NADYA’S NOTE
Alright, listen up, cuz I ain't got long to get you up to speed. In my line of work, you stay still for any length of time and you find yourself mortally wounded and on the fast track to fucking deceased.
Vampires, werewolves, all those badass, bitchin' monsters they tell stories and make ridiculously silly movies about are real. I don't know much about the details but silver seems to work well at making them cry like a little girl with a skinned knee. Here's what I do know for sure...
Werewolves and vampires are linked. It's like some kind of virus. A werewolf infects you, you turn into one... then if someone comes along (that someone usually being me) and plugs some silver through your heart, you'll die. For about a day. Then you'll wake up as a bloodsucker.
As if the usual heightened strength, speed and other natural abilities weren't enough of an edge these bastards tend to gain some bonus powers. I have no idea how it's decided what powers they get; each one seems to be different. One thing's for sure: it makes them even more of a bitch to kill.
My name's Nadezhda Valentina. I work for a man named Vladimir Belikov. He's the head of a Russian crime family. I've known him since I was thirteen. When I was nineteen, I started killing things for him. That was ten months ago.
Nadya’s Nights:
Road to Vengeance
By Indy McDaniel
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s twisted imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons – living, dead, or undead – is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Indy McDaniel
Cover Art by Morgan Wilson (Lux Nova Studio)
Title Logo by Bryce Wolfe
Book Design by Stanfield MacCue
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
ISBN-13: 978-1494223922
ISBN-10: 1494223929
First printing October 2015.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Gramps.
Table of Contents
A Few Words About Nadya
NIGHT ONE: A HARD NIGHT’S WORK
Chapter One: Gone Pubbin’
Chapter Two: Alley Encounter
Chapter Three: The Killing Ensues
Chapter Four: The Killing Continues
Chapter Five: Victory
Chapter Six: Language Barriers
Chapter Seven: No Rest for the Wicked
Chapter Eight: Narrow Escape
Chapter Nine: Car Crash
Chapter Ten: A Little Help
Chapter Eleven: Final Battle
NIGHT TWO: RACE FOR THE CURE
Chapter Twelve: Waking Up
Chapter Thirteen: Bad News
Chapter Fourteen: Breaking Quarantine
Chapter Fifteen: Leaving Home
Chapter Sixteen: The Bigger They Are…
Chapter Seventeen: The French Connection
Chapter Eighteen: Filling Up
Chapter Nineteen: Road Hazards
Chapter Twenty: Pitfall
Chapter Twenty-One: The Cure
Chapter Twenty-Two: Past Horrors
Chapter Twenty-Three: Torture Time
Chapter Twenty-Four: Rescued
Chapter Twenty-Five: Mind Over Mind
Chapter Twenty-Six: Licking the Wounds
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Reunion
NIGHT THREE: SETTLING SCORES
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Re-armed
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Vengeance Road
Chapter Thirty: Reflections
Chapter Thirty-One: Sewer Shortcut
Chapter Thirty-Two: Conflict
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Revenge Begins
Chapter Thirty-Four: Ball Room Blitz
Chapter Thirty-Five: Wolves to the Slaughter
Chapter Thirty-Six: Showdown
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Settling Up
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Twisting
Spreading the Blame
A Few Words About Nadya
By
Jeff Holland
Most of you reading this are probably saying to yourself, “Who the flaming Filipino fuck is this guy and why should I care?”
It’s a valid point. I NEVER read forewords (or afterwords) in books. I don’t care what someone thought of a book before I read it and when I finish I don’t want to flip a page and read some in depth analysis. I like to enjoy the movie in my mind a little before it’s tainted by other opinions.
So I will make this short.
I’ve known Indy for several years. He’s been a guest on my show several times. He’s written things for me, he’s performed things I’ve written. In those years I have developed a small but world-wide fan base that seems to think I know how to write, both comedy and horror.
That being said. I am so fucking jealous of Indy. I wish I had created Nadya.
That’s really all you need to know.
NIGHT ONE:
A Hard Night’s Work
Chapter One: Gone Pubbin’
As Nadezhda Valentina entered the London pub, she turned her head slightly, letting her eyes scan the interior. The place was shady in multiple meanings of the word. The lighting could be described as minimalistic, with a handful of the bulbs either burnt out or unscrewed. The only area that was remotely well lit was the bar and that was just so the bartender – a rail-thin man with a receding hairline and pencil-thin mustache by the name of Strictly – could see enough to mix his drinks. Even with the aid of the extra light, he tended to make his concoctions wrong; either too strong or too weak.
Not that it mattered. People didn’t go to the pub for its fine dining and drinks. They went there because the bartender was just as nearsighted when it came to illegal activities as he was when making his drinks.
At the moment, the pub was sparsely populated. There was a group of four roughnecks sitting at one of the tables, working their way through a pitcher of ale. They gave her a brief look before turning back to themselves and continuing their conversation. Nadya could recognize the language as German but aside from that she wasn’t able to follow it very well. The only German she really knew were the curse words. Those were fun.
At the bar, Strictly wiped clean a mug while a couple sipped their drinks. The guy was relatively large and already swaying a bit, clearly drunk. His female companion was hunched down, seemingly embarrassed by her boyfriend’s behavior. She had blonde hair; the same shade as Nadya’s, but that was really the only detail she could make out.
Aside from the waitress, the only other occupant of the bar was the man she’d come looking for. He had dark, stringy hair that went down to his shoulders and a gaunt face. He went by the name Lonestar. Nadya was of the opinion the man had seen too many American movies. Still, as an informant, there were worse around.
He sat in a booth on the other side of the table of Germans, already leering at her with his crooked teeth exposed. Nadya let out an annoyed sigh. The problem with Lonestar – aside from his ridiculous name – were his constant attempts to get into Nadya’s pants. After numerous smacks, knocks, and full-on sluggings, he kept at it.
Rounding the table of Germans, she headed over to him. The manila folder in her hand contrasted against the black leather of the jacket she wore. She waved a hand at the waitress and pointed to the table, motioning for a drink, and then looked down at her informant.
“Lonestar,” she said with a nod.
Lonestar’s grin widened. “Nadya, love of my life, it’s always a pleasure.”
“Keep it in your pants, asshole,” she said, sliding into the seat acr
oss from him. “I’m here for information.” She set the folder on the table and slid it to him.
As Lonestar opened the file, Nadya reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter. Lighting a cigarette up, she took a long inhale and let the smoke blow past her lips, watching Lonestar’s face as he looked at the series of photographs contained within the folder.
“Bloody hell, love,” he said, his voice low. “What’re you getting me into here?”
The waitress set Nadya’s pint down in front of her. Nadya tossed a couple notes onto her tray and she disappeared as quickly as she arrived. “Don’t be a fucking pussy,” she said, lifting the mug. “Just be glad you didn’t have to clean up the goddamn mess.” She took a long drink of ale, enjoying the taste of it running down her throat. It wasn’t nearly strong enough, but she wasn’t interested in dulling her senses. Just taking the edge off.
The pictures showed a variety of angles on a very gruesome scene. They’d been taken in a small house a few miles away. It had been one of Vladimir Belikov’s stash houses. There’d been an exchange scheduled for earlier that evening. Instead of money changing hands for high-grade narcotics, Vlad’s men had been torn limb from limb.
Nadya had been on her way to the meet but the bus had been late. When she’d arrived, the shit had already gone down. There was no sign of what had done the deed. Nadya called Vlad and waited for the clean-up crew, chain smoking and keeping a hand on her gun, just in case whatever decided to come back for seconds.
“Christ!”
Lonestar’s voice drew Nadya back to the present. She tapped ash into the already overflowing tray on the table. “Just find out what did that.”
He looked up at her, the fear in his eyes evident. “Off-hand... something inhuman. Something fearsome.”
Nadya rolled her eyes. “Thanks for that brilliant analysis. I want a name.”
Lonestar closed the file, careful not to touch the pictures, then pushed it away, leaning back in his chair. “Sure thing, love. I’ll get right on it.”
“Tonight,” Nadya told him, narrowing her cold, greenish-grey eyes.
His brow rose as his eyes widened. He really didn’t want this assignment, Nadya could tell.
Tough shit.
“What’s the rush?” he asked.
“Vlad wants to send a message to whatever disrespectful cocksucker had the nerve to piss in his pool,” she said then nodded. “Personally, I could give a fuck about messages. I just want to slit the throat of whatever fucker killed comrades of mine.”
Lonestar nodded. “Fair ’nuff.” He still didn’t look all that eager to follow through on her request.
Someone else in her position might try to flirt with him. Play on his attraction towards her. That wasn’t Nadya’s style. Instead, she leaned forward and gave him a glare, shoving the folder forward into his lap. The photos spilled out, fluttering to the floor around him. “A name. Before midnight. Or else I make what’s in those pictures look like a fun night at the fucking movies. Got it?”
He nodded quickly; still fearful but now she was causing the fear. Which meant he’d do what she wanted. “Got it.”
Nadya chugged down the rest of her pint and finished off her cigarette, stubbing it out in the ashtray. “Alright. Call me as soon as you have anything.” She got up and turned, running smack into the drunken man who’d been at the bar when she’d entered. She took a step back and looked up at him. “‘Scuze you, asshole.”
The drunken man grinned sloppily at her and tried to grab at her breasts. Nadya easily smacked his hands aside. “The fuck’s your problem, dickhead?” She tried to glance over to the bar where the asshole’s girlfriend had been, but there was no sign of her. Fine time to take a piss, lady…
“C’mon, baby…” he said in heavily slurred English. “You know you want it…”
“Mate,” Lonestar called. “Trust me, you really don’t want to – “
The guy wasn’t listening and came at Nadya again, more forcefully. Sighing, she took a step back and kicked him in the gut, sending him flying backwards. His arms pin wheeled as he tried to find his balance. As he’d been having trouble finding it before Nadya kicked him, he had no chance of finding it now and wound up smashing into the table of Germans, knocking their drinks into their laps.
“Tried to warn ya…” Lonestar muttered.
The large man lay on the table for a few moments before his weight caused the table to collapse underneath him. By then, the Germans were on their feet, looking from the man who’d come crashing into them to their ruined drinks and wet laps to the diminutive blonde girl who’d caused the trouble.
The uneasy truce in the pub seemed to be about to shift into all out mayhem. Nadya looked at the group of men glaring angrily at her and sighed. “Fuck it. Been awhile since I had a good ole fashion pub fight…” She tilted her head to the side, cracking her neck. “Let’s dance, fuckers…”
As they advanced on her, she hopped back and reached behind her, finding her empty mug on the table. She gripped it firmly as they came closer. As the first German got within striking distance, Nadya brought the mug around and smashed it into the side of his face. The glass mug shattered and the man’s head snapped back, blood already seeping from the side of his head and down his face. The guy stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, unconscious.
One down…
The other three men seemed surprised by her sudden violent attack. She brought one of her legs up and kicked out, slamming the bottom of her boot against the second man’s gut and doubling him over. He coughed and stumbled away.
The next in line’s surprise quickly wore off, returning to plain old rage. He cocked his fist back and launched it towards Nadya’s face with all the grace and coordination of a drunken sailor. Ducking her head to the side, Nadya let the fist move past her head then reached up and grabbed hold of it, slamming it down as she brought her knee up. There was an audible crack as the arm broke under her knee. The man screamed in pain and pulled away, clutching his now useless arm to his chest.
Nadya brought her other arm up to block a blow from the fourth man, who was swinging his fist in from the side, trying to punch her in the side of her head. Her forearm deflected the blow and she ducked under the guy’s arm and twisted it around with her until she bent it behind his back. She lifted one leg up to shove her knee into the small of his back. The guy cringed and arched his back uncomfortably. She brought her free hand up and slapped him backhanded across the back of his head before shoving him away from her.
By then the man she’d kicked in the gut had recovered and charged towards Nadya with an angry bellow. His head and shoulders were low, intending on knocking the girl to the ground and trampling her. Nadya waited until he was about a foot in front of her then leapt up into the air, splitting her legs apart wide and pushing the palms of her hands down into the back of the man’s neck, hopping over him.
As she landed, she saw the fourth man had turned back to face her and was throwing another punch at her head.
Nadya arched backwards and let the fist move past her then straightened herself again and gave the guy a kick in his ribs, judging that she’d cracked at least a couple by the pained yelp the man let out. Hearing heavy footsteps coming up behind her, Nadya shifted her weight onto her other leg, twisted her body sideways, and kicked out, nailing the returning charging man in the shoulder and causing him to spin awkwardly before slamming to the ground.
Hearing movement behind her, Nadya turned and brought herself back to the original direction she had been facing, stopping suddenly as she came face to face with the broken armed man, said broken arm hanging limply at his side. It wasn’t the man that gave her pause; it was the semi-automatic pistol he held aimed at her head. Nadya raised an eyebrow and held still, watching the man’s finger on the trigger.
As the man tightened his finger on the trigger, Nadya shifted her head quickly to the side. The gun went off, the bullet rocketing past her ear. The m
an she’d kicked to the ground was just getting up as the bullet slammed into his chest. His eyes widened with surprise and he clutched at the hole, blood pumping out of him and soaking his shirt. He collapsed back to the floor, his movements ceasing as he died.
Nadya wasted no time and grabbed hold of the gun-toting man’s unwounded arm, bringing the palm of her free hand up under the arm and slamming into the bottom of his elbow, causing a sickening crunch as the bone splintered. The man cried out as she forcibly shifted his arm, bending it back until the barrel of the gun rested under his chin. He muttered something in German through his tears of pain.
“Sorry, what’s that?” Nadya asked in Russian, her tone mocking. “I don’t speak sauerkraut.”
Pushing her finger into the trigger guard with the man’s, she forced him to pull the trigger again. A second gunshot filled the pub and the ceiling splattered with brains and shards of skull. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to his knees.
Nadya looked down, seeing the large hole in the top of his skull and the hollowed out area that had so recently contained whatever the hell passed for the man’s brains. He fell backwards, spilling what little contents remained in his head out onto the floor.
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