Madness (Revenge Series Book 3)

by M. S. Brannon

I lift my lips into a sadistic gleam. That’s the sound of sweetness: my mentor writhing in pain.

  “I saved your life!” he screams out, strings of saliva dripping from his lips as he pants.

  “Are you uncomfortable, old friend?” I ask with a laugh.

  “You’re nothing but a coward, Petrov!” He spits at me. “All I see now in front of me is a spineless coward! All I see is a weak man who put his blood in front of his real family. You put that piece of shit before the honor of the Vory V Zakone!”

  “Well, perhaps I should fix that.” I walk back to the table and locate a small, sharp knife. The small knife is mainly used as a throwing knife, but it will do just fine for what I have in store. It’s not as precise as my tools, but I’m not looking to win any awards or anything. I’m simply wanting to rid him of seeing me if he can’t stand the sight of what’s before him.

  I walk back to his tiring body, motioning for Cubby to come around. He’s right on cue, holding Stravinsky’s head in place as I lean forward, using my weight to keep him as still as possible. Then I place the tip of the blade into the soft, watery ball of his eye.

  My mentor screams out in pain. And with each precise movement, he yelps higher and squirms more. The blood is pouring from his eye socket, spit is dripping from his mouth, and my mentor is panting in immense pain. However, I feel very free right now. I feel almost weightless. The rage is starting to slowly fade away as I pluck his eye from the cavity and let it dangle by the optic nerve.

  What seems out of nowhere, her faint, scratchy voice sounds, and my hand freezes. “Nikolai?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Josslyn

  August 26, 2015 12:45 a.m.

  I feel like I am floating, weightless, hovering over the trees and wildflowers like a petal in the wind. My mind is at peace; all my troubles have vanished. My pain is gone, and there is nothing left except this harmonious feeling flowing through my veins. It’s been many years since I have experienced this kind of joy, and I almost wonder why it’s suddenly happening now.

  The clouds are getting bigger as I float higher and higher. The trees become small slits of color underneath me. They look beautiful. The world looks like some place worth fighting for when you see it from this view. When you are down on earth, it’s hard to see past the horrors that lurk in the shadows.

  It’s then I realize that this peace was brought to me by the man I was supposed to trust. The man who rammed a needle through my skin and killed me. The weightlessness is my death. I’m dead and seeking my final place of peace as my soul rises above the hell down below.

  I wonder if I will see my parents again. I hope I can …

  I jolt upright, and the pain in my shoulder rips through my arm and chest. The air passes through my lips at a rapid pace. Once lethargic, I am now awake and riddled with pain.

  I look around, noting I am still in the death camp known as Stravinsky’s compound.

  I roll to my side then up onto my hands and knees. My stomach lurches, the nausea from the drugs making my insides queasy. I can feel the burn rise up in my throat, and before I can stop myself, I vomit on the carpet. There isn’t much coming out of me, and it hurts even more when the dry heaves continue.

  When the wave has passed, I fall back on my butt and rest my back against a chair. Then I take slow and deep inhales then exhale just the same. My stomach aches, but I manage to breathe away the nausea for the time being.

  The loud, bellowing scream rips through the air, sending chills down my spine.

  All the pain inside me evaporates as adrenaline takes over. I dig my feet into the floor and command my legs to rise. I look behind me and see a man dressed all in black, hovering over another man who is sitting in a chair. And to the side is the man I hate more than life itself—Vlad.

  It takes me a second, but I get the strength to pick up the gun on the floor and walk over to the man who saved my life.

  “Nikolai?” I ask, and when he turns around, my nausea returns.

  Stravinsky is sitting handcuffed to a chair, his eyeball hanging from the socket, and blood covers his face and chest. My stomach wants to lurch again, but I gain control.

  “You may want to leave the room for this part, Josslyn,” Nikolai responds.

  It’s then I connect my eyes with his. They are feral, wilder than I have ever seen. His jaw is cut in a hard line, and his taut body is poised for action as he takes out all the hurt inside him on his mentor.

  Madness has completely taken over Nikolai.

  I admit the thought of killing the man responsible for murdering my family has its appeal, but this is not what I was expecting. I have seen mutilated bodies before, yet seeing it done is completely different. Hearing the screams of torture is more than any normal person can bear, and I want to be that again—normal. Witnessing this will never allow me to feel human again. I will be transformed into a monster, and I’m not sure if I could live with myself. We are at the end of the road, and I just want to get it over with so I can return to life as I once knew it.

  That is how one side of my brain feels, but the other dark passenger lurking in my soul is smiling with joy, knowing this asshole feels the pain my father felt when he stabbed him repeatedly. It’s feeding off his screams and getting full in the process. My inner selves battle back and forth with what I should be feeling, because all of me feels both, and I don’t know which one is right.

  My dark side wins out when I think of the aftermath I woke up to when my father was killed. I want to watch, and I want him to feel pain every single second of it.

  I stand rigidly in my shredded red dress. “I’m fine.”

  I look at the man holding Stravinsky’s head and study him for a moment. He’s tall, very tall. He has very black eyes, pale skin, and sandy blond hair. His jaw is cut like Nikolai’s—strong and defined. Despite the bruises on his face, he’s very handsome and looks lethal, just like his comrade.

  Stravinsky screams out again. “Ugh!” He is panting, trying to breathe through the pain the way a woman in labor would. His shoulders are hunched forward as Nikolai yanks his knife from the right shoulder, leaving him with two holes in his body. It’s then I realize my own injuries.

  I look down at my shoulder. The bleeding has slowed, but my chest and arms are covered in blood. The wound burns, and I know I will need to get stitches. As the pain in my face registers, I lift my fingers to my cheeks and feel the small cut just under my eye. Another scar accumulates at the hands of this asshole! My back aches, and as I twist my frame, it twinges in pain. He worked me over, but it’s me who will get the last laugh.

  I step closer to the action where I belong, shoulder to shoulder with the assassin who has sent me on a wild ride these last two weeks, but I have never felt more alive in my life. Yes, I would like to go back to some semblance of normal, but not working as a beat cop or living in Blythe Harbor. I would rather live in the wind with him, side by side.

  “You’re a stupid bitch, detective,” Stravinsky sputters through his lips when he captures my glare. “Do you really think he’s going to let you live once this is all over?”

  “Nikolai and I have an understanding; that’s all you need to know,” I reply.

  “Look at him and look at you! You’re a cop; he’s a killer. You can expose him, and any assassin understands they need to destroy any chance of being uncovered.”

  “He’s not like you, asshole. And what we do after you’re fucking dead is none of your concern.” My blood boils.

  When I look over at Nikolai, his face is frozen in the hard line it is when he’s working. He doesn’t react to my comment or say a single word. A part of me is stunned, but I don’t let it show. I simply shrug it off.

  “Who do you think made him this way, detective?” Stravinsky leans forward, spitting blood from his mouth.

  “I don’t care who made him this way! You destroyed my family, and I will watch you die and enjoy it!” I shout back, getting dangerously close to his face.

  N
ikolai wraps his hand around my arm, blood printing my skin.

  “Then you need to kill all of us, detective. Even your precious Nikolai. He was there.”

  “I know he was. He told me.”

  “Did he tell you that he held your father down as he squealed like a stuck pig!” Vlad shouts from my side. I almost forgot he was there. “Did he tell you, while I was tasting your mother, Nikolai held a pillow over his head and suffocated your father while he bled to death?”

  “Shut up!” I scream at him.

  “Oh, but it’s true, darling,” Stravinsky whispers to me. “That was his first taste of blood, and he has been addicted ever since.”

  “How did I feel, detective?” Vlad regains my attention. “Did it hurt when I felt you from the inside? Or did you like it?” He smirks over at Stravinsky, who weakly smiles at his comments. “Oh, yeah. You liked it, didn’t you? Whores always like it rough.”

  I have never felt blind fury before. I thought I had, but I have only heard about when a person goes over the edge with rage and nothing else exists around them. They fall into the fiery depths of their wrath, losing all control over their conscience. Until this very moment, I had no idea how enraptured a person could be in that hate. That is … until Vlad spoke and my bottle exploded.

  I jerk the knife from Nikolai’s hand and lunge at Vlad who is strapped in a chair. My fist comes down with ferocity, and the blade of the Bowie knife pierces his flesh.

  I ram it hard into his neck, severing his carotid artery. Blood spurts from his wound, splattering my chest. I pull my fist back and ram it into his body again, feeling all the pain he caused me that night. The physical ache of him entering me. The horrific sounds of my father as he was slain beside me. The screams of my mother as she was raped. The nightmares that haunted me for years upon years after he attacked me. All of it. I wrench my fist forward, stabbing it all away. Again. And again. And again until my hands and arms are painted red and blood covers my satin dress, making it stick to my body.

  A firm grip stops me as all the suffering explodes from my eyes, and I fall weakly to the floor. Nikolai runs his hands down the exposed skin on my back, comforting me without saying a single word.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Nikolai

  August 26, 2015 1:06 a.m.

  Her heart is severed as she relives the pain of that night all over again. She got her revenge on the man who took her innocence from her, and now she is broken.

  My body acts of its own accord when I kneel down beside her and comfort her during this painful moment. This isn’t the first time I have done this, but it will be my last, because once this is over, I need to disappear, and Josslyn and I will be no more.

  “Are you really going to let him get away with murder, detective?” Stravinsky’s voice breaks through her tears. “If you killed Vlad because of what he did that night, then your job isn’t done.”

  Josslyn stands, holding my shoulder to regain her balance. Boldly, she rebuts, “Fuck you, asshole.” Her voice is gravelly from the sobbing, sounding like a lounge singer more than herself.

  “He killed your father! He was there. He held the pillow over his face and watched him die!”

  Enraged by his comment, I swing my fist forward, planting it in his jaw. Bones crack, and my fist wrenches in anger. I’m ready to break his jaw for what he said, which is the truth. I did tell Josslyn I was present; I only omitted my role in the murder. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but there is something about Josslyn knowing that bothers me.

  “Shut up!” she screams back at him, fighting the onslaught of tears threatening to break free.

  “He’s a murderer, detective!”

  I slam my fist into his face again, needing him to shut up right now.

  “Ask him!”

  I punch him again, and when I get a glimpse of her face, I can see she is more curious about what happened that night. I can tell she believes him, and she should. It’s our truth, and it’s our horrible truth.

  “Did you?” Her words barely get out. Her eyes are liquid blue and filled with heartache. She knows the truth. I don’t need to say anything else to her. She can see it in my eyes.

  I lower the weapons in my hands and drop them to the floor. This has been my fate all along. The past was going to catch up with me, and if I’m going to die by anyone’s hands, it should be hers.

  “Yes,” is the only word I can muster, the word that finally destroys her.

  She pulls the gun from her side and raises it to my head. Her eyes leak. Her chest heaves as all her pain once again crashes through her body. Josslyn is strong, and once this is over, she won’t need to feel the pain any longer. She can be free like she was always meant to be.

  “Kill him!” Stravinsky screams from my side.

  I keep my eyes trained on hers.

  “What are you waiting for? Kill him!”

  My sanity dissolves. Lightning fast, I jerk over to Stravinsky and whisper, “See you in hell, brother.” Then I jerk my hands to the side, breaking his neck. He goes limp in the chair, leaving Josslyn with one man left, and then her revenge is done.

  “Cubby,” I get his attention. “Don’t interfere.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not going to stand by and watch you die!”

  “Yes, you are! Then you will help her get home. This is her choice, and I won’t let you ruin that for her.”

  He can see the seriousness in my eyes and unwillingly retreats as Josslyn stares me down.

  I put my hands to my sides and look deeply at her. I search inside my soul and feel it truly awaken for the first time in my life. I have only ever lived in darkness, surviving an existence of blood, guns, and murder. I was a soldier for the devil himself, and it’s what I thought I truly wanted out of life. I was angry for years about my upbringing. For my mother leaving Roman and me on the steps of the orphanage. I hated the police for getting locked up at an early age. I was beaten and fought my entire life, so living amongst the thieves was a godsend … until it wasn’t … until I was awakened to betrayal and pain … until I met her.

  She was a beacon of light, and the closer we got, the more the attraction to her grew. Like a moth to a flame, I was captured and brought to her. Now I stand so closely to her light, and it is ready to burn me.

  Maybe that was the mission all along. Not for me to get my retribution, but for her to finally have hers. It’s now her turn to live, and with me gone, she will have the life she deserves. The life someone as good as her needs to have.

  I drop to my knees, completely at her mercy. Wherever I end up in the afterlife, I know I deserve to be there. Whether it’s hell or walking aimlessly for an eternity, it will be what I deserve for what I have done.

  “It’s okay, Josslyn,” I whisper as her hands shake. “Once I’m dead, this is over for you. You can finally live.”

  She clutches the pistol more tightly and rolls her shoulders back. She clears her throat then transform her posture to that of a killer. She feeds off the revenge living inside of her.

  She steps closer, her eyes digging into mine. They are laced with pain. The pain I helped put there fifteen years ago. The cold steel of the barrel presses into the hot flesh of my forehead. She pushes it against my head, and I keep my neck firm, knowing the moment is going to happen soon.

  The clicking of the chamber sounds; the gun is ready to be fired. I close my eyes and wait for the shot.

  “I can’t.”

  My eyes pop open to see Josslyn’s arm falling to her side, and the gun thuds to the ground.

  “I can’t do this to you. I won’t kill you, because I can’t.” She wipes away the tears falling down her cheeks, and I slowly rise from my kneeled position. “I know I should, but for some reason, I … can’t.”

  Josslyn turns away from me and starts walking toward the exit.

  I nod over to Cubby, and we follow suit.

  I leave my knife with Stravinsky; it deserves to stay with him.

  We all step ove
r bodies as we walk from the compound, changed. For the better? That’s still to be determined.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Josslyn

  August 26, 2015 5:18 a.m.

  My body hurts. The journey of revenge ended with me sliced inside and out, but I’m still breathing and now sitting in the back seat of Nikolai’s car with the wind blowing through my hair. My arm hurts, and I am weak, but I’m alive, and this mission is nearly over.

  After we walked from the house, Cubby mentioned the cleanup of the scene. As he came out of the garage with cans of gas, I knew we weren’t calling anyone this time.

  Nikolai hauled the bodies strewn over the gravel inside the house. Then he went through every room, dousing it as much as possible with anything flammable.

  Cubby circled the house, garage, and security building with gas while Nikolai made sure the servers were erased and all trace of us being there was gone.

  After Cubby dropped a lighter to the wet grass, we stood back and watched as the house blazed. It didn’t take long for the roof to catch fire, burning our evidence away. However, the only trace I cannot shed is knowing what Nikolai did to my father.

  I am toggling back and forth as to why he did it. He was a nineteen-year-old kid, someone who was led astray by the asshole who plotted and planned my father’s murder. The man who stabbed him and allowed his men to rape and nearly kill a woman and child. Still, the coldness in my heart won’t dissipate. That’s why I kept him alive—I couldn’t live with the knowledge that I killed someone who was brainwashed by the devil.

  The three of us don’t say a single thing the entire trip away from the carnage. For me, I don’t have the energy to speak. When it all floods back in after I rested maybe then I will have the courage to speak. But now, I will just keep my thoughts to myself and try to figure out with what I will do when it’s time to leave.

  I’ve toggled back between arresting Nikolai, or staying by his side as his partner in this crazy world he lives in. That was before what he told me about is role in my father’s murder. He wasn’t forthcoming, yet what did I expect. It was his job to get me to come with him and get him closer to Stravinsky. And that’s what I did.