by Koko Brown
“Lynne? Lynne did you fall asleep?”
FOUR
Ex caressed the woman’s skin, his mind elsewhere as he attempted to let his body respond naturally to her manipulations. His penis stayed rigid—no problem there, but he couldn’t shake the image of the American woman’s tear stained face. It’s true he was indifferent to the victim, but he did have a notion to console the witness.
Lips massaged his rod with slow sucks as though it was an ice cream pop. The tingling sensation traveled upward to his gut and spread across the chest tattooed with a large crucifix and the word family in Ukrainian. He gripped her skull and flexed his limbs. His toes gripped the sheet, and the bulging branches along his legs were tension coils that aided in the unrelenting thrusts. She gagged, slapping at his thighs, raking her sharp nails into the massive muscles. His hands slackened for her to breathe, acutely aware of his ability to permanently shut off her air— were he in a killing mood. But, he did not have any quarrel with the Escort other than she fucked with timidity for someone in the pleasure profession. When his dick quivered, the euphoric release made up for the lukewarm sex. She repelled from the bed, holding her throat and with such frightened eyes—one might think she escaped from the Gulag.
Ex put his hands behind his head, frowning at her scarlet cheeks the pale skin, pink in various spots from his firm touch. Beneath hooded eyes he observed her hurriedly dressing. He found little pleasure in her fearful expression. In fact he wanted her to clothe faster in order for him to have a much needed nap.
The professional swiped the money from the bureau and backed away. Thankfully, she departed and he closed his eyes. A naughty smile occurred when the American lady entered his sordid imaginings. In the throes of arousal he experienced an involuntary ejaculation during the sweetest of dreams.
FIVE
The street lamps lowered outside. Only the brave, derelict or fools loitered at night in Troyeshchina. Visitors to the Ukraine often stayed in the tourist areas of Kiev. The seedy parts were extremely dangerous. But, when the sun runs home and they were to enter the area and a particular apartment—they'd find Ex with comrades preparing for a contract killing. A shoulder tattooed with a dagger bulged from the man standing at the window twirling a knuckle knife between his fingers. He watched the desolate landscape with an unreadable expression. Reflected on the glass were his sharp cheekbones and sensual mouth. His dark brown eyes failed to emit light, unlike his comrade Yayo’s skin which shone with vitality. Andric sat alongside Yayo on the sofa, breathing loudly as he inspected the arsenal spread out on the coffee table. They had left a somber Exeter to his dark meditation. They were accustomed to his black mood, especially prior to a contract. He was the worse of them—Exeter Justas was heartless. They were aware he encountered death early when he witnessed his family burn. This destroyed something in a teen. They did not know he had been a good boy. Whether good or bad it is difficult for anyone to forget such a thing. The boy caused trouble afterward and the adult coped by killing.
Exeter secured the knife in his boot. An exaggerated stretch erect, took him out of his reverie, to another nagging matter—the American. He withdrew her wallet, keeping his back to the guys and sifted through the contents, again. A card with a hotel’s address and another with her business information embossed in gold: Lynne Rayne, Interior Designer crossed the edge of a sofa. Lynne Rayne—he liked the name. A sly smirk creased his face. The American woman was attractive—extremely sexy in a fiery way. He surmised the moment she discovered her wallet missing, she canceled her credit cards. He considered returning it and collecting a physical reward.
“We are finished,” Yayo stated.
Exeter nodded, tucked away the wallet and then faced his comrades. “Good.” Anger rose at the sight of Andric snorting a line of coke. Before he took another hit, Exeter intercepted. “Celebrate after the job!” he seethed, setting a booted foot atop the table. Andric’s drug use was getting out of hand. Between the amphetamine, cocaine, LSD and mescaline, it was only a matter of time before he overdosed or got them killed. Exeter tightened his jaw, tempted to blow a hole in the druggie. Instead, he presented an ultimatum to the addict. “Stay here. You have forfeited your cut. Are we clear Andric?”
Andric rose. “You cannot do that,” he said between clenched teeth. “I’m needed.”
“I do not need an addict.” Exeter violently kicked over the table causing Yayo to scramble up to deflect the wood with a loud palm slap. Andric’s substance went airborne; the weapons were caught by the carpet.
Yayo fumed. “Ex, it’s time you seek help…your outbursts are worsening.”
Exeter’s menacing expression shut Yayo’s trap. He scoffed and then marched to the door, swept up the backpack near the exit and exclaimed, “We have work to do Yayo—let’s go!”
SIX
The job was considered standard except there were multiple targets. A time limit had been set. They were paid in advance and expected to complete the contract before six a.m. Thus they had several hours to play—if killing is a deadly game they were set to win. After all they were professionals or so Exeter thought until Andric’s discipline waned. Without Andric, Exeter had to rely on Yayo as both a look-out and a driver. If anything went wrong inside of the mansion, he was on his own.
“Why is this Client targeting these people?” Yayo asked aloud.
“Since when have we cared about someone’s motive?” Ex stated, “This Client has paid us well—in fact we can retire with our earnings.”
“You are not curious at all?”
Ex scoffed. “He heads a large drug company. The hit list is industry people. I do not need an explanation to confirm that he is likely eliminating the competition.”
“It is ruthless. Competition is healthy for an economy,” Yayo opined.
“We are not moral guardsmen Yayo. We have committed killings for clients who sought revenge, jealousy and other vices—greed is yet another.” Ex responded pragmatically. “These people seek us out because we are the best in the Ukraine.” He slapped Yayo’s shoulder reassuringly. “You worry too much.” Then he reclined.
“I trust you.”
“Dobre, especially since it is not an easy feat to conceal three identities. Honestly, I tire of the drops and covert machinations.”
They continued along in silence several minutes before Yayo spoke. “We need Andric,” Yayo stated.
“He is a liability,” Exeter replied. The vehicle turned a corner and he swayed. “You have set the timer…everything will go according to plan.”
“What if something goes wrong and Andric’s right and we need him?”
“Nothing will go wrong.”
Yayo shook his head. “We have never done a job without him Ex…I do not like this feeling.”
Exeter snorted with derision. The hawkish gaze directed at Yayo held such indignation, his lip twitched. “I do not need anyone?” He cursed in Ukrainian. “Fuck Andric, his addiction to drugs is weakness. I refuse to be dependent on anything or anyone!”
Yayo frowned, wondering if Ex’s statement was an implication that caring was a weakness and a man was exempt from such a malady. He countered the remark with an observation. “Everyone needs someone; otherwise you would not have returned for me.”
It is true Ex returned for Yayo when he aged out of the group home. But, he hadn’t expected to take in his friend Andric, as well. “The streets would have devoured you— and Andric. Pity led to the benevolent act. ”
Yayo laughed, his beautiful brown skin creased to give the glistening teeth a debut. “It kills you to admit that you care…say it Ex—for once say we are family.”
“My family is dead.” Yayo’s smile dissolved. Ex scoffed at the younger man’s sullen countenance. “Many years have passed since we were boys. Find a good woman and make this family you crave desperately to have.”
Yayo’s angular jaw hardened. He stared straight ahead while driving.
They passed Panelny Dom buildings that at nig
ht appeared uninviting—colder than the era they were built and defiant long after Stalin. Soon Klubny Dom, multi-dwelling buildings appeared. The modern low rise structures indicated they entered a prestigious district where the affluent resided. When Ex moved with his family to the Ukraine, they lived in a similar area. But, his home had been a cottage, with a beautiful floral entranceway that he often trampled when he played outdoors.
The speeding car went through the commercial area. The hotel where the American stayed was nestled between the structures. She didn’t wear a wedding ring. He wondered if she slept alone tonight. Did she miss her family? Did she have love in her life?
He missed his family—blood bonds are irreplaceable.
SEVEN
Lynne emptied everything out of her bag onto the bed to carefully inspect the contents.
“I had it. I know I did,” she said. “Don’t tell me someone pick-pocketed me?”
She hurried to the dress she’d worn earlier and checked the small pockets—nothing. The wallet couldn’t fit anyway, but she had to make sure.
Lynne tightened her robe, going through her brain in an attempt to puzzle together how, when and where she could’ve lost her wallet. She sank on the bed, wiggling her toes and retracing the day’s routine.
“I showed I.D. to enter the building. I used the restroom to check my face as I waited to meet with Aleksander. It was in my bag when I replaced the compact.” She squinted while concentrating. “When I left the building, I took my phone out of my purse…maybe that’s when it fell.” She frowned. “Or maybe that cute guy took my arm under pretense to hurry me out of the street but his intent was to rob me—wow—real smooth.”
Lynne scowled, feeling like a mark. “It’s always the good-looking dudes…round ‘em up and dump their asses on an island!”
She grumbled, dreading the entire theft notification process. To top it off, her cash was in that wallet and she’d have to order the expensive hotel food for three days. “Damn!” she exclaimed and then initiated the unpleasant business before hitting the sack.
A promising start to her day had ended on a very sour note.
EIGHT
Yayo covered the silence with music. Exeter listened to the soothing notes being played on an acoustic guitar. He thought of the youth home, grimaced and found a more loving memory.
His Grandpapa played several instruments. After dinner he would entertain the family with old melodies from his homeland.
His Grandpapa was born in Latvia—displaced by fear during the Soviet occupation. Before the soldiers arrived, he had a prestigious career as a police officer. That changed when he received word of the new regime’s secret list of citizens considered undesirables who they termed, “people’s enemies.” Those on the list were scheduled to be corralled and sent to Siberia. Exeter’s Grandpapa was on that list. Recognizing the danger of this, he hurried home and gathered his wife and son and fled during the night to Denmark. There had been little time to spare in his efforts to evade the Troikas. He reached Maribo, a quaint Danish town on the island of Lolland and that is where he settled.
His Grandpapa often said, “Ex, I had no time to warn others in my family. They did not live nearby—it is distance that hindered any notification to my relatives. Were I closer, they would have survived.”
Exeter’s eyes scanned the hard road. Despite escaping death, his Grandpapa suffered guilt that he could not save all of his family. When he became terminally ill, Ex believed he died with that regret.
Exeter sat forward when they reached a 40 acre private estate. Between branches of barren trees he spotted the lake shimmering as though crystallites were sprinkled atop. Beyond the water stood a guard post; in the easterly direction a greenhouse. He reached to the backseat and retrieved the backpack filled with everything he needed.
“The power goes out in approximately nineteen minutes,” Yayo reminded Exeter. “Be careful.”
Exeter unzipped the backpack, removed night goggles, gloves and then put the strap around his neck, zipping it closed as he spoke. “I will. Stay out of sight. Remember, if we are separated we are to meet at the apartment. Make certain you are not followed. If you suspect you are do not go there and I will do the same.” He hurriedly exited the car, checking his weapon once he was on the move. He glanced over his shoulder at Yayo. He saw his brother waving from the backseat prior to the explosion. Ex felt phantom heat and came alive.
One—two—three—four—five.
Staying close to the edge of the property, Ex advanced toward the three story red facade. The internal chanting escalated. The sound waves bounced against his cranium demanding an exit from his mouth. But, he would not release the scream of a helpless teen unable to save his family. His eyes burned from the images of a desperate boy seeking to rescue mangled corpses car.
One—two—three.
Soft sole boots squashed the tender lawn. Inside the home a clandestine meeting was underway. He’d been paid to retrieve documents and eliminate the CEO, CFO, COO and an attorney.
One…two…three.
NINE
The property darkened. Only the lake’s reflection and the outline of the home were seen from Yayo’s vantage point. He utilized the multi-purpose night vision and heat sensor goggles to survey the nocturnal foliage.
Trepidation set in. He’d voiced his concern to Exeter over the decision to leave Andric back at the safe house. However, he omitted he’d done some research on the targets they were paid to eliminate. Their targets were heads of a pharmaceutical conglomerate which recently completed successful trials of a drug that eradicated leukemia in 90% of the human testers. The executives killed yesterday were from the same company. He had accepted his cut and backing out was no longer an option.
Yayo lifted the walkie-talkie from his lap, checked to ensure it was on and then settled back with his companion the gun chilling on the passenger seat.
Exeter should be inside the dwelling by now, Yayo surmised. Then he glanced around, working his shoulders, getting antsy by the silence. He never liked the dark. Even in the government run facility for homeless children, he slept with a night light on. Ex never teased him about this habit. The older kids had, but never Ex. When the strapping teen arrived at the facility, he wondered what the deal was with the solemn youth. Yayo learned a little about the new kid, which was mostly innuendo. He went online to research and learned Ex’s family died in a car explosion. Ex’s father was a reporter who’d written controversial articles on corruption. His mother worked at a large pharmaceutical company as a lab technician. Yayo’s curiosity led him to the forensic report which determined the cause of the explosion had been mechanical neglect. The manufacturer avoided culpability. Yayo read this nearly a year before Ex finally shared a piece of his personal tragedy.
Back then, Ex smiled when he described his mom. Ex said she deemed herself an herbal guru and talked him to sleep about the healing powers of herbs. Then the mirth abruptly died. The teen’s expression solidified and he said, “My family is dead. I do not wish to talk about them.”
To fill the space, Yayo shared how he landed in the facility. “My Mom brought me. I was six years old. She told the intake officer that she loved me and did not want to hurt me. Then she disappeared. I think she had difficulty with my father’s death. Now that I am older I believe she was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Of?”
Yayo replied, “The rejection of her family.”
“What about your father’s family?”
“They are in America. One day I will visit.”
“Your father is American?”
“Yes. But he is dead.”
“How did he die?”
“Here, in the incident at the U.S. Embassy.”
“The bombing in Kyiv?”
“Yes.” Yayo sighed. “Since then, this is home.”
“This is prison for children,” Ex stated and then surveyed the rickety beds lining the walls with dis
may. There were fifty children in the building. The wards were offered little privacy, less amenities and kindness from the staff was scarce.
“I think it is good for you to go to America. That is where your family is.”
“Maybe you will come with me,” Yayo had said.
Ex laughed good-naturedly. It was a lovely sound which emanated from the gruff teen. “What will I do in America?”
“Escape your nightmares.”
“And what do you know of my nightmares Yayovski Costinav?”
Yayo frowned. He knew plenty. They shared a room with four other boys, but none woke in the night shaking the headboard, chanting in his sleep, “I am coming…one…two…three…four…five.”
Whatever happened the day Ex lost his family; Yayo witnessed his trauma every night.
Ex clucked his tongue. “Yayo is silent. I do not know what to make of this strange phenomenon.” He chuckled. “Maybe I will accompany you to America and fuck American girls.”
Yayo peered at the time on the dashboard. He picked his nose, rolling down the window to flick the booger away. Someone seized his arm and he recoiled, released the walkie-talkie and grabbed his gun. Before he depressed the trigger, he recognized Andric and sighed with relief. “Andric…you idiot—I nearly shot you!”
“You should have seen your expression.” Andric laughed and pointed at the scowling Yayo. “You turned white. How is that possible?”
