Shadow

by Nadine Nightingale

  Boris cocks a brow. “Now what, pretty-boy?”

  He has to ask? What kind of security is he? The Mall Cop knows better for fuck’s sake. “Now,” I walk toward the car, “we’re going to find out why someone drove a stolen car through your boss’s gate, aware it’d get riddled with bullets.”

  Boris stands beside me. “How you know it’s stolen?”

  Amateur. I point at the plates. They’re personalized. “Hon-ey 1?” Practically screams family car.

  I yank the driver’s door open. A red brick lies on the mat. Pretty sure someone used it to keep the gas pedal pushed down. Other than that, the car is empty.

  I move to the rear of the van, the scent of rotten eggs and iron crawling up my nostrils—death.

  “Open the trunk,” I order Boris.

  He shoots me a killer look, but does as I said.

  Crimson and sliced flesh—that’s what I spot first. Empty eyes follow next. The dude in the trunk…Wait, I know him.

  “Alexei.” Boris pales. “It’s Alexei,” he informs his pals.

  Of course! Bald, fat, sleazy Alexei. One of Dimitri’s men from Sin, the one who went AWOL.

  I inch closer to get a better look. His body is covered with cuts—not deep enough to kill, not shallow enough to survive. In other words, lingchi. That’s not all. A stuffed teddy sits next to him—Masha i Medved—and on the teddy’s left foot in Cyrillic is the letter T. T as in Ten’. Ten’ as in—

  He’s here. Shadow is here.

  My heart kicks into high gear. The minivan was a diversion. He tried to distract Dimitri’s men so he can…kill Deveraux? Dimitri? Both? Whoever his target, I have to stop him. “Is there another way into the building?”

  “No,” Heavy Accent dude replies.

  Boris mulls it over. “Actually…”

  “What?” I push, losing my patience.

  “There’s an old fire exit around the corner. We secured it with a fingerprint lock. No one gets in unless,” he reaches for Alexei’s assaulted hand, “fuck.”

  His left thumb is missing.

  “Hey.” Boris seizes hold of my jacket. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like?” I use the combat blade I hid beneath this fancy Hugo Boss jacket to cut Alexei’s right thumb off.

  “Sumasshedshiy ublyudok,” he hisses, grossed out.

  I shove Alexei’s thumb in my jacket and face Boris.

  “Listen real carefully.” My voice leaves no room for unwanted arguments. “Your boss and the president’s son are in the office. Go inside, take your men, and guard the door. Don’t let anyone in or out, you hear me?”

  “What about you?” he yells after me.

  I’m going to put a bullet in the brain of my brother’s killer.

  “You can’t allow yourself to feel, myshka. It makes you weak and vulnerable. You remember what happens to the weak, don’t you?”

  Shadow

  “Ne obizhay menya,” the kid repeats over and over, rocking in the corner of her prison. She’s about fifteen, her long brown hair so greasy it sticks to her face. I wonder how long since she had a shower, how long since she’s eaten. She’s so skinny it looks unnatural—like a skeleton staring back at me from the depths of hell.

  When I was the kid’s age, I had already killed dozens of people. I learned to turn a deaf ear to their pleas. They dropped to their knees, promising me heaven on earth, reminding me of their families and everyone who would mourn them. But I didn’t care. It was them or me. Just like it was the dog or me.

  This…it’s different. Every time she asks me not to hurt her, I feel a tiny jab in my chest. I can’t help it. I look at the kid, but I see her.

  Did she look the same? Did she beg them not to hurt her, too? Did they refuse her basic human hygiene? Of course. It’s how they break these girls and make them obedient little slaves who’d do just about anything to get out of this hell. Even if it means trading it for another.

  “Ne obizhay menya,” she cries, cheeks drenched.

  “You can’t allow yourself to feel, myshka. It makes you weak and vulnerable. You remember what happens to the weak, don’t you?” Nikolai might be dead, but his lessons live on.

  “Slushat,” I say, slowly approaching her. “Ya ne sdelayu tebe bol’no.” I pause, giving her a moment to process what I just said. “I won’t hurt you,” I repeat. “I’m here to take you home.”

  She shakes like crazy, not buying what I’m selling. A lot of people have promised her a lot of good things to get her in that cell. Can you blame her for not trusting a monster in black hiding its face?

  I look at my watch. The gunfire ceased two minutes ago. Anytime now, Boulder will get to the bottom of this and lead the dumb and all the dumbers right to me. By then, I need the merchandise gone.

  “Do you want to see your family again?” I bark, losing my temper.

  She stops crying and gawks at me.

  “I can take you home.” I extend my gloved hand. “All you have to do is trust me.” I’m most likely worse than the monsters she’s been dealing with. I am her only shot, though.

  The kid wipes her red face. “Otkuda ya znayu, chto ty ne lzhesh’?”

  How does she know I’m not lying? I almost crack up. “You don’t.” I sigh, and it sounds sort of dramatic. “Look,” I get on one knee, “I’m not one of the good ones. You’re right not to believe a word I say. But believe this, whatever I do to you will be merciful compared to what they have been doing and will continue to do to you.” I’m not lying. Death is so much sweeter than a lifetime of torture. Believe me, I know.

  So does she. It’s why she takes my hand. “Others?” she whispers, her English broken.

  “Go get them,” I tell her. “You’re all going home.”

  The kid storms into the cells, convincing her fellow inmates to put their trust in a killer. How fucking ironic is that?

  Ten kids—boys and girls, none older than twenty—have gathered around me. I’m about to give them the don’t-turn-around-just-keep-running-until-you-see-men-in-leather-jackets speech, but the commotion in the hallway stops me.

  Someone’s coming.

  Fuck.

  Boulder is better than I gave him credit for. Took him less than a few minutes to call my bluff. I have to get them out of here. Yesterday.

  “Slushat.” They all look at me, waiting for instructions. I give them a quick summary of the plan, and then we get things moving.

  “You’re a coward!”

  Markus

  I count three bodies, knives stuck in their eyeballs. They had AK-47s. All I have is a knife. I should have listened to Tiffany and taken the small Walther, hiding it around my ankle. “This isn’t a gun,” I barked instead. “It’s a toy.” Guess a toy would have been better than a knife, huh?

  With sweaty hands, I face the metal door. It’s eerily quiet, but the hair on the back of my neck stands higher than ever. I know…I just know he’s in there. I feel him like I felt him in Damascus, seconds before he shot my brother and the rest of his squad.

  Maybe it’s fate I don’t carry a gun. Shadow prefers to murder his victims with bare hands. Wouldn’t it be fitting if he found the same end by my hands? Yeah, I think it would.

  You’ve got this, I reassure myself. It’s time the bastard pays. Then you can go back home and forget about Deveraux, Dimitri, and…Dasha. Especially Dasha.

  I stretch my neck, draw a last deep breath, and kick the door down. What the…

  Darkness. Not a trace of light. Just utter and complete darkness.

  I could grab my phone, use the flashlight. He’d see me coming, though. So I wait for my eyes to adjust to the blackness, and once they do, I proceed farther into the room.

  The scent of pee and vomit crawls up my nose. My stomach twists into tiny knots, alerting me to his presence. “I know you’re here, Shadow.”

  A stone drops behind me. I spin, seeing no one.

  “Come on, asshole.” I scan my surrounding. “Let’s finish this. I’m pr
etty sure you spent a few sleepless nights after you failed to kill me.” Taunting him seems like a good way to lure him out of hiding. “This is your chance to right that wrong. Or…” I laugh. “Are you scared to fail again?”

  A dull sound fills the moldy air. He’s close. So fucking close.

  “You’re a coward!” Everyone can hide in the dark, but there’s no fucking honor in being the Boogeyman. “Come get me!”

  “Walk away.”

  Shadow

  Coward, huh? My PSS pistol is aimed at his head. He has no idea how easily I could end him.

  “What’s wrong, Shadow? Not man enough to face someone who can defend himself?” He’s got balls though. No one has ever spoken to me like that. “Are you afraid I might beat you?”

  This guy is hilarious. He could never beat me in combat. Never. Trust me, others have tried. They’re all rotting in graves or at the bottom of a river. I choke down the laughter crawling up my throat. This has been fun and all, but I have to get going.

  I retreat to the door. My feet barely touch the ground—curtesy of Nikolai’s ballet lessons. What can I say? We Russians love our ballet. Plus, it provides perfect coordination, balance, and control over your body.

  “Shadow!” Boulder yells, crazed. “Be a man. Show yourself and fight.”

  What a tempting offer. Another time maybe.

  I’m halfway out of there when my pocket starts vibrating. It takes a second before I realize my phone is buzzing and Boulder—

  A figure appears.

  Fuck!

  I duck, just in time to escape Boulder’s punch.

  “So you are a coward,” he says, coming at me again.

  I don’t have time to show him who’s the better fighter. The text that alerted Boulder must have been from Q. She is supposed to let me know when the merchandise is safe and secured.

  Boulder tries to land a right hook. I sidestep his fist and kick him in the back of the knee.

  Too bad he won’t stay down. “Killer!” he screams, slamming his fist in my left ribs. “Fucking killer!” He assaults my torso, aiming for easily accessible spots, but not the head.

  Don’t ask me why I allow him to get a few good hits in. Maybe I want to give him some kind of closure. Or maybe I feel like I deserve his hate. Either way, I take the beating but refuse to go down.

  “You killed my brother,” he whispers, slamming his elbow against my temple. “You killed them all.”

  I killed a lot of people, Boulder. I didn’t kill your brother and his squad.

  He delivers punch after punch. I stumble backward, but don’t even try to deflect his attack. Once he’s emptied a lot of unhealthy rage, he realizes I’m not here to fight him. “What’s the matter?” His breath is ragged. “Defend yourself, asshole.”

  Arms crossed, face hooded, I gawk at him.

  “You think you’re so smart, huh?” He pulls a combat knife from his waistband. “You’re not.” Fluorescent light from the hallway reflects on the silver blade. “Fight, asshole.” He lunges at me. “Fight, or I’ll slam this blade through your heart.”

  Running out of time and patience, I step to the left, circle his wrist, and spin inward. His hot breath beats against my sweater, and his chest presses against my back. I force the knife out of his hand. “Walk away,” I say, voice as low as possible.

  “He speaks,” Boulder chirps, slamming his knee in my back.

  Okay, enough is enough.

  I drop to the floor. One leg pressed against his ankle, the other between his legs, I lift my hips and twist them to the right, throwing Boulder off balance and onto the ground.

  He’s back up in no time, but I’m far from done.

  I run toward him full speed, push my body off the ground, and secure his head between my legs. Twisting my upper body to the right, mid-flight, I throw Boulder to the ground.

  He’s on his knees, blood running down his temple. I can tell he’s ready to get back up again. Me? I’m done fighting him. So I pull my PSS pistol on him. “Stay down,” I warn.

  “Or what?” He laughs. “Are you going to kill me?”

  I should. I fucking should.

  “What’s stopping you?” he teases, smearing the crimson all over his face. “I thought the great Shadow never leaves anyone behind to tell the tale.”

  “He doesn’t,” I say, slamming the butt of the pistol against his temple and knocking him out cold. Damascus all over.

  I check his pulse. It’s steady. Good.

  I speed inside the dungeon, unlock the secret passage hidden behind the brick wall—thanks for that, Alexei—and run.

  “But you can?”

  Markus

  I drag myself up the stairs. My head hurts like a motherfucker, and my vison is so blurred I can hardly differentiate a wall from a person. I have no clue how long I’ve been out—long enough for Shadow to escape.

  I had him. I let him walk. I’m a fucking loser.

  There’s no time to dwell on failures. Shadow could still be around. Hell, he could have killed Deveraux, Dimitri, and his guards while I was sleeping off that hit.

  I sway back to Dimitri’s office and breathe a sigh of relief when I spot Boris and his pals, armed to the teeth, securing the door.

  “What happened to you?” Boris asks, pointing at my bloody temple.

  Shadow happened to me. The merciless killer who offed more people than anyone else. The dude who let me walk for the second time.

  Why?

  That’s a question for later.

  “Out of my way,” I order the douchebags.

  They do as I say.

  Deveraux and Dimitri are still hiding under the desk. “Boulder?” Deveraux sounds like he recently pissed his designer pants. “What…” He stares at the cut above my eye. “What happened?”

  Seizing hold of his shirt, I pull him out. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” he asks, slightly confused.

  Dimitri stands beside me. “Markus, what happened out there?”

  I’m tired, hurt, and pissed like nobody’s business. If I want to get out of here, I have to give them something. “Someone killed your friend Alexei, used his thumb to access your basement, and…”

  “And what?” Dimitri pushes.

  I have no fucking idea. Why the hell would Shadow break into Dimitri’s basement? I didn’t see anything valuable. Granted, I didn’t see shit because it was too dark. But still. Shadow isn’t a thief, he’s an assassin. Why would he risk getting caught to break into a shabby warehouse without offing anyone? Well, except Alexei. He was a diversion, though. So I’m not sure he counts. And why the fuck is the notorious assassin so small? I expected Goliath. What I got was David.

  “Boulder.” Deveraux nudges me. “What’s going on?”

  I scrub my fingers through my hair, ignoring the sharp pain slicing through my eye. “I don’t know, okay?” I sigh. “All I know is you should get the fuck out of here before whoever that was comes back for you.”

  Dimitri puts one and one together. “So he’s gone?”

  Weirdly enough…“Yes, he’s gone.”

  Question is why. Why spare me? Why leave without killing anyone? Why break into that basement? I’ll get to the bottom of this. If it’s the last thing I do.

  First, though, I need to get Deveraux to safety. Shadow is unpredictable. You just never know when he’ll strike again. “Let’s go,” I say, voice dangerously low.

  And for once in his life, America’s Favorite Son follows an order.

  • • •

  John is shaken to the core. He was parked in the midst of machine gun fire—who wouldn’t be? It’s why I offered to drive. No one—not Deveraux and certainly not John—argued with me.

  “You should see a doctor,” I tell the pale driver. “You’re in shock.” Shit like that can get dangerous. I’ve seen it countless times. Rookie soldiers losing their grip after their first gun battle. Sometimes the symptoms of shock are so severe they can result in cardiac arrest.

 
John shoves his trembling hands between his thighs and nods.

  We’re almost at the Deveraux mansion when America’s Favorite Son finds his vocal cords again. “You saved my life today.” I’m not sure he’s talking to me, himself, or both of us. “I could have died. But you,” he shakes his head, “you didn’t even have a gun.”

  I shrug it off. “Guns aren’t always the answer.” Brains are what keep you alive.

  Pulling into the driveway, I push the car into park and gaze at the house.

  John is the first to get out. He needs air and plenty of distance between himself and the car he almost died in.

  Deveraux shifts to the middle of the backseat, ogling me in the rearview mirror. “You’re an ex-SEAL, ex-CIA agent, right?” I nod. “Can I ask for your professional opinion?”

  “I’m no longer in the business,” I say, in case this is some morbid test. “But I’ll try to answer to the best of my abilities.”

  “Is he coming back?” he blurts out, a hint of fear in his voice. “Whoever killed Alexei, I mean.”

  Hell, yes! “Probably.”

  He exhales sharply. “Should I be worried?”

  Worried? You should be fucking terrified. “He’s better than anyone I’ve ever seen.” I point to my cracked eyebrow. “First to take me down.”

  “What you’re saying is that guy could kill me?” He’s petrified. As he should be.

  I look over my shoulder, smirking. “What I’m saying is the guy can kill anyone.” I tilt my chin at his British security. “And they won’t stop him.”

  “But you can?” he asks.

  I shrug again. “Maybe.”

  The wheels in Deveraux’s head start turning. I can tell by the look in his eyes—stone cold, cunning, all business. “I have a proposition for you, Boulder.”

  Pretty sure I ain’t gonna like it.

  • • •

  Tiffany presses the ice bag against my temple, casting me several dark glances. “You need to call London,” she grumbles for the hundredth time today. “She’s been trying to get ahold of you for hours.” Her brow flies up. “And she’s not a happy camper.”