good." His glance flicked to the two heavies who had escorted me there. "Did he give you any trouble?"
It was thug number one who answered. "He was reluctant. Apart from that, no."
"Reluctant!" Dmitry's smile grew wider as if the concept amused him further. "Surely not." His gaze flicked back to my face. "You must have been expecting to hear from me? After all, you have something of mine."
My mind was a jumble. Would denial help? Would claiming that I didn't know where Valentin was, the same as I had with Noel, have any effect whatsoever? The realization that Noel had been tasked with getting me out of the house hit like a sledgehammer. He had to have been. It was too much of a coincidence: the car happening to follow me on my way back home. Did that mean that they didn't know where I lived? It seemed unlikely, but then why drag me all the way out here? Why not just turn up at the house? But then Dmitry liked to play games, didn't he?
Dmitry watched the play of emotions cross my face with a smirk. "I'm talking about Valentin. Just in case you're too stupid to make that connection. You took him, and I generously let you hang on to him for a few days, but now it is time to give him back." He rolled his shoulders as if he were trying to ease out some stiffness. "And of course pay the price for taking him in the first place."
"He's not a possession! You don't own him." Even though I knew it was a terrible idea to antagonize him, I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice.
Dmitry chuckled. "Did you hear that?" He glanced at Igor and Mikhail, and they took the cue to add their own laughter to his. "Valentin does not belong to me." He leaned forward, pushing his face close to mine. It took every bit of strength and willpower I had not to take a step back and put space between myself and this odious man. "I have looked after Valentin since he was fifteen. He is like a son to me. I have fed him. I have clothed him. I have hired the best dance instructors the world has to offer for him. I have invested in shows so that he could achieve his dream. I have put him up in the best hotels, I have paid for first-class flights. I have protected him. I have—"
"You've pimped him out to your friends... and you..." My heart gave a jolt. I'd almost accused him of murdering Valentin's parents.
His eyes narrowed. "I've what?"
I shook my head. "Nothing." Even if it were true, Valentin would hardly thank me for breaking his confidence. There was nothing to be gained from mentioning it and everything to lose.
Dmitry gave a nod to Igor and Mikhail, and I didn't have to wait long to find out what instruction it conveyed as they moved forward and grabbed an arm each. Even knowing it was pointless, I still struggled, but their hands held on tightly, the grip unrelenting "Anatoly, Steve. Do the honors, please."
I didn't have long to contemplate thug one and two's names before a fist drove into my stomach. It was like being hit by a truck. I'd been punched before, but never like that. Unable to breathe, I crumpled straight to the ground, too intent on the struggle to take in oxygen to have any chance of avoiding the fists and feet that rained down on me.
I had no idea how many of them were delivering the beating. It felt like all four, but it could have been two. I doubted that Dmitry ever got his hands dirty. As a particularly vicious kick landed in my abdomen, I made an effort to curl up into a fetal position. It worked, somewhat. There were fewer blows landing on my midsection, but unfortunately it left my face more vulnerable. As a result, a kick rebounded off of my cheekbone.
I had no idea how long the beating lasted. It felt like hours, but in reality was probably only minutes. Just when I'd resigned myself to the fact that they were going to beat me to death, it stopped. I turned my head to the side and coughed, a splatter of blood hitting the ground in front of me. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to do anything. I kept my eyes tightly closed, praying for the sound of footsteps walking away.
There was a rustle of material and the familiar sound of Dmitry's voice far closer than it should have been. "Open your eyes, Mr. Farley. So that I know you are listening to me extremely carefully. I have some very important things to say."
I made an attempt to open them. I really did, but one was completely swollen shut. And the one I could open provided nothing more than a blurry picture. The outline of Dmitry crouched next to me finally swam into focus. He waved a hand in front of my face, smiling when I followed the movement. "Good. The first thing is that I would not suggest that you contact the police. My organization has contacts
in a number of places. It would be"—he shrugged—"a huge waste of time. Theirs and yours. Are you with me so far, Mr. Farley?"
I spent a few seconds contemplating which response was likely to be the less painful, a nod or speaking. In the end, I went for the nod. It was the barest of movements, but it seemed enough to satisfy the cheerful monster in front of me.
"Excellent! I am so glad that we are in agreement. I knew we would be on the same page once you had a chance to think about it. The next thing... and it's very important that you remember the wording exactly, is the message you need to pass on to Valentin for me. Are you clear on that?"
Another nod.
"Tell Valentin that I expect him to return home tomorrow morning, where he will grovel for my forgiveness. Tell him that if that does not happen, then the next time we meet, my men will not treat you with the same care and respect that they have today." He leaned closer. "Some of the parts that he likes about you may even be missing. Do you understand me, Mr. Farley?"
I managed another nod, a bolt of nausea shooting through me.
He cocked his head to one side. "So, we're almost done here. I need you to repeat the message back to me, as I'd hate for there to be any more misunderstandings."
I opened my mouth, only to have to spit another mouthful of blood. Luckily, I avoided Dmitry's shoes. "Home... tomorrow morning... grovel... or you'll cut pieces off of me." I turned my face to the side and emptied the contents of my stomach, the action causing even more pain as my bruised abdomen was forced to contract.
Dmitry chuckled before rising to his feet. "That'll have to do I suppose." His feet, the only part I could now see, moved a few steps away. "Take him home. I fear that if we leave him here, he won't get any farther than the yard, and I need my message to be passed on. He's more delicate than he looks."
The next instructions were delivered in Russian. They could have been about me or they could have been about arranging where they were going to meet later for a nice glass of wine to celebrate a job well done. I had no way of knowing. My arms were suddenly yanked up, and I was pulled to my feet and half dragged, half carried to the same car we'd arrived in. I was unceremoniously dumped in the back seat, my body lurching over to one side, my face squashed into the seat. So much for my theory about them not wanting to get blood on the upholstery. It was a blessing that nobody tried to join me in the back seat as I wasn't sure I could have sat up, even if I'd tried. The car set off, each jolt of the vehicle sending a new wave of pain shooting through my body.
I managed to convince one arm to move, using the fingers of one hand to probe at my midsection, concerned that my ribs might be broken. It hurt, but there was nothing that felt any worse than severe bruising. I closed the one eye that was open, putting all my energy into keeping my body as still as possible and weathering the rest of the bumps.
"You still alive back there?"
"Fuck off!"
It wasn't the cleverest of responses. I doubted he would have gotten into trouble had he ordered the driver to stop so he could get a few more hits in. But he simply chuckled as if I'd made a joke.
Another ten minutes passed by before the car slowed to a stop. I managed to heave myself up onto my elbows enough that I could see out of the window. My front door lay a tantalizing distance away.
"Out you get, sunshine. I'm not helping this time."
"I don't need your help." The words would have been a lot more convincing if I could have said them without slurring. I fumbled for the catch on the door, finally managing to get a good enough grip on the handle to force it open. It took even more effort to maneuver my body out of the car until I was out on the sidewalk, my body upright, but swaying precariously.
I would have leaned against the car if it weren't for the fact that it had driven off almost immediately. I turned toward the door, contemplating the number of steps it would take to get there. My garden path had suddenly become Mount Everest. I took a step and then another, hoping my neighbors weren't looking out of their windows at that precise moment. I didn't need the added complication of one of them calling the police. Despite the pain, that thought alone was enough to get me to speed up. The door finally in front of me, I leaned against the wall, trying to reach into my pocket in order to extract the key that would get me inside. I'd just managed to wrap my fingers around it when the door flew open.
I attempted to smile at Valentin, but my face wouldn't cooperate. The look on his face was far from a smile. It could only be described as sheer, unadulterated horror. "It's not as bad as it looks."
"Fuck!" He stepped forward, reaching for me in an effort to take my weight so he could help me inside.
I batted him away. "Don't! Your ankle."
He acquiesced but followed me closely as I used the support of the wall to make my slow way into the kitchen. I made it to a chair and sat down, wondering whether lying down would have been a better option. Valentin hovered in the doorway for a moment before coming in, his face twisted with remorse. "I'm so sorry, Max."
I held up a hand. "Don't! Don't you dare apologize for this. You didn't do it."
"But I—"
"You warned me. More than once. I was the one who chose to ignore it. Therefore, if it's anyone's fault, it's mine."
Valentin came and stood next to me. He took a deep breath. "We should try and get you cleaned up. Do you have a medical kit or something?"
I put a hand to my face, regretting it when my fingers came away red with blood. "Bathroom."
He nodded and backed out of the room, and I was left alone to contemplate the afternoon's events. There were a lot of things that didn't add up. They'd dropped me off at the house. No one had asked for my address. Therefore, they'd known all along where I lived. So why hadn't they come here in the first place? What was with the unnecessary trip to the other side of London? But then I supposed they could hardly have delivered the beating they had in the middle of the High Street.
My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out, noting the crack now running through the middle of the screen, and looked at the caller display. Noel. Oh, this should be interesting. I clicked the answer button, my voice sounding none too friendly. "What?"
He exhaled so loudly I could hear it on the other end of the phone. "Oh, thank God! I was worried you were..."
"Dead?"
"Something like that."
"So you did set me up?"
"I had no choice!" His voice sounded desperate. "They threatened my family, Max. What was I supposed to do? What would you have done?"
I shook my head. It was an impossible question to answer. I might have dragged him into this simply by virtue of being friends with him, but that didn't change the fact that he'd betrayed me. He'd used our bond as friends to get me out of the house and into the clutches of men who could have killed me for all he knew. I could see the situation he'd been put in. But surely, he could have found some way of warning me. He could have slipped a note into my pocket, or sent a text while we were in the café. If he had, he might have given me a fighting chance, rather than sending me out there like a lamb to the slaughter. Yet he'd said nothing. "It's done now."
"I'm sorry. I truly am. I couldn't think of any way out of it besides doing what they asked. They said they just wanted to talk to you. I'm guessing they did a bit more than that. Are you all right?"
I stared at my fingers, still stained with blood. "Not really. But I will be."
"Fuck! Do you need anything? I could come around. I could... I don't know."
"I don't need your help. You've done enough." I didn't have it in me, right at that moment, to make him feel better.
Valentin walked back into the room, clutching the majority of the medical supplies I owned as well as a washcloth and towel. He placed them on the table before walking over to boil the kettle. "Listen, Noel, I've got to go. We'll speak later."
I hung up before he could say goodbye and turned my attention to Valentin.
I studied him. I knew him well enou
gh to know when he was rattled. He was trying to hide it, but the truth was there in the set of his shoulders and jaw. "A cup of tea would be nice."
He offered a weak smile. "Can you drink it?"
It was a valid question. I moved my chin experimentally, unable to hold back the wince caused by the movement. "I think there're some straws in the cupboard."
Valentin nodded before pulling out a mug and adding sugar. The message from Dmitry burned in my chest. It was the last thing I wanted to say, but he needed to know. Seconds ticked by as he finished making the tea, depositing it in front of me with a straw. It was only when he came over with a bowl of water and the washcloth and started dabbing at my face that the dam broke. "I need to tell you what Dmitry said."
His face was purposefully blank. "Tell me."
"He said..." I jerked my head away as Valentin pressed a little too hard. "Ow! You need to work on your nursing skills."
"I'm not a nurse." He dipped the washcloth in the water, the water slowly turning red.
I dreaded to think what I was going to see when I finally mustered the courage to look in a mirror. "Are you trying to stop me from telling you what he said?"
Valentin's hand froze in midair. "Probably. But putting it off will not change it. Besides, I'm sure I could probably guess. When does he expect me back? Tonight? Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow morning. He expects you to grovel."
Valentin dabbed at a patch of dried blood, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "Of course he does. I would expect nothing less from Dmitry. And what did he say would happen to you if I didn't crawl my way back to him tomorrow morning?"
