“You betrayed me.” His voice quivered. I thought he might be upset, even shocked, but his face darkened and then he struck Nadiya across the face with the pistol, like he’d clubbed Mads earlier. “You betrayed me!”
Holding her mouth, she spat blood on the deck and shot back, “Yes. I did. As you betrayed me.” She lunged closer and slapped him so hard his face turned with the blow. “You sent me to New York City with no money. No protection. Only the name of the man who would help me. You knew what kind of man he was. What business he ran. You knew what you condemned me to.”
“You could have stayed in Moscow and starved to death.”
“At least I would have been yours! Safe, untouched by rough men who cared only enough for a quick easy fuck. You gave me over to prostitution. Your wife, carrying your son. Yuri made me service all of his men when my belly grew too large for the American men to find interest. After Marko was born, he constantly threatened to take our son away. To knock him in the head. Throw him out in the street to starve. To give him to some other whore to whelp. I had to protect Marko. So I did. I got rid of Yuri myself.”
Vlasenko’s eyes widened. “Yuri was killed on the street by American policemen.”
She smiled, her eyes flashing. “With my help, yes. And then I took over his business. Our men beat the johns who got too rough and killed the ones who hurt my girls. Eventually I got us out of prostitution completely except for a few elite who wanted to stay in the business because they had rich, powerful clients. We found other ways to make money. We were clean. We were good. When you finally came to America for good last year, everything changed. You tore down everything I built. You sold our restaurants and sneered at our food trucks, even though we were doing well. And then you started right back into Yuri’s old business. It’s disgusting and I won’t stand for it any longer. I’m going to bring you down, Andriy. I will take the most important thing away from you. Not your life, or even your son, but your business.”
“That business has bought you a mansion in Miami, a private island in the Bahamas, at least twenty luxury hotels, half a dozen yachts and the finest education for our son. What more could you want?”
She slammed her fist down on his chest. “I want my business to mean something to you! I want my plans and ideas to be treated with respect! I would rather sleep on the streets with a little food truck to raise money than live in any of these cursed houses bought and paid for by other women’s suffering!”
The faint click of claws made me turn my head just as Sheba crept to my hiding place. Tears burned my eyes and I looked around wildly for Charlie, but I couldn’t see him. He had to be here, though. She wouldn’t have come back without him. I held on to her collar and let her lead me away from the hatch and behind a large stack of drums. She sat, so I crouched by her and draped my arm around her. Evidently we were going to have quite the show. The gun felt foreign in my hand, the metal slippery like an eel. I flipped the safety off just in case, but I had a feeling the damned thing would jump out of my hand like a flopping fish if I tried to use it. I’d probably shoot myself, and then Charlie would never forgive me.
A single shot sounded from somewhere high, the sound bouncing across the deck so I couldn’t pinpoint a direction. Blood splattered from one of Vlasenko’s men and he fell back with a thud. More gunfire made me cover my ears. My instincts insisted I should leap to my feet and run like the hounds of hell were on my heels, but I clutched Sheba harder with my left arm. I had cover, I had her and Charlie had to be here. I wasn’t leaving.
Vlasenko’s men kept dying, screaming, scrambling for cover. It was horrible. Nadiya screamed and her son grabbed her, hustling her toward the yacht. Vlasenko took aim on her back.
Mads exploded up from the ground and slammed her fist into his crotch. The shot went wild and Vlasenko made a low, ragged oomph, bending down and clutching his nuts. But he still had the gun. Mads threw herself away in a roll, but he tracked her, the gun unwavering in his hand.
I had the sense of something large flying overhead and then someone crashed into Vlasenko. The bald head told me it was Vincent. He didn’t get up right away, pushing up with his left arm only to fall back down a moment, his back heaving with effort as he struggled back up. Mads crawled toward him. Vlasenko fired at his back and he fell down flat on the deck.
“No!” Mads screamed. “Broken arrow! Broken arrow!”
Vlasenko turned the gun toward her. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Pushing to her feet, she ran over to Vincent and stood over him. “It means I’m a United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent and I just called in my team to fuck your whole world.”
Sheba growled and tore free of my hold. One of Vlasenko’s men backed toward my hiding place. She slammed into his back and bore him down to the ground. Snarling and biting, she tore at his back, but she couldn’t get through the heavy vest he wore. He kicked her and she yelped, falling back a moment. She crouched, teeth bared, and he sat up. Gun pointed straight at her. Remembering the last time someone had pointed a gun at her—and how much that had hurt—she hesitated, ears laid back.
“Stop, please, don’t hurt her!” I scooted forward out from behind the barrels and hid the gun against my chest, my arms crossed so I looked huddled and scared. Shivering, I moved closer, trying to look helpless. I had to be close or I’d miss. I just hoped I didn’t shoot myself.
“Ranay!” Charlie roared.
I looked up, trying to find him. The guard scrambled up and whirled me around in front of him, using me as a shield with his forearm clamped around my neck.
Charlie strode across the deck, his eyes locked on me. He didn’t duck or hurry or try to evade the bullets or chaos all around him. It was almost like he stood in a protective bubble and none of it could touch him. Dried blood coated his face and he’d removed the white coat. His pants were so dirty I wouldn’t have guessed they’d been white at all. He had a slight catch in his step that told me he was hurt at least a little, but his eyes blazed with a cold fire that sent ice dripping down my spine. Someone got in his way and he grabbed the man, slung him around and cracked his neck like it was nothing. The man fell and Charlie stepped over him.
The guard squeezed me tighter, shouting something in Russian. I lifted my right hand so Charlie would see the gun. Then I pushed it back against the man’s side, trying to envision how the bullet would come out. I didn’t want it to barely nick the guy and hit me instead. Charlie quickened his step, his mouth opening. Probably to tell me not to be an idiot.
I shoved the barrel as hard into the man as I could and pulled the trigger. The gun leaped in my hand, jamming my wrist, but I held on to it. The man jerked against me, his forearm closing tighter around my throat, hard enough I couldn’t breathe. I clawed at his forearm and Sheba attacked his gun hand, gnawing on his arm like she’d chew his entire hand off. Shrieking, the man slid downward, but he still had ahold of me. I couldn’t get his arm off my throat. I went down too, tangled up with him and Sheba. Afraid I’d shoot the gun accidentally, I pushed it away from us. Hopefully toward Charlie.
Something tugged in my midriff and I started to rise. The man’s arm fell away from my throat and I grabbed at whatever had a handful of my dress. An arm. I forced my eyes open. Charlie. The material of my gown started to tear, but held long enough for my chest to slam into his. I grabbed his shoulders so he could let go and shift his arm down to get a better grip on me. I couldn’t hear anything but a dull roar in my ears. His face was locked into a cold, grim mask of death streaked with blood and grime. He pushed me up higher and I managed to hug his waist with my thighs, helping him keep me pressed against him one-handedly.
Because his other hand was busy shooting bad guys.
I lost count of how many he shot. He moved smoothly, whirling across the deck like we were waltzing rather than dodging bullets. Soon the deck was empty except for bodie
s, us, Mads and G, and Vlasenko’s family. Mads had picked up Vincent’s gun and held it trained on Vlasenko. Charlie walked closer to them, pointed the gun at Vlasenko and shot him in the head. The man dropped without a word. Then he turned the gun on Marko.
“No,” I cried, trying to get his attention. But Charlie was entirely focused and in full-on executioner mode. Marko was young. He held his hands up, stepping away from his mother so she wouldn’t be hurt, but his eyes were huge and terrified. “Red!”
Charlie whipped his head around, his eyes narrowed. “I promised that if anyone laid a finger on you that I’d kill every man on this boat.”
“And I promised you that if you needed someone to pull you back, I would do it. Marko didn’t commit his father’s crimes. Let him live.”
He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity and my chest constricted. If he didn’t listen to me, if he didn’t honor our safeword, how could we be together? He loved me, I knew that, but we needed that trust. I needed to know I could stop him—even if that was the last thing I’d ever do, at least in the bedroom.
His face softened and he lowered the gun. “That’s my girl.”
I buried my face against his neck. “That’s my Master.”
Mads made a disgusted sound. “I wanted him alive. I still don’t know who his buyers are, other than the one name he mentioned. Gardner? Something like that.”
“Gerhardt.” I lifted my head and pressed my lips to Charlie’s. Slowly, he let me slide down his body to my own feet. “I think he’s the one carving Gs into women he bought from Vlasenko.”
I turned and watched Mads run her hands over Vincent. She unsnapped the body armor and felt underneath, careful to avoid his sore shoulder. “Did you take another shot?”
“No,” he rasped, not even lifting his head. “Hurts like a bitch, though.”
She touched his face, brushing her thumb over his lips. “I thought you never wore body armor.”
“I never had a reason to stay alive before. You aren’t done with me yet, are you?”
“Not by a long shot.”
I looked up at Charlie and grinned. He tightened his arm around me with a questioning look. “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about your brother any longer.”
Vincent started to sit up, and Mads took his hand, helping him. “You don’t have long before Lyons gets here.” She looked up at us. “I suppose none of you would care to sit down with the FBI and explain what happened tonight.”
“Not exactly,” Charlie said while his brother said at the same time, “Fuck no.”
Mads laughed. “Help me get the captives out of the yacht and you can take it. Though I don’t know that you’ll get far before the cavalry arrives.”
In a matter of minutes we were dashing away into the night while lights surrounded Vlasenko’s cruiser. Helicopters and boats circled the ship and I could hear voices booming over the ocean. The lights made larger circles, coming near us, but Charlie pulled the yacht into a lee between islands and turned off the lights.
Standing with his arm around me, we watched the hunt like it was the Fourth of July fireworks while he made a call on a tiny phone about the size of a watch. In a few minutes, a small motorboat pulled up alongside and we climbed down to it, abandoning Vlasenko’s boat. All we left behind were two dented and well-used Kevlar vests.
And blood.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Vincent
Staring out into the night, Vincent fought the urge to go. To run through the night searching for Mads until he dropped dead. He had no idea where they were, but had trusted his brother to get them to a safe spot to crash. Charlie and his girl were in the shower, probably fucking each other’s brains out in celebration of still being alive. Not that he could blame them. But even if he wasn’t beat to hell and Mads was here, they wouldn’t be enjoying a fun shower together.
Not unless she was willing to hurt him even more.
He ought to be resting in his room beside theirs. Or at least fueling up. Charlie had cleaned his shoulder and bandaged it for him. All he needed to do was step inside and lie down on the bed.
But he couldn’t rest. Not when she wasn’t here.
The door opened and Charlie came outside to join him on the balcony looking out over the ocean. He smelled clean and wore a loose pair of pants, but was barefoot and bare-chested. That was the difference between Charlie and him. Charlie felt safe enough to take his shoes off and pad around barefoot without a gun or knife. Vincent hadn’t felt safe since...
He blew out a sigh and braced his forearms on the railing. Since I was fucking seven years old.
“I didn’t know about Clancy until he showed up,” Charlie began in a whisper. “I came home from a date to a dark house. I thought Mom had already gone to bed. I opened the door to the fridge and grabbed the milk. I drank right out of the carton, like she hated, and heard something. I turned my head and saw her.”
“Tied up in a kitchen chair.”
“Yeah.” Charlie mirrored his pose and stared out at the bay. “I recognized him because he looked like you.”
Vincent winced. “And you look like Mom.”
“He taunted me into charging at him and he cut me. Barely enough to leave a scar later, at least on the outside. I remember him licking the blade, and he said, ‘Oh, yeah, son. You’ve got my gift too. I can taste it. So I’m going to let you live tonight.’”
“Christ.”
“He tied me up and made me watch while he cut Mom’s throat and drank her blood. Just a small wound, but it was perfectly placed. He knew right where to puncture the artery. I’d never seen anyone bleed like that. I mean, it was a huge pool around her chair and she was still alive. Her eyes were rolling around, mostly white, and she kept swallowing and crying, trying to make a sound behind the gag. He drank at least two glasses. Maybe three. I passed out at some point and when I woke up, he was gone. He...” Charlie paused, dropped his head and stared at his clasped hands. “My lips tasted of blood. I’m afraid he made me taste some of Mom. Or at least touched me with her blood. I vomited and vomited until I thought my head was going to explode. Sometimes, I’ll have a nightmare about that night, and when I wake up, I can still taste her blood.”
Vincent could only remember how good Mads’s blood had tasted. But he hadn’t killed her. That was the last thing he wanted. I’m not my father. And neither is Charlie. “And the worst thing is that it doesn’t taste bad, right?”
Charlie’s shoulders quivered. “Yeah. That scared me more than anything. I didn’t want to be like him. I swore I’d find you and we’d hunt him down together, but you dropped off the map. I did two tours in Afghanistan because they told me you went MIA there. I tracked down your old friends, your commanding officers, anyone who’d ever served with you in any capacity. They all told me you were dead, but I refused to believe them. When those doors all slammed shut in my face, I joined the FBI and shifted my concentration to finding Dad. There wasn’t anything under his name—or they never would have hired me—but I started searching for a killer who drank blood. And just by the descriptions of the crime scenes, I knew it was him. I started hunting him, following every lead I could find.”
“When did you start killing?”
“I had some action in the military, but that never felt like I personally killed someone, if that makes sense. It was our job and we were saving lives by killing the bad guys. It never bothered me. I guess that was the first sign that maybe something wasn’t right in my head, because plenty of the guys suffered brutal PTSD. In my first year at the FBI, I ended up killing a serial killer as we tried to bring him in. That felt much more personal. I was stopping a bad guy, sure, but it was just me and him and our guns. He missed. I didn’t. I’d done well on that case, so they gave me another. I killed him too. Eventually people started talking and looking
into my cases like I was the criminal. About that time, I found a clue that led me to Louisiana, and after that, I never went back.”
It was strange to think that after all this time, the man he’d feared so much as a kid was finally gone. Clancy Gyres had haunted him. Every time Vincent killed, he had to look at the blood and wonder what it’d taste like. If he ever started tasting any blood but his, he was afraid he’d never stop. Never look back. Just like his father, even if that meant slaughtering his own family. “Do you fear that you’ll turn into him?”
“I used to, all the time.” Charlie straightened and turned, looking back at the room he shared with Ranay. “Then I found her. She completes me. She steadies me. Like tonight—she stopped me from shooting Marko. It was the right thing to do. I was just so locked in on eliminating every single threat, that I would have killed everybody just to keep her safe.” He looked over at Vincent. “I always wondered why you hid so well. Why you never tried to contact me after all those years. I knew you’d had an impressive kill count before you disappeared, and even then, I assumed the CIA got you.”
“They did.” He didn’t elaborate, and Charlie respected his secrets enough not to press for answers he couldn’t give. “I stayed away because he always said he’d track you and Mom down and drink you if I ever told. I thought if I left, you’d be safe. Then after so many years, I guess...” He started to shrug and then remembered his bum shoulder. “I had enough blood on my hands. I didn’t think I could face you without you seeing our father in my place. You said you came to kill me, so I guess you did see him after all.”
“I did, at first,” Charlie agreed. “I wasn’t going to let you be like him. Not if I could help it.”
“What convinced you I wasn’t?”
“The way you were willing to do anything to save Mads. No serial killer I’ve ever killed would risk his own skin to protect someone else. However, the FBI showed me pictures of one of Vlasenko’s girls with a G cut into her. I told them I didn’t think it was you, but I have to admit, I did wonder.”
Two Cuts Darker Page 23
