His Sword

by Holly Hart

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Unfortunately, the competition was tainted when you prematurely stole the prize. The quarry is no longer… intact. Therefore, my associates were forced to return the other contestants’ entry fees.

  Her expression turns serious, and suddenly I’m terrified. If that smarmy smile is gone, I don’t want to hear what she has to say next.

  “Only one contestant was willing to forego reimbursement,” she says. “In return, he was… allowed to finish the competition, even though the prize was tainted.”

  Jesus Christ. Cassie.

  “The contestant is known for his straightforward negotiation style. My associates hope the experience will make the quarry more… amenable to their questions regarding any possible investigation of their activities.”

  My heart is pounding in my chest. I can hear my blood coursing through my inner ear.

  “This ends now,” I say, leveling a finger between her eyes. “No more fucking around, no more euphemisms, no more banter. You call it off and take me to her right now, or I’ll make it my mission to see you spend the rest of your life in the bottom of a pit somewhere deep inside the world’s asshole. Do I make myself clear?”

  Her smile is back.

  “I appreciate your concern,” she says. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  I feel a large presence behind me, and I know who it is even before I turn. It’s the man who dropped off the briefcase outside the Boom Boom Room.

  “My associate is here to escort you back to your penthouse, Mr. Drake.”

  “So,” I say. “We’re using names now?”

  “What harm can come from it at this stage?”

  You’ll soon see what harm can come from it, sister.

  “I’m not going home,” I say. “And if you’re smart, you’ll get on your phone right now and call everything off, then take me to her. If you don’t, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

  She pouts those ruby lips into a pitying look.

  “Mr. Drake, please don’t waste time on hollow threats.”

  “You’re right,” I say, hanging my head. “I should stop wasting time.”

  With that, I flex my right hip from the foot upwards and loop my right fist in a rising arc that connects squarely with her jaw.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  52. CASSANDRA

  The room isn’t in the Regent. Of course it’s not, that would be stupid.

  It’s in the Hotel James, a fleabag off of Times Square. The three goons are posted outside in the hallway, and I’m alone with Randall Buckner. Randall Fucking Buckner. How could I have been so stupid?

  “You know,” he says, “I should have just given you the key that day in Hell’s Kitchen instead of those roses,” he says, sitting on the swaybacked old bed and pulling off his boots. “I was pretty sure you were the one at that point – that’s why I bought you the white bouquet. They’re supposed to symbolize purity.”

  He looks me up and down like a steer at auction. Like I should know the color of the rose that symbolizes fucking purity. This guy makes me sick.

  “Course, I guess that doesn’t apply anymore,” he mutters, a disgusted grimace scraping his face. “But I guess we’ll make up for it.”

  “I don’t understand,” I breathe. “What’s going to make up for it?”

  He’s acting like someone who always gets his way, as if there’s no other possible outcome. I never really appreciated just how special Carson is among the obscenely rich. He’s a real person. A human being.

  Most of them are just obscenely entitled.

  “Well, like I told you on the ride here, I decided to forego my refund in order to get you for a night.”

  “Because the Russians think I cheated,” I say. “But they’re wrong! I didn’t cheat!”

  He chuckles. It makes his jowls quiver like a pair of turkey wattles.

  “Man alive, you are a feisty one!” he hoots. “That’s going to make this even better. Anyway, they want me to soften you up a bit so they can question you afterwards. They’re worried that maybe you and Drake are trying to collect some damning evidence to use against them.”

  “But we didn’t! We would never!”

  He untucks his cowboy shirt and starts to open the buttons.

  “Doesn’t really matter to me what they do with you after,” he says. “I just have to make sure you’re receptive to it. I’m good at making gals receptive. I rented out the whole floor tonight, just in case things get loud.”

  He slides his belt out of the loops on his jeans and coils it around one fist.

  I will the blood to rise into my cheeks.

  “No,” I whisper, lying through my teeth. I just need a second’s opening. I’ll rip this fat fuck to shreds. “It doesn’t have to be that way. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Honey, you’re going to do that anyway.”

  Panic creeps across my face as my eyes dart around the room.

  “I’ll be good,” I plead, shuffling closer to him. “I can p-please you.”

  He stops and gives me the once-over. I take that as a good sign and move even closer. I reach under the overhang of his belly and unbutton the fly of his jeans.

  His leathery palm whips forward and strikes my left cheek with a dry smacking sound. I gasp.

  “I didn’t say stop, bitch,” he growls.

  I avoid his eyes and tug downward on his jeans until the waist is around his knees.

  “What are you waiting for, stupid?” he says. “Take ‘em all the way off.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say, grabbing his right wrist in my left hand and twisting it inwards. The motion drags him toward me and to my right, where his nose connects squarely with my rising elbow.

  The wet crunch it makes is the most satisfying sound I’ve heard in a long time.

  “Guhnf,” he croaks as he stumbles forward. The waistband of his jeans trips him at the knee and he hurtles face-first toward the floor. My right knee stops his momentum, snapping his head back. The blow sends him sprawling onto his side on the floor, out cold.

  I time the thump of his fat gut landing with a scream.

  “No, please!” I cry, tugging off the ring that came in my Chase package. I realize now that it’s how they tracked me and sent Buckner to my location. I stuff it into his bleeding mouth.

  I clap my hands together hard and follow it up with another shriek.

  “Oh God! Someone help!”

  Meanwhile, I examine the window. There’s a slide opening at the bottom, but it’s not wide enough for me to wriggle through. The upper casement is big enough to fit through, but it doesn’t open.

  I figure I’ll have less than a minute before the goons in the hall come charging in.

  It’ll have to do.

  I pick up Buckner under his armpits and drag him toward the window. If I have to do this, might as well get some poetic justice out of it.

  I drop him on his knees on the windowsill and grip his skull on both sides. With a swift motion, I jerk it back and then drive it forward, shattering the glass.

  The inevitable knock comes as I wrap my hand in the curtain and knock out the remaining shards.

  “Sir! Everything all right?”

  I hop out onto the fire escape and swing onto the descending ladder. We’re on the third floor, so I have to hop from the end of the ladder onto the balcony below, then down its ladder and onto the alley below that.

  A goon’s head appears in the window just as I look up. I see the flash of the muzzle an instant before I hear the cough of the silencer. A slug kicks up chunks of pavement less than a dozen inches from my foot.

  I sprint from the alley into the street, melding into the Times Square crowd. It amazes me how someone who had the brains to become the seventeenth richest person in America could be stupid enough to pick a hotel right next to the most congested spot in North America.

  I emerge into the Square and get my bearings. Avoiding the goo
ns in here shouldn’t be difficult. The question is, where do I go next? The goons took my phone, so I can’t call Carson.

  Thank God it’s Times Square, one of the few places left in the country that still has payphones. This is going to be easier than I thought.

  As I rummage in my pocket for a quarter, I scan the area. And suddenly, all my bravado dries up and flies away like a feather in the wind.

  Across the street, Tricia is sitting at a table on the sidewalk outside a coffee shop. Next to her is a swarthy man I’ve never seen.

  He’s pointing a gun at her under the table.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  53. CARSON

  The big man is much faster than he has any right to be.

  He’s easily six-nine and probably four hundred pounds, but he’s on me in a flash, wrapping his tree trunk arms around me in a bear hug from behind. He straightens to his full height, lifting me a good three inches off the ground.

  It presents an interesting challenge from a physics perspective: my arms are locked in place and I have no leverage since my feet are off the ground.

  Luckily, I don’t need leverage to use my trapezius muscles to whip my head backwards.

  The back of my skull connects squarely with the bridge of the big man’s nose and I hear cartilage snap. He reflexively drops me and reaches up to touch his shattered face, allowing me time to land, drop to my back and piston my right foot upwards into his balls.

  Again, thanks to physics, I have the upper hand because I have the stability of the ground under me. Combine that with the hours I spend in the gym with Matthias every day and my odds in this confrontation are actually pretty good.

  Now might be a good time to mention that Matthias is a retired four-time world mixed martial arts champion. When I say he kicks my ass, I mean he literally kicks my ass.

  The big man is reeling backwards, consumed with pain I’ve inflicted to two of his most vulnerable areas, giving the perfect opportunity to finish this with a couple of shots to his kidneys and a shin kick to the base of his thigh where it meets the knee.

  Pain explodes in my temple and the world goes wobbly for a moment. When my vision finally clears, I see him still stumbling but flailing wildly. It’s my own damn fault for underestimating him – his arms are almost as big as my legs. If there’s one thing that physics can’t compensate for, it’s mass. And the big man has that in spades.

  I reach down and throw a handful of dirt into his face, sending him staggering backward, following it up with a stomp kick downward to his knee. That does the trick; his leg collapses inward and twists at an unnatural angle.

  He’s not getting up from that. Now to finish with Red Dress.

  I scan the area: she’s gone.

  Shit. I underestimated her ability to recover from that punch. If Matthias finds out I couldn’t knock out a woman, I’m really in trouble.

  Then again, I get the sense she’s no ordinary woman.

  A crowd has started to gather – typical New Yorkers, only show up when the fight is over – so I head back down the way I came as fast as I can go. I pull out my phone and call Cassie.

  No answer. Shit.

  All right, don’t panic. Clear, rational thinking. You’ve always been able to do it before.

  Yeah, but you’ve never been in love with a woman in danger before.

  I thumb Maksim’s picture in my contacts. He picks up on the third ring.

  “Tovarishch! What is up, dog?”

  “Maks, listen carefully,” I pant as I emerge from the park onto Madison Avenue. “I need you to meet me at my apartment immediately with everything you have on your uncle. Photos, records, anything tangible.”

  The line is silent for several moments.

  “I don’t have time to fuck around, Maks! Really bad things are going to happen if you don’t!”

  “Ennh, Carson, I’m not really wanting to do that…”

  “Listen!” I bellow. “Cassie is in danger, and if anything happens to her, I swear to God I’ll spend my last dime making sure every member of your family ends up deported back to Russia and thrown into prison to rot for the rest of their miserable lives!”

  I know I’m not serious. I think I’m not serious. But right now, I’m being pushed. And there’s no limit to what I’ll do to the person who threatens the woman I love.

  “Bozhe moi! Cassie is in danger?”

  “If you only take one thing seriously in your entire life, Maks, this has to be it! Get what I need and get to my place! Now!”

  I end the call and sprint harder toward home. A cab blares its horn at me as I cut across the avenue and into its back seat. I gasp out my address and throw a hundred dollar bill at him. He takes off like Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

  Long minutes tick by as my heart hammers in my chest. I can’t have found Cassie again, only to turn around and lose her like this. I can’t!

  After what seems like an eternity, I see my building. I jump out on the fly in the middle of the street and sprint to the front door.

  Chuck’s eyes widen as he sees me coming, and he throws open the door.

  “Everything okay, Mr. D?”

  “No,” I say. “Buzz me when Maks gets here, will you?”

  “Will do, sir.”

  I stab the button for my elevator and, thank heaven for small favors, it’s already on the ground floor. It takes me up the eighty stories at a painfully slow rate, allowing me time to think about every possible horrible scenario that could happen to Cassie.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  54. CASSANDRA

  Assess the threat. Analyze the options. Choose the outcome with the best chance of survival.

  These concepts are all ingrained in me to the point of being second nature. But I’ve never been in a situation where someone I love is in the line of fire. Literally.

  I scan the area on either side of the table, but I already know that there won’t be any heroic measures. The potential for catastrophe in such a crowded place is unacceptable. If there’s one reason I went into the CIA, it was to stop Americans getting hurt. I won’t have it happen on my watch.

  There’s only one way out of this that I can see.

  Tricia looks like she can’t decide between panic and fury. Her eyes are like a caged animal’s, but the snarl on her lips says she’d castrate this guy as soon as look at him if she could. My gut is in knots knowing that something I did put her in danger.

  I approach the table head-on, giving the gunman plenty of time to see my red hair and recognize me. The last thing I want is to get close and startle him, for fear that he reflexively pulls the trigger.

  Tricia sees me first, her eyes widening.

  “Cassie, get out of here!” she calls. “It’s a set-up!”

  The gunman looks up and sees me. My hands are raised to show him I’m not armed.

  “It’s all right, Trish,” I say calmly. “This is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll get it sorted out.”

  “Thank you for being so reasonable,” the guy says. His accent tags him as Albanian. “Your friend here was only meant to be a failsafe. Looks like my employers were right not to underestimate you.”

  “Let her go,” I say. “It’s me you want.”

  “Where is the winning contestant?”

  “On the way to the emergency room, if he’s lucky.”

  He frowns.

  “That is unexpected.”

  He pulls out a phone and hits a speed-dial number. Then a conversation in Russian. I’m not an expert, but I have a working familiarity. I make out references to compensation and a cleanup crew, as well as the Hotel James. All in all, it doesn’t sound promising.

  “Da,” he says, then ends the call.

  “You piece of shit,” Tricia spits. “My friend Maks is connected with some powerful Russians. When he finds out what you’re doing –”

  “The people behind this are those powerful Russians,” I say. “Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t know this would happen.”

  Tricia’s
eyes are wild, looking from me to the gunman and back again.

  “What the hell is going on here, Cass?”

  “I’ll explain later. Right now I have to go with this gentleman here. As soon as he lets you go.”

  He stands up, and I see that he’s draped a nylon running jacket over his clasped hands, hiding the gun.

  “Actually, you are both coming with me,” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “Uh-uh. Me only.”

  A black Lincoln pulls up beside us and the gunman opens the back door.

  “Both of you get in,” he says. “Or both of you die right here and I jump in this car and speed away.”

  Shit.

  “I’m so sorry, Trish,” I say, taking her by the shoulder and pulling her into the car.

  “What do you mean about Maks? He’s not involved in this, is he? Cassie, what is going on?”

  “It’s a long story,” I sigh as the Albanian closes the door and gets in the front with the driver.

  55. CARSON

  The elevator doors open and I drag Maks out by the collar.

  “Come with me,” I say, leading him down the hall to the computer room.

  “I’m not getting what is happening,” he yelps as I toss him onto the sofa. “What is going on with Cassie? Why are you being so angry?”

  I take a deep breath and sit down opposite him, fixing him with a glare that I hope conveys just how serious the situation is.

  “Long story short,” I say. “Your uncle and whoever else in involved in running the Chase have Cassie. They’re going to hurt her.”

  “Bozhe moi,” he breathes. “But why?”

  “Cassie was the quarry in the Chase. I caught her. But your uncle thinks we cheated and that we’re somehow conspiring against him.”

  He blinks rapidly, staring at nothing.

  “I looked up your family while you were on your way here,” I say, calling up the screen on the window. It fills with a grainy shot of a man in his sixties, with a brush cut and deep pouches under his eyes.

  “I know your uncle is Alexei Ivchenko. Except that’s an alias – I can’t find any record of him before 2004. You would have been seventeen at the time, so you obviously know his real name. What is it?”