Madness (Revenge Series Book 3)

by M. S. Brannon

  I finish fastening the last of our gear to our bodies, ready for war. The black battle gear I wear holds everything we need to storm the Stravinsky mansion. I have extra clips for my nine millimeter, a small knife for the quiet kills, and of course, for Stravinsky, the very knife he gave me when I became a full-fledged thief—my eight-inch Bowie strapped securely to my right leg.

  The cloaking guilt I experienced when I stood back and let Josslyn take the pain was surprisingly gut wrenching. I never before had a problem stomaching the horrors a person would have to endure, yet since meeting Josslyn, I find I’m battling myself more and more to remain the old me. I’m no longer numb to the horrors around me. Perhaps that’s why I saved the girl. I can’t stomach the torture of innocent people, and I’m certain Josslyn is the reason for it.

  It became next to impossible to stop myself from shooting every one of those fuckers, which would have ruined the next step in the plan. Instead, I managed to get myself out without any problems.

  Initially, I wasn’t sure what happened to Josslyn. When I met Cubby at the Jeep, however, he described the woman who was leaving with the Stravinsky’s buyer, and I knew it was Josslyn.

  She was sold to a sadistic fucker who likes women who fight. I have heard the cries of the women at night when he tortured them. I stood by, letting it happen. Back then I was numb to the noises that came with the human trade, standing guard outside the room, waiting for it to end.

  Sometimes, the women lived to fight another day. Others didn’t make it more than a couple of hours. It was all up to my mentor and the mood he was in. However, thinking back, the girls who fought the most were the ones who survived the longest. He liked the battle, and I’m certain, after the display Josslyn gave at the auction, she is the perfect match for Stravinsky.

  We stashed ourselves in a plane’s cargo hold again and then waited for the two-day trip to end, this time with the young girl we rescued—Tatiana. Once we landed, we managed to get out of the plane undetected. When we arrived at Cubby’s apartment in Moscow, he found appropriate clothes for the young girl. After she ate, I gave her some money and put her on a train to Saint Petersburg. I hope she recovers from her ordeal. I wish her luck and hope her future will be a happy one. She’s young, and if she’s strong, Tatiana will be able to bounce back. Only time will tell, though.

  Apparently, Cubby managed to keep his original apartment when he was excommunicated from the thieves. It’s nothing special, located in the roughest parts of the city, but it works.

  Cubby is many things, and connected is definitely one of them. I had concern for the car I left outside the airstrip in Grozny. It had my briefcase, suitcase of money, and garment bag in it. I mentioned this while we were passing the time, and Cubby reached out to his friend in Grozny who has a tow truck. Two hours after the phone call, the car was in the process of being towed to Moscow, and when we arrived at Cubby’s apartment, it was parked out front. The contact waited for us to arrive, and I made sure to pay him handsomely for his troubles before hauling my possessions inside with me.

  Cubby walks into the room, chugging down a glass of water. He’s dressed exactly like me: full-on military clothing. Guns are strapped to his sides, throwing knives tucked in the outer pockets of his pants along with a grenade. It’s excessive but necessary if we need to get out fast.

  “So, I’ve been monitoring the GPS tracking device; Stravinsky’s buyer has been located an hour northwest out of the city for at least a day.” He puts the glass down on the table amongst the guns, bullets, and clips. “We should start there.”

  “I’ve got someone I can put on this.” I pull my phone out and contact the only person who can tap in digitally in a matter of seconds.

  The phone rings once, Her sweet-yet-wicked voice emerges through on the other end.

  “Hello, Mr. Black. I feel quite special to have been able to speak to you so much over the past month.” Aya giggles loudly like a teenage girl.

  I pull the phone away from my ear until the noise tapers off. Cubby scrunches his brow, clearly thinking the same thing I am.

  “How can I help you today?”

  “I need you to run GPS coordinates and see if you can take a look around with one of those many satellites you can hack.”

  “Sure, doll. Payment will be minimal, considering all the business you’ve been sending my way lately. Five thousand American dollars will suffice. Now, what are those coordinates?”

  I take the device from Cubby and locate the numbers on the screen. As I read them off verbatim, Aya repeats them after every character. I can hear her fingers tapping on the keyboard, and after a minute or two, she finds the information.

  “Looks like a large compound of some sort. There’s a ten-foot-high brick wall with razor wire wrapped around the top.”

  Cubby and I share glances, knowing this has to be Stravinsky’s lair. Every compound he’s owned, he’s put razor wire around the perimeter.

  “Let me zoom in closer.” She pauses for a moment. “Okay, there are several men walking the complex inside the walls. They are carrying AK-47s.”

  “How many would you say you’re seeing?” I ask.

  “It’s hard to fully see inside the walls, but my guess is no less than ten; that’s what I’m counting, anyway.” Aya clicks her mouse, and you can almost hear the concentration on the other end. “There’s a crack between the curtains on the main level. I … I think I can see a man. Give me a second.” The next thing I hear is rapid clicking. I imagine her zooming in on the computer. “Okay, I’ve sent you a picture text of the person inside. It’s sealed up pretty tightly, but hopefully, this helps.”

  “Thank you, Miss Nakamura. As always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” I keep the charm thick and her happy as I end the phone call.

  My cell phone buzzes, and the picture of a henchman appears. Cubby pulls the phone to his face, and I can see his teeth clench in a sudden rush of anger.

  “That’s Alex. He was a peon when we were in the thieves, but when they attacked me in Grozny, that asshole was leading the charge.”

  Cubby’s face gets red with fury, and I wonder again what happened to him, why the thieves would attack him when he managed to break free of their hold. However, that is a question for another day.

  I walk to the bathroom while Cubby defuses his anger in private. Once I’m finished, I pull the syringes from the side hip pocket and hold them in my hand. When I ordered them, I had one person in mind—Vlad. But Josslyn took him out in the restaurant, and now there they are.

  Stravinsky is all too aware of what is held in them. Once contains etorphine, the drug they most likely gave Josslyn when she was transported from Bangladesh to keep her calm and quiet. It will knock a person out for several hours and doesn’t have any lasting side effects once it’s out of your system.

  The plastic tube that gets my attention has a small red strip around the top. It’s filled with liquid cyanide. This needle was the one intended for Vlad. It only weighs a few ounces, but for some reason, I feel like it’s heavier than a concrete brick. There is a pounding in my gut that tells me this deadly concoction will get its use tonight, but on whom, I don’t know.

  .*.*.*.

  August 25, 2016 10:53 p.m.

  We arrived thirty minutes ago on account of my heavy foot and fast car. I parked several kilometers down, tucking my black Jaguar within the recesses of the trees.

  Cubby pulls his .308 sniper rifle from the truck and checks the suppressor, making sure it’s secured to the barrel while I get myself in the assassin mode.

  Even though it’s been a couple weeks since we stormed Vlad’s restaurant, I don’t feel like I have been my normal self. I have had more of a margin for error bringing Josslyn along. It was the plan from the moment I held her captive, but as each day goes by, I care more about her well being more than my training would normally allow me to. I’m a cold, hard assassin, a mindless killing machine, a clog in the underworld, yet over the past ten days, I hav
e felt like anything but.

  I have had to protect someone versus take them out. I have had to explain my actions and myself more than I ever have. Mostly, I have had to rely on more than just my wits and experience to get me closer to seeing this mission through. I needed the help of Cubby. I depended on Aya for her technical skills, Erik Vankin to get me closer to Victor Zarketski and able to escape prison, Manny for his contact with Josslyn, and yes, Josslyn herself.

  There is no way this job would have ever been done to the level it has been without her. She fired her way out of hotels, put her life on the line to help me infiltrate the known enemy’s lair, and tonight, she will be fulfilling her final job when I storm the forts and kill Stravinsky.

  Tonight, we will seek out and destroy my mentor. I will watch the life drain from his throat as he gurgles on his own blood. Josslyn will be able to confront the killer of her father and seek justice the only way a man like Stravinsky deserves—dying a slow, agonizing death.

  I turn the corner from the trunk and look at Cubby as he secures an earpiece inside his ear, and I do the same. We quietly test the devices to ensure they are working properly and then move through the woods. We don’t know exactly where the guards will be or if it’s even possible to start picking them off from outside the compound. Nevertheless, we will observe as much as we can before moving in.

  I step through the damp terrain, my black combat books getting covered in grit and mud. We weave through the forest, keeping the compound within our sights, remaining hidden.

  Cubby halts, and I freeze. He points to a car coming down the road, the headlights beaming, just peeking over the crest of the hill.

  We step farther back into the forest, reassuring we are hidden from prying eyes, yet our visual is clear.

  The gentle purr of the Mercedes slows nearly to a stop as it pulls into the drive and up to the gate. It only takes a few seconds for the gate to retract, and my gut tells me Stravinsky is in that car. No one ever in my career underneath him has ever gotten into his compound without a thorough discussion from the guards.

  Cubby looks over at me with the same expression on his face. We are in agreement; that was Stravinsky. I am finally at the point of no return. I’m here. My mecca. It will be a slaughterer.

  As the gate moves to a close, Cubby whispers, “Looks like our best bet will be through the gate. We can’t scale the wall; it’s too high. We can get over the gate.”

  I nod, and then we both move forward, walking from the tree-lined road and stepping completely out of cover. The gravel crunches under my boots as we move stealthily.

  Cubby and I run side by side until our backs are against the three-meter high stone wall. He pulls his sniper out and leans slightly away from the concrete, his finger on the trigger. He sets his scope, and with a muffled pop the first man is down.

  Another guard passes in front of the gate and is checking on the one who was shot when Cubby aims and fires again. Number two is down.

  I pull myself away from the safety of the wall and inch closer to the gate, keeping my back near the wall. Moving forward, I turn the corner and finally end up under the security station.

  There is a slight buzzing sound over my head. I tip my head up to see the security camera moving, looking for whatever happened to the guards on the ground.

  Pushing off the wall, I pull my frame forward and twist at the hips. I take aim with my nine-millimeter and shoot the plastic. Smoke billows from the sides. It’s rendered useless.

  “You go. I’ll cover you,” Cubby says as he runs to my side.

  We both move toward the gate. Cubby kneels beside me, giving me a hoist. I latch on to the wrought iron fence, swiftly pulling myself up and planting my feet on the steel beam across the gate.

  I don’t bother looking when I hear Cubby picking off the men walking around the front of the grounds, clearing the way for me. Their deaths were already a forgone conclusion. I lift my right leg over the top of the gate then find my footing and jump down.

  I motion for Cubby to wait, and he moves in next to the wall along the security house. The night is black, and if we are seen on the grounds, the floodlights will come on, making our cover impossible.

  I walk into the security booth where the man who is supposed to be observing is too enthralled with porn on his phone to notice my presence. I smile, knowing how easy this will be.

  I pull my knife from my side and exhale with happiness when I reconnect with the weight of it. I take one step forward and run the sharp edge across his neck. His skin slices easily, like a hot knife through butter.

  There are a lot of buttons and gadgets in this room below the wall of screens. Finding the button, I push it and the front gate opens, letting Cubby inside. Then I pull up the security cameras and get a good look at the grounds. The security screens flip every few seconds, and as I start timing them, Cubby walks through the door.

  “Here.” He moves to the control panel, his intellect kicking in as he looks over the board. Cubby punches a few keys, and the next thing I see is blackness over the screens.

  “What did you do?” I ask as the man with his neck sliced gurgles in the background. It’s very distracting. “Fuck!” I whisper-shout to no one and walk back to the man. I jerk his neck to the side, ending his misery and eliminating that annoying noise.

  Cubby gives me a raised eyebrow and a small smirk then replies, “I dismantled the main server. I’m not sure how long it will be out, but this is our time to make the move inside.”

  He doesn’t have to say another word. I am ready to get Stravinsky in my grasp. Eight long, agonizing years I spent in prison, five of them with this revenge simmering under the surface.

  I turn toward the door then run out into the night with Cubby on my tail, firing as we run. Bodies run toward us. Bodies fall down. We have the upper hand now. We are in. A guard has left the backdoor wide open for us, and we open the door and step over the threshold. Nothing will stop me now.

  Nothing will take me away from seeing Stravinsky die the rightful death he deserves. It will be worse than Boris’s and twice as long as Vlad’s. Our journey ends here, and it ends with us covered in blood. He will feel every second of it, and I will revel in every vengeful moment as I bring pain like only a Petrov can deliver.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Josslyn

  August 25, 2015 11:04 p.m.

  The large wooden door opens. I am escorted inside by Magda followed by and her entourage of men. My heart is pounding inside my chest. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit how terrified I am. I know why I’m here, but I don’t know what will happen once I’m left alone with the man who purchased me. However, I can’t show them how I really feel. I need to remain strong.

  Magda guides me across the large space and over to a dining table located in the middle of the room. The room is vast. The ceilings are vaulted, appearing to be endless until you finally connect your eyes to the top, you see a very intricate mural painted across the entire space. The blood red color follows you everywhere. From the wallpaper to the furniture and rugs under my feet, it is all the same deep shade of crimson. The gold accents are plugged into the space, giving it a very luxurious feel. It’s one of the most elegant yet strange rooms I have ever seen, almost womb-like, warm and red. I can almost feel the devastation that has happened inside these four walls. And I wonder if everything is blood red for a reason. Does that make it easier to hide the pain inflicted by the man I will soon meet?

  “Here, darling,” Magda says, breaking my attention from the ornate fixtures and plush couches.

  She stands behind a dark wooden chair and pulls it out, motioning for me to sit. I do and look over the large table holding twenty chairs around the sides. However, the giant glass bowl holding luscious black cherries and a bottle of champagne with two glasses tell me it will only be me and one man sitting here.

  The smell of the sweet fruit awakens my stomach. I can’t remember the last time I ate, and I want nothing more than to
shove the entire bowl of cherries in my mouth. I don’t know if they are poisoned, though. Until this is over, I don’t think I can swallow a single ounce of food. Besides, my stomach is twisting from the frightened anxiousness growing by the second.

  I put my hands in my lap and act like the lady I’m supposed to when you are wearing a dress this elegant. My breaths begin to slow as I make myself relax enough to think straight. I think about my life since this all started, how a perusal of one criminal has taken me on a journey of the worst kind. I have been shot at, abducted, kidnapped, and ridiculed. For any normal human being, this may be the point where one thinks of self-termination, getting your misery over with. For me, I don’t feel that way at all. I feel more alive. Of course, some things have been awful, but I also got to do some amazing things.

  I was able to settle a score when I hit Vlad with the leg of the table, killing him. I have stayed in elegant hotels, traveled around the world, and dressed in the finest threads. Throughout the good and bad, I got to do all of this with a killer at my side … with Nikolai.

  He’s dangerous. The mystery inside his eyes gives off a darkness that would scare a normal individual, yet it doesn’t frighten me. It attracts me. From the moment I connected my sights with his, I knew there was something brewing deep inside. Our quarry has scarred us similarly. We both lost our families and a portion of ourselves because of that man. And because of that, I understand Nikolai. This is why I’m not frightened of him.

  When you look beyond his frigid blue eyes, you find yourself wading around inside a black soul. However, there is only darkness there because he has never been shown any other way to function. Perhaps this is what I can give him once we meet up again. Perhaps I can give him a little bit of light. I just hope I survive long enough to be given that chance.

  I snap my head up from the table when the door in the corner of the room opens and in steps a man. He is tall and trim, not what I expected at all. His hair is a shimmery white, but it doesn’t make him look old; it makes him look sophisticated.