Chapter Three
Two days.
Hawk finally understood how Sophia must have felt being held captive in her own home. Being holed up forty floors from the city streets, with no end in sight, was making him more stir-crazy by the hour.
“Will there be a funeral?”
He turned to find Sophia standing in the bedroom doorway, her hair wrapped up in a towel. Talking with Sophia had been a balancing act of truth, white lies, and finding the right words to not upset her. “Anything public wouldn’t be safe. We’ve talked about this.”
“So, what happened to him then? Was he dumped in the trash?”
The cleaning crew would have disposed of all the evidence, including bodies. He wasn’t prepared to tell Vasily’s daughter that there would be no body to bury. It was the world they lived in, one of violence and sin. “It’ll all be handled. Nothing for you to worry about.”
She came over and sat on the arm of his chair. The cityscape lit up the night sky, disguising the fact it was past ten in the evening. From their vantage point, the views were stunning. He could sit and stare for hours—he had been.
“What’s going to happen, Hawk?” Her whisper sounded like a worried child.
“Just a little longer. I want to keep off the radar for at least a few more days.”
“And then what?”
He’d love to know. A huge responsibility had been thrust on him the moment Morenov was assassinated. Hawk couldn’t just drop Sophia off on her doorstep and wish her well. As long as the killer was loose, he’d want his witness dead. Either in a week or a year from now, at some point Sophia would pay the ultimate price.
The mansion was the only place he’d called home. Both their lives were in a toss-up, but he had to keep control, had to convince her that he knew what the fuck he was doing.
“Then we start over.”
She shifted on the arm of the chair, pulling the towel off her hair. It unraveled over her shoulder, still damp from her shower. The scent of strawberries perfumed the air. She’d given him a list of must-haves that he’d picked up for her. “I’m not sure I’ll know how to do that. My father never let me do anything for myself. It’s going to be a harsh wake-up call.”
“I’ve seen you give your dad’s crew shit before. Hell, I can hardly get you to listen to me. You’re tougher than you think.”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel very strong right now. There’s so much on my mind. It’s overwhelming.”
He rested a hand on her knee. She wore an oversized t-shirt as her pajamas. “Now’s not the time to worry. You’ve been through a lot. Just try and rest.”
“What will you do after?”
“I’ll have to get work. Probably contracts.” He shrugged. Hawk didn’t have much time to worry about himself when Sophia’s life was in danger.
“Where will you go?” she asked. “Are you staying at home?”
He smirked. She was too damn cute. “Like you said, my boss is dead. It’s not my home anymore.”
Sophia frowned. “Of course, it’s your home. You’ve lived there my whole life.”
“It’s different now. I’m not family. I’ll have to go my own way.”
“No, Hawk. You can’t leave me. Everyone’s gone. There’s no one left.” She slid down off the arm of the chair onto his lap, then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please don’t leave me.” The heat of her whispered words lingered on his neck.
Holy shit, he was in a hard place.
This wasn’t some fucking fairy tale where everything would go back to normal once the dust settled. Her father was a major kingpin with a lot of enemies. Sophia may be his daughter, but Hawk was nothing—just another hired hand with a price on his head. Once she was safe, he’d have to start a new life away from her.
“You’re just emotional. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
She pulled back and scowled. “I’m not emotional. I’m broken. You’re all I have.”
He exhaled, deciding now wasn’t a good time to argue with her. She’d been through the wringer, so he’d humor her tonight. Hawk pressed her head back to his chest and gently brushed the hair off her face.
“Your heartbeat is strong,” she said. She toyed with the buttons on his shirt. The room was dim, only the lights of the cityscape giving the walls a scant wash of light. She tucked her knees up onto his lap, cuddling up like a kitten.
It wouldn’t be easy to walk away. Sophia had been his full-time ward for the past six years. Even before that, she’d been a fixture in his life since he moved into the house. He came to the Morenov home when he was a little boy, so they’d grown up under the same roof. Only he wasn’t family, and he slept in the staff’s wing, and never felt like he truly belonged. Her father had pitied him, taking him under his wing rather than leaving him on the streets.
Sophia missed her father and looked to Hawk for security. The fact that unwholesome thoughts kept creeping in his head pissed him off. He was a twisted bastard to look at Sophia as anything but a little sister. She was innocent, untouchable, and mourning her father. Either he was getting cabin fever or he needed a stiff drink to drown his fucked-up desires.
“You should get to bed,” he said.
“It’s not even late. Let’s do something,” she said. “Can we go out for a little while?”
“You know we can’t.”
She sighed and slipped off his lap, walking to wall of windows. At first, she’d been afraid to get too close. Now she pressed both palms to the glass above her head and rested her forehead on the window. “I used to watch the cars from my bedroom window. I’d give each person a story and try to guess where there were going. It’s too far up here. I can’t see their faces.”
Sophia sounded lost. A feather on the wind.
“I wonder what would happen if I jumped from this high up,” she said. “When I hit the road, would my blood run crimson like my father’s?”
“Sophia…”
“Just wondering.” She twirled back around, mischief in her eyes. “How many people have you killed?”
“Who said I killed anyone?”
She paced in front of the windows. “I know a lot more than you think. My father thought he kept me in the dark, but I’m not an idiot. I even picked up Russian over the years, enough to get the gist anyway.”
“He was protecting you.”
“So, how many, Hawk? How many lives have you taken?”
He wasn’t going to play games with her. What was the point? “Too many to count.”
Her mouth opened slightly. She was probably surprised he answered her. “Can I see your gun?”
He shook his head.
“Please…” Her pleading reminded him of the many times she tried to get him to pose for one of her paintings. It was hard to refuse her anything.
Hawk pulled out one of his pistols, removed the clip, and checked the chamber before holding it out to her. She smiled, sauntering over to the chair.
“It’s no fun without the bullets.”
“You’re not getting bullets.”
She huffed and took the gun with her to the window, examining it every which way. “So many cars.” Sophia held both arms straight and lined up the sights. “They wouldn’t know what hit them,” she said, aiming at the street far, far below.
He got up and headed to the bar, dropping an ice cube into a clean glass with a clink before adding the liquor. Carrying his drink, he joined her at the window. “So, you’re a killer now?”
“Maybe.”
He humored her. “Who do you plan on killing? The man who murdered your father?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.” She held the gun to her temple and pulled the trigger. The empty gun clicked. “I was mostly considering doing myself a favor.”
Hawk snatched the gun away, some of his drink sloshing onto the tiles. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He tossed the gun onto his chair and grabbed her wrist. “That shit’s not funny.”
She had n
o fear of him.
Sophia smiled, a mix of sadness and insanity. “Don’t you ever think about it? Ending it all? I have. It’s been on my mind for years.”
He dragged her with him to the bar so he could set his drink down, but then he thought better and swallowed it in one shot. Fuck, he’d been ready to bite the bullet after the massacre at the mansion. He was still breathing because of his responsibility to Sophia. “I don’t want to hear to talk like this again, do you understand me, Sophia?” He held both her shoulders, giving her a little jostle. “I’m not risking my life here for nothing.”
“No one’s asking you to stay. Why don’t you leave?”
“Stop testing me,” he said. “We have a few more days cooped up in this suite. It could be worse.”
She exhaled and slipped away.
He wished he could fix her, fix everything. She was a mess, and he had little to offer in comfort. She took one of the oversized cushions from the sofa and dropped it in front of the windows, then sat cross-legged on it. “You must think I’m weak,” she said, not looking at him. “Maybe I am. I don’t know. It would be nice to be you, Hawk. Strong, fearless, invincible.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know. All Dad’s men were terrified of you.”
“Not you.”
Protecting the Morenov Empire had always been his passion. He loved Vasily and would do anything he asked. The crime boss personally trained him, ensuring he could kill without remorse, and take a beating without breaking.
He paced back and forth.
“Hawk?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Want to know my biggest fear?”
He jutted his chin, motioning for her to continue.
“Being alone. Stupid, isn’t it? I mean, considering I’ve spent most of my life alone.” She turned and looked up at him this time. “Are you afraid of anything, Hawk?”
He thought about it briefly. “Just one thing.” Her curiosity piqued, her eyes widening as she awaited his response. He’d been raised to be fearless, cutthroat, and ready to die for the family. Not much gave him pause. Weaknesses were dangerous for men in his business, giving others something to exploit.
“Please tell me,” she said.
“Losing you.”
****
Cayden took a bite of his hero sandwich as he scrolled through the video surveillance images on his phone. It was time to pay Vladimir Sokolov a visit. Vasily’s man was holding down the fort, still loyal to the piece of shit. Cayden had been biding his time, but it was the night to even the score. Morenov’s Russian princess had witnessed him kill her father. He couldn’t leave her alive. Since she was the old man’s only child, he’d consider it a service wiping out the bastard’s bloodline.
They were hiding the girl in an overpriced hotel for the past five days.
Penthouse suite.
Nobody could hide from Cayden. He’d get information from Vladimir, set his plan into motion, and then kill the witness. It had been over a month since Vasily ordered the hit on Frank Almeida and his family. Although Cayden was having a fucked-up time getting over his grief, he was certain it would be easier to move on once the loose ends were tied up nicely.
“You’re coming over for dinner tonight, Cayden. No arguments,” said Frank.
“And what does Mrs. Almeida have to say about that?”
Frank looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “She loves you like her own son. Be over at six.”
Family was an enigma to him. He always felt like an outsider, not knowing how to behave. For some reason, the bakery owner took Cayden under his wing.
“I’ve never been invited to dinner. Am I supposed to bring something?”
The old man smiled. “Just yourself.”
He tried to keep busy with new contracts but couldn’t get his head in the game. Memories of that girl in the closet kept haunting him. Her dark eyes were filled with shock and disbelief. He wasn’t one to go out of his way to kill innocent bystanders, but she was complicated.
Cayden finished his dinner, then shrugged on his heavy holsters. He had a one-man arsenal strapped to his body, and his trunk had everything he’d need to set his plan into motion. After tonight, he hoped his concentration would return once he no longer had to obsess over his witness.
This chapter of his life needed to be closed.
He tugged on his jacket to keep discreet and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder before leaving his apartment. He jogged up the stairs and walked down the street toward the alleyway where he rented a garage.
He’d grown up in this neighborhood. One of his grade schools was just up the street, and he’d lived in a few of the houses during his foster care years. Some of his friends asked why he stuck around. His memories were fucked-up, but they were all he had. Most people took having roots for granted. Cayden had nothing, so he kept holding onto the little history he had. Now that the Almeida family had been wiped out, he’d never felt so unsettled. Nothing grounded him, and he didn’t give a fuck about anything. His darkening thoughts scared him.
The most dangerous man in the world is the one with nothing to lose.
He understood that now.
The alleyway was dark shadows, only one outdoor light giving him enough illumination to get the key in the lock. There were some punks doing a drug deal fifty yards away, but, for the most part, people left him alone.
He was anonymous, invisible, forgettable.
Cayden had been orphaned when he was a few months old. According to the stories, his mother was killed in a retaliation hit, and his father, an Irish gangster back in the day, went out in a blaze of glory. There were a lot of rumors floating around, but none of them did him any good. Thanks to their fucked-up Children’s Services, he wasn’t adopted out to a childless couple looking for a baby to love. No, he was shuffled around to foster and group homes until he was fifteen and had had enough of the bullshit. Life on the streets wasn’t easy, but his saving grace came over a decade later in the form of Frank Almeida. Without him, he’d likely be dead or in jail.
He reversed his car out of the garage, checked on his prized Harley, then locked up. The route to Vasily’s was etched on his brain. He hadn’t returned since that day, but his perfect hit had become messy. It was time to clean shit up.
As he drove, he called Randy. “Hey.”
“You’re alive.”
“Sorry I haven’t called. Been busy.”
“What do you need?” asked Randy.
“I can’t call you now?” He could hear the resentment in his friend’s tone, and he hoped after today things would settle into a new normal. He had some bridges to mend, and he needed to get his head right.
“You want something.”
“Nothing right now. I’m cleaning up that loose end tonight. Shit could get ugly if that prick doesn’t cooperate. Stay by your phone.” He didn’t anticipate much trouble with Vladimir, but if he had to kill him, he’d need Randy to get a cleaner over to the Morenov mansion.
“I’m always here.”
He turned off his phone and returned it to his breast pocket. Darkness provided the cover he needed. Cayden parked in an abandoned building lot behind the house. His surveillance put Vladimir in the study with a couple guests. They hadn’t been there an hour ago.
Fucking shit.
He watched the grainy footage from the camera he’d set up in the corner by the ceiling. One of the whores knelt in front of Vladimir, sucking his cock. At least his target was preoccupied, but Cayden didn’t need more problems. If he had to kill them all, he would, but it was always a last resort.
Cayden picked the lock at the back of the house and slipped inside unseen. The alarm was turned off, probably thanks to the unexpected visitors. He remembered these hallways from the day he’d taken his revenge, the day he executed Vasily Morenov for killing the only family he’d ever had.
The man was pure evil.
The Almeida family were honest and har
d-working, murdered for being unable to pay the growing amount demanded by Vasily’s men for having a store in their territory. Cayden had no clue Frank had been paying them off for years or he would have put an end to it a long time ago. But driving himself crazy about a past he couldn’t change wouldn’t help him now.
Revenge helped.
He stood outside the office for the longest time, listening to the women giggling and that sick bastard talking dirty in Russian. Cayden looked down by his feet. The white marble was pristine, the stained glass replaced with a regular tinted window. It was like nothing had happened here five days ago. He turned his head and looked at the closet in the foyer. How had he not noticed her there?
His blind rage had stolen his senses. Frank had always taught him that anger was a weakness, to never react when he was pissed off, but to take a breather until he could act with a level head.
He kicked the double doors, and they burst open, splinters of wood flying in every direction. With his gun trained on Vladimir’s head, he pointed to the exit, hoping the bitches would be smart and get the fuck out. They screamed, ducking their heads as they rushed away, leaving half their clothing behind. Their heels clicked along the marble until all was silent again.
“So, you’re the one who killed Vasily. Who are you anyway?”
“Nobody.”
“Who paid you? Why are you doing this?” Vladimir had to be pushing sixty, with a heavy accent. One of Vasily’s old school goons.
Cayden ran a hand through his hair. The top was getting too long, falling in his eyes. “This isn’t twenty questions. Unless you want to join your boss in the great beyond, I suggest you get your ass up and start walking.”
He did as told, zipping up his pants and heading out of the office. Cayden came up behind him, his gun constantly trained on his head.
No more mistakes.
“What will you get out of killing me? I’m nothing to you.”
“If you shut the fuck up, maybe you’ll get out of this alive. Right now, we’re going to my car, nice and quiet like.”
They exited out the back doors and walked across the parking lot to where he’d left his car. He opened his trunk and pulled out a set of cuffs, securing Vladimir’s hands behind him. Once he had him in the passenger seat, they hit the road.
Witness Protection Page 3
