by Bella Rose
Roland?
This did not promise to be a positive experience. She sucked in a deep breath and prayed for patience. If she were smart, she would send him packing without even opening the door. Unfortunately for her, curiosity was getting the better of her good sense.
Susan opened the front door and stayed behind the safety of her storm door. “Can I help you, Roland? I confess I can’t imagine what would bring you to my home.”
“That was a dirty trick you played on me with Jason,” Roland said angrily. “Telling all of those lies might have bought you a little time, but eventually it won’t save your job.”
“Lies?” She snorted. “Tell me, what did I tell Jason that wasn’t true?” She crossed her arms belligerently. “You were the one who started the cash cow joke. You set up the office pool and collected the data and the money. Am I wrong?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Hmm, what about the fact that you’ve been bringing me most of your workload the last few weeks and dumping it on my desk with some bogus order that Jason requested I take care of it? I believe you actually got a commendation for your diligence out of the deal. Didn’t you?”
“Well, yes.” He looked uncomfortable. “But yesterday you threatened me with sexual harassment!”
“Seriously.” She stared at the pathetic excuse for a man on her doorstep. “You make my life a living hell for more than a month and you’re worried about a threat that will never come true if you just do your fucking job?”
“You threatened me. And then you tattled to Jason today. They’re thinking about firing me, Susan. Firing me! Can you believe it?”
“Actually, yeah. I can.” She realized she wasn’t at all sad or sorry or surprised. “Personally I think it’s been a long time coming. You flew under the radar there for a long time with your charm and supreme ass kissing skills.”
“What happened to you?” Roland seemed aghast. “It’s like you woke up one day and decided you were a bitch.”
“People like you happened to me, Roland. I got a little tired of being your scapegoat. So while I’m sorry that you’re about to hit the unemployment line, it’s really your problem and not mine.”
Susan shut the door in his face and leaned back against it with a feeling of satisfaction she had never expected to experience. She might not be a mafia bad ass, but she was certainly on her way to getting there.
Thank you, Kirill.
KIRILL EYED THE giant of a man who had answered the back door of the smoky club.
Leaning insolently against the wall, Kirill held his cheroot between thumb and forefinger and blew a stream of smoke straight up into the air. “We’re here to talk to Orlov.”
“Mr. Orlov is busy.” The giant folded his arms over his chest.
“Tell him to make time or bad things will happen,” Kirill said coolly.
Several feet away, he could feel Jacob’s gaze, though the man hid just out of sight.
Now the giant laughed. “You come alone, demanding to see the boss without an appointment, and right after you failed in your task for the second time this week? Ridiculous.”
Kirill pulled his weapon so fast that the big man never saw it coming. Seconds later, Kirill had the muzzle of his handgun pressed against the giant’s balls. “What makes you think I’ve failed? Who told you this?”
There was a strange, high-pitched noise as Kirill pressed the gun roughly up into the man’s sac. “A guy came around earlier. I’ve seen him once before. Earlier this week. He had the proof you were supposed to get.”
“I want to talk to Orlov. Now.” Kirill smiled sweetly. “Either we go talk to Orlov. Or we take your nut sack to the nearest emergency room to see if they can put it back on. Your choice.”
The low stream of Russian curses ended the moment Jacob walked into the light. The giant hit a button on the door and it buzzed. Then he shoved it open and waved them in.
“Thank you for being so accommodating,” Kirill said pleasantly. “Have a nice night.”
Once they were out of earshot and safely inside the club, Jacob shook his head at Kirill. “You are one sick son of a bitch. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“Do you know where to look for Orlov? This place is like a maze.”
The club was in a building comprised of seven levels. Each level had a different sort of theme or form of entertainment made available to patrons depending upon their status. At the ground level, it was just the kitchens and what appeared to be acres of food storage. The next floor was a dance club. Revelers moved with the beat of techno music piped through speakers hanging from the ceiling. A DJ sat in one corner, and there was a bar in the other.
“Orlov will be upstairs,” Jacob said.
“How far upstairs?”
“On the spa level.” Jacob did not sound excited.
“Lead on.”
Kirill followed his friend and mentor toward a staircase set into the wall. They ascended through two more levels of entertainment, one a speakeasy straight from the past, and the other a Russian nightclub. They passed several of Orlov’s enforcers, but nobody attempted to stop them. Kirill could not decided if this was good or bad.
Finally, they could smell the tangy odor of chlorine and saltwater. The sound of low music mingled with laughter and the splash of water. The men emerged into a tiled world spiced with neon lights and filled with people either in skimpy bathing suits or wrapped in towels. At the long end of the room, Kirill spotted Orlov.
“There he is,” Jacob muttered. “Let me do the talking, understand?”
“Yes,” Kirill agreed. “For now.”
Jacob made a low noise of annoyance, but led the way as both assassins strode through the spa toward the mafia boss holding court in the center of the room.
“Orlov, we need to talk,” Jacob said in a clipped voice.
“Is that right?” In contrast, Orlov’s tone was silky. “And what would we need to talk about? You failed to fulfill the contract. You don’t get the payout. It is simple.”
“And yet I still cannot understand why you issued two contracts for one job.” Jacob’s tone turned deadly. “You know what will happen if this continues.”
Orlov scoffed. “Let it. You know nothing of what a pain in the ass it is for someone like me to cater to someone like you simply because you can provide a service I can get nowhere else. I say let competition rule and the best assassin win.”
“If I win—” Jacob leaned in, looking deadly. “—and I always do, the price will triple.” He smiled. “Keep that in mind while you gloat about your fucking capitalism.”
The smug grin drained right off Orlov’s face.
Jacob jerked his head toward Kirill, and the two of them exited the spa, heading back down the stairs through the layers of Orlov’s club. Kirill felt exposed somehow. The back of his neck prickled, and he wanted badly to reach for his gun.
Jacob began to lengthen his strides as the exit came into view. Kirill followed suit, his longer legs letting him pull ahead just a bit. When the gunfire sounded, Kirill dove for cover behind a crate of wine bottles.
“Jacob?” he called out in a hoarse whisper.
There had only been two shots. Kirill pressed his back to the crates and tried to lean out and see if he could find the shooter. What he saw instead was Jacob’s body lying in the middle of the floor.
He wanted to shout, but that would have given away his position, and he had no way of knowing who or what the threat actually was. He slipped deeper into the shadows around the crates and waited to see if Jacob would move. He didn’t. In fact, the eerie stillness of Jacob’s body nearly shot Kirill’s nerves. Still, he forced himself to wait.
Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally, Kirill felt it safe to exit his cover and go to Jacob in order to check his pulse. No matter how much Kirill wanted to feel a flutter, there was nothing. Now Kirill was alone and still absolutely uncertain of what had happened.
Chapter Thirteen
This time there was a knock at Susan’s kitchen door. She almost didn’t answer. Kirill had taken to just letting himself in regardless if it were locked or not. But some instinct she could not name told her this time was different.
She knew as soon as he walked inside that something dreadful had happened. His sensual mouth was set into a hard line, and his eyes were bleak. He collapsed into a chair at the table and put his head in his hands.
Susan sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. “Kirill, what happened?”
“Jacob is dead.”
“Who was Jacob?”
“My mentor.” The gruff words did not appear to scratch the surface of what was behind them. “He taught me everything.”
“Tell me what happened. Surely this wasn’t just some random event?”
“No.” He seemed to be thinking it through. “Several days ago, we went to do a job and someone had beaten us to it.”
“All right. So someone either stole your contract or got their own version?” She struggled to understand the dark world in which he moved. “It’s almost like espionage or something.”
“Exactly. And tonight it happened again. We got to the job, but it had already been completed.”
“So you went to talk to Orlov,” she guessed.
“The smug bastard suggested that he would rather there be competition for the contracts in order to keep his costs down.” Kirill was shaking with fury.
Susan tried to imagine that. It didn’t look like a very good idea, even to a civilian like herself. “Wouldn’t that create an environment where assassins were hunting each other to eliminate the competition?”
“Yes.” He put his face in his hands. “As we left, someone gunned down Jacob inside Orlov’s club.”
“Did you see this person?”
“Not a good enough look to know who it was.”
“How often are these contracts issued?” Her analytical brain was already creaking into action even if the topic had nothing to do with interest rates or depreciation tables.
“Every twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” It appeared that Kirill’s brain was kicking into high gear as well.
“So this person—competition—whatever, is waiting for a contract to get issued and then murdering whomever shows up to complete it.”
“Like bait,” he murmured. His fingertips idly traced tiny circles on her palm. It was most distracting, but she would not have stopped him for the world.
“I hate to say it,” she began slowly. “But the best course of action would seem to be to lay your own trap at the scene of the next contract.”
He frowned suddenly. “You didn’t ask me to quit doing this or walk away.”
“Would it have made a difference if I had?”
He pulled her up from her chair and over to his lap. Susan sat down, feeling awkward but liking the way it felt to be held by him. He folded her in his embrace, and she nestled her head beneath his chin. Finally, he cupped her face in his palm and let his thumb skate along the fullness of her lower lip.
“I appreciate your willingness to accept me for who and what I am,” he whispered.
“I don’t pretend to understand it.” She gazed into his dark eyes and felt a stirring inside her. “But I respect you and your decisions, which means I can’t be forever trying to second guess them or ask you to change your mind because it makes me a little uncomfortable.”
“You are a singular woman, Susan.” Kirill leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers.
She couldn’t stand the teasing touch anymore. Putting her arms around his neck, she pressed her mouth against his until he was kissing her as though the world would end if he didn’t. His tongue swept inside her mouth, and she tasted the spicy maleness of him. The excitement made her wet between her legs, and she squirmed a bit on his lap.
Then someone began pounding on the front door, and Susan drew back with a string of expletives that made Kirill laugh.
“What?” she demanded.
“You’re adorable when you curse.”
“It’s like Grand Central Station around here tonight!”
“What?” He looked suspicious. “Who else has been by here?”
“Just some jerk from my office.”
“The one who started the…”
“Yes! The guy who started the rumor. He’s been bugging me at work because I’m not taking his crap any longer. I think he’s trying to figure out why I have bigger balls than he does.”
Susan jumped up from Kirill’s lap and stalked into her front room. He was right on her heels, and she was a little apprehensive to note that he had pulled out his gun and was holding it low at his side.
“Is that necessary?” she asked with a sigh.
He raised his eyebrows. “With the night I’ve had so far?”
Susan glanced through the peephole. “For the love of God, it’s your sister and Vlad.”
“Together?” Kirill shoved his gun back into its holster and reached for the door. “By all means, let’s invite them in!”
“You’re sick,” Susan muttered. She was wearing a pair of yoga pants and an old sweatshirt. It was hardly appropriate for receiving visitors, but then it wasn’t really proper visiting hours, either.
Kirill grabbed the door handle and swung it open. He smiled at the startled looks on their guests’ faces. “Won’t you both come in?”
“What are you doing here?” Oksana demanded.
Susan didn’t figure it was any good trying to hide anything at this point. “He’s pretty much always here. Are the two of you coming in or leaving? It’s late and I’m tired.”
“Coming in, of course,” Oksana said with a sniff as she boldly shoved Kirill out of her way.
KIRILL JUST MANAGED to avoid having his feet stomped to shreds by his sister’s stiletto heels. He heaved a long suffering sigh and wondered what this lovely visit was all about. After the insanity of Orlov’s club and Jacob’s demise—he would not think about that right now—he wasn’t sure Oksana would find a him very receptive audience for her drama.
So perhaps it was fortunate for Oksana that just when she sucked in a breath to give him a piece of her mind, the front window shattered as a bullet ripped through the house. It pinged against the brick of the fireplace facade before embedding itself in the wall. Glass rained down on the carpet near the window. Oksana was screaming at the top of her lungs, but the only thing Kirill could think about was Susan’s safety.
Kirill dove across the room just as the second shot buried itself in the armchair just behind the place where he’d been standing. He caught Susan about the waist and pulled her out of the front room and into the kitchen. The walls here were not exterior, nor were there any windows that faced the front of the house.
“We can’t leave Oksana and Vlad in there alone!” Susan said.
Yet another shot pierced the house. This time Kirill heard the familiar sound of a bullet tearing through live tissue as the shooter hit a target.
“Vlad!” Oksana screamed. “Oh my God, he’s hit! I have to call 911!”
There was moaning, although it could barely be heard beneath Oksana’s frantic shouting. She was on her phone, apparently having forgotten that there was a shooter on the other side of the wall.
“Oksana,” Kirill hissed. “Get down!”
Another shot rent the air and thudded against the floor. What sort of idiot hung around long enough to empty an entire clip at such a leisurely pace? Kirill gave Susan a tight squeeze and placed a hard kiss upon her head.
“Don’t go.” She grabbed his arm. “Please don’t go out there.”
He pulled out his weapon and chambered a round. “If I go out there, I should be able to find the shooter. This could be the only chance I have to avenge Jacob’s death and end this before anyone else gets hurt.”
Susan bit her lower lip. “Please be careful.”
“I will.”
&
nbsp; Fortunately for Kirill, Oksana was presenting a fine distraction for the shooter. It became obvious that the individual was toying with her on purpose. She was still screaming into her phone, but now the shots were aimed in a way that made her either fling herself at the floor, or duck behind some random piece of furniture.
Kirill slipped out the back kitchen door and around the side of the house. The narrow space between Susan and her neighbor’s was peppered with garbage cans and stacks of newspapers waiting for recycling. He carefully navigated the virtual obstacle course while keeping his eye on the area where the shots seemed to be coming from.
Squinting from his place under cover at the corner of the building, Kirill tried to decipher where the shooter’s exact position was. The only light illuminating the buildings came from two tall streetlamps. Their dim orange glow didn’t give him much to go on. In the distance, he heard the wail of sirens. Oksana’s call had definitely made an impression. In a short time, the shooter would be forced to retreat, and Kirill would be no closer to getting rid of this problem than before.
Then he saw the flash of light off the muzzle of a long barreled weapon.
Kirill sprang into action immediately. The target was dead ahead on a second story balcony directly across the street from Susan’s house.
Ducking into the deep shadows, Kirill found a point where he could cross the street without exposing himself. He ducked low and ran hunched over until he could take cover behind a parked car. Using every bit of shrubbery and even a large brick mailbox to hide his approach, Kirill made his way toward the shooter’s position.
His heart pounded frantically in his chest. The shots had stopped, and the sirens were close. He had almost no time to end this. Around the corner in another alley directly across the street from Susan’s house, he heard movement. Someone leaped down to street level. He heard their boots hit the asphalt.
