Dmitry's Redemption

by Latrivia Welch

  “Do you need to leave?” she asked concerned.

  “No,” Erik said, looking at his watch. He had a few hours before the hit was scheduled, and there was no way he was going to spend that time in the fucking waiting room of a hospital. “Do you have some time right now?” He put his hand on her lower back, feeling the small curve of her body and the assurance that she wasn’t wearing a wire. He leaned obscenely close to her ear. “We can have a chat. I’ll even have some food fixed for you. You like geoduck? My chef makes the best in London.”

  “Love it,” Zoya answered, following his lead. She knew he was testing her, seeing how informed she was on the finest delicacies. “But only in sashimi slices with yuzu sauce. Anything else makes me queasy.”

  “Is there any other way to eat it?” he asked, impressed already. What else did she know? He was dying to find out. Dying to slide his cock in between those long legs, if she let him.

  “What about my baby?” Zoya asked, looking at her dog. She paused as if getting rid of him was a deal breaker.

  Erik took the leash from her delicate hand. “My men will take care of him,” he promised, as one of his guards opened the doors for them. “Right now, I just want to take care of you.”

  “Umm. I need to take care of,” Zoya said in a whimper. She winked at him. “Something about you makes me feel so…free. You’re just so…alpha.” Feeding his ego without appearing to be too smart, she watched him inflate to the point to exploding.

  “We can find a way to talk about that as well,” Eric said, pressing the dog’s leash into his guard’s chest. He turned to the man quickly and snarled. “Watch this fucking dog, and don’t let him out of your sight.”

  With great care, Erik led Zoya into his house and thought nothing more about Tatiana. Chemical burns would leave scars. Scars would be visible. What in the hell could he do with that? It was time to switch gears, at least for the moment. When they stabilized his wife, he’d send her a huge bouquet of exotic flowers and divorce papers, but only after he buried himself deep in his newest project.

  Chapter Ten

  1995

  Trinidad

  North Coast Road

  Maracas Beach

  Dusk

  R oughly shifting gears, Dmitry veered sharply to the left on the fork of North Coast Road in his stolen candy-apple red Porsche, headed toward the call of the majestic Maracas Beach and the rare opportunity for solitude. After all, he had been through today, he deserved a little quiet time, especially since he had killed seven men for it.

  It might have been more than seven men he had killed, truthfully.

  A flashback of the hours before sent chills down his spine. Things had happened so fast earlier, there was no time to prepare. Adrenaline spiked. Training kicked in, and he moved with tunnel vision on autopilot as soon as he saw one of the guards raise his automatic weapon during a meet and greet with a local buyer. In that instant, Dmitry knew it was either him or them. There was no time to think, no time to question, no time to ask – only time act. As he pulled the trigger, each time, he could feel himself give in to the madness. What should have been deafening sounds of gun blasts were quiet whispers in hyper chaos where time slowed, and killer instinct took over. Without hesitation, he became worse than his brother Ivan, more strategic with every bullet expelled, every knife wound inflicted, every blow landed – in that environment, he had become Frankenstein’s monster with no master to speak of and no future to see.

  During his one-man massacre, Dmitry lost count after killing three men, had started seeing red by five and had blacked out by seven. But no matter how many incompetent cartel members he had killed that cursed afternoon, his bloodlust wouldn’t leave him. It only grew more furious, hungry to be unleashed once and for all, to not be controlled by the good and evil of things as it had before.

  What good was a moral compass to an arms dealer anyway? Trying to be a reasonable, respectable man in a corrupt world had never gotten him anywhere. It was only when he was as cutthroat as his adversaries that he gained the edge he needed. Today had proven that…

  A gust of wind from the open window blew through his golden locks, cooling his face and drying the sticky brain matter drenching his white linen dress shirt. He remembered the shock on those men’s faces as bullets traveling at 3,200 feet-per-second penetrated through the eight cranial muscles designed to protect their brains, leaving singed wounds from smoking gun powder, disarming their physical reactions, leaving a hole of abraded, hanging flesh at the projectile’s entry, and rendering them lifeless mid-motion. Dropping lifeless to the ground, their blank glares were hollow, staring off into an unknown abyss. Now, their collective DNA lingered on his skin. Their souls had passed to the next plane, and their singular, mad dog killer roamed free both regretful and confused about what had triggered the attack.

  Two questions bemused him. Who had set him up? Why?

  The smell of the salty ocean filled his nostrils, promising an answer to his silent prayer, even if it did not give him answers about the assassination attempt. But every time he felt even a second of respite, he was reminded of yet another betrayal. Someone close to him had paid to have him killed and no matter who it was – Emma or Ivan – the truth was too much to handle. This meet and greet had been offered as quick money, low hanging fruit, but behind its generosity, the true purpose was to bring him to an untimely end.

  In that moment an old Latin saying he had read in one of the many books in his late wife’s library came to mind, Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes. Maybe Virgil was a man before his time? Maybe he had been betrayed as well, in some lost land long ago?

  Make it stop! Dmitry begged quietly. Eyes watering behind his Aviator shades as the sun’s last brilliant rays died over the breathtaking waterway, he pressed his large foot down on the accelerator, pushing the engine to a determined growl as he felt the tires adjust to his reckless speeds. One wrong move, and he’d wipe out – flip right over and land over in the marsh. But Dmitry didn’t care.

  Wrecking this overpriced hunk of metal wouldn’t compare to the carnage he had just left behind him – that he had left in his wake his entire life. His mother. His brother. His girlfriend. His wife. His brother’s wife. The list went on and on and on. Everyone he loved had either left him or was ripped from this world violently. And in response, what had he done – sent more souls to join them.

  Well, the blonde butcher had had enough. Fuck it. I give up, he conceded quietly.

  After all his years of fighting, trying to keep his little family together, to build something for him and his little brother, to rise above his station, to be better or more than just the killer that dwelled in his base instinct, he still had arrived full circle. Nothing he did would ever separate him from who he was.

  I see you, Dmitry Medlov, a voice taunted in his head. A mocking laugh followed. You’ll never find what you’re looking for.

  “What am I looking for?” he asked aloud. There was no answer, because the voice in his head was not there. It was a cruel hallucination and a common side effect when one chose to blow up a make-shift cocaine factory.

  He could still taste the illicit drugs on his numbed gums, feel the gritty residue in his hair. The odds had been against him, but he had escaped narrowly. While the hideout burned to the ground, he stumbled out of the rubble and found the quasi-military general’s car, hotwired it and gunned out to the main road.

  An hour’s drive later, he was far from the Port of Spain and the reach of his complicated life. Certain his men were frantically looking for him, Dmitry didn’t want to go back – ever go back. He just wanted it all to stop. There was only so much that one man could take, and in his young life, he was sure he had taken more than most.

  Pulling into a small dirt lot only a few hundred feet from the berm of Maracas Beach, he parked facing the ocean, allowing the engine to run as he stared blankly toward the dancing blue-green waves, envious of their tranquility.

  For several minutes, he sat compl
etely still, barely breathing, barely blinking until a pain shot through his abdomen. The feeling was akin to hot needles stabbing into all his nerves. In the middle of the fight, he had taken a few hard knocks, even a few knife gashes, and while it was painful, it was mostly cosmetic. With a cringe, he grabbed his side, doubling over to cough blood. A trickle of bright red residue oozed onto the peanut-butter colored leather passenger seat, forming a trail of saliva that ran into the pores of the expensive upholstery.

  That would surely depreciate the Blue Book value.

  “Shit,” he hissed with his jaw clenched as he flung the door open.

  Wallowing in pain all evening was not the cards for him. He wanted to get out, smell the salt water, feel the warmth of the sun and the tropic breeze one last time before it was completely gone and then…

  He stepped out of the car, standing up to his full length, still applying pressure to his wound. A glance across the waterway made him tear up. Why couldn’t life be this simple? Frown lines formed across his forehead as he limped away from the parking lot toward the beach. No one was out this evening, no tourists, no locals, no one to stop him.

  …he would walk out into the ocean until his feet no longer touched the bottom. But he would not swim. He would not float. He would summon the waves like Poseidon and order them to rush over his body, sending him to an aquatic grave.

  As Dmitry limped across the white sand in his thousand-dollar loafers, the waves became louder, drowning out the thoughts that haunted him. Tears filled his eyes, obstructing his view. Just a few more feet and it would all be over. Ivan could go on and have the life he had been adamantly demanding. Davyd could take over his business and probably run it better than he. Emma could sue for control of Hutton Industries, and the world would keep on turning. No one would really miss him, not for long.

  Kicking off his shoes, he peeled out of the bloody shirt, casting it to the sand as he continued toward the water. Ignoring the cuts and bruises on his body, he stopped for a second, reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. He didn’t want anyone to be able to identify who he was once this was all over.

  Throwing it into the waves, he clutched the diamond cross necklace his late girlfriend, Elsa, had given him the night she graduated from Oxford. It would be a shame to take it with him. Carefully, he pulled it from his neck and bent to place it on the sand. Someone would find it. Make good use of it.

  Raising from his crouched position, he took one final look toward the dying sun and put a foot in the warm water, toward his intention. If there were sharks near, they would smell the blood on him and come calling to rip him apart, leaving nothing to bury and nothing to mourn over - just the way he wanted it. Exhaling a deep breath, he took another step.

  “Nothing in life is that bad, you know,” a female voice said a few feet behind him. Her tone was urgent and stern, begging him not to take another step toward his dismal end.

  Shit. Dmitry thought he was alone. Knowing someone was watching him, made this extremely embarrassing. Closing his eyes, he exhaled another breath and rolled his eyes. “Go away,” he said flatly.

  “No,” the woman answered defiantly, approaching carefully from behind. She bent and picked up the necklace. Standing at his side while inspecting the fine quality of the jewelry, she looked up at the stranger. “Is this real?” she asked, purposefully interrupting his pity party.

  Dmitry growled in irritation. “Yes. Now take it and leave,” he ordered, right eye twitching. What the hell? Could he not even die in peace? “I’m not going to tell you again, go!” He turned to her, scowl more pronounced by his reddened cheeks. Tears still streaming, he froze recognizing a tremor of attraction between the two. Killing one’s self was very much like taking a piss, nearly impossible when someone was watching. But when that someone was also extremely sexy, the act was implausible.

  The dark-skinned woman, eyes big as a full moon, lips lush, complexion flawless, glanced up at him, unmoved by his large size or his rudeness. Her thick black brow lifted in judgement as she stood defiantly against his command. “If I leave you, you’ll just kill yourself, and I can’t have that on my conscience.” Her accent was unmistakably Trinidadian, but the tone was so sweet it danced on the wind and over the waves like a mythical Green siren.

  Dmitry swallowed hard, feeling his emotions clot tangibly in this throat. “Where did you even come from?” he asked, looking down the deserted beach. Only oversized, multi-colored umbrellas and wooden beach chairs kept the two strangers company in the fading light of the sunset.

  “I was taking a walk, like I do every evening, and I saw you.” She glanced at his bleeding side. “You’re in bad shape, yeah?” Putting a finger gently on his skin, she shook her head. “It’s help you need, not the salt water. You’ll catch infection.”

  “Not if you leave me to it,” Dmitry said, sure she understood his meaning.

  “But I can’t,” she countered calmly.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not the Christian thing to do.”

  “I’m not exactly a saint, lady.”

  “Who is?” She shrugged. “Except the real saints and the Virgin Mary. I’m neither.”

  The wind blew between them as the sun drifted beyond the horizon. And suddenly Dmitry’s desire to end his life dissipated. Trailing his gaze down to the nosy woman, he noticed she was wearing a multi-colored thong and a skimpy swimming top that barely covered her areolas. Rigid nipples pressed against the fabric and drew the fever out of him. “You shouldn’t be out looking like that,” he said, forgetting his own peril.

  The mysterious woman stepped back and put her hand on her hip. “I’m not ashamed of what God gave me. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, get back in your fancy car and drive away. This is my island. My ancestors made it so. You and your funny accent can go back to wherever you came from.”

  Dmitry smirked. “Russia.”

  “Wherever that is,” she said, narrowing her gaze at him. Turning around, she looked the way she had come. “My place is not far. Come with me and I’ll patch you up with what I have inside.”

  Dmitry had never seen such an audacious, sensual shape on any woman in his life. Such a small waist, such carved muscles in her abdomen, such large, muscular thighs, such round pertinent breast – every inch of her was natural, every inch beautiful, sultry, amazing. With hair cut down so low on her little head, he could barely see it and so much authority in her presence and voice, he was tempted to grab her right there and…

  “Well, do you want help or not?” she asked, interrupting his lude thoughts with the snap of her fingers. “I don’t have all day.”

  Normally, Dmitry would have been a gentleman, but the woman had caught him on a bad day and all normal learned socially acceptable behaviors were implausible, considering their untimely meeting. “I don’t want your help, I want you,” he answered. Stepping closer, he reached out and touched her cheek. “What’s your name?”

  “Sanaa,” she answered, pushing his hand away. “What’s yours?”

  “Dmitry.”

  “Well, Dmitry,” she handed him back his necklace. “You can’t have everything you want. If you can accept that, then you won’t find yourself trying to walk into the ocean just because you had a bad day.”

  Her advice made him laugh aloud. “Da, da, zachine. I have had a shit day straight from the bowels of hell.” Holding the necklace in his hand, he lifted it and put the chain around her neck. “Here, you take it.”

  Sanaa frowned. “Once you give it to me, you can’t have it back.”

  Dmitry shook his head. “We can work on a trade.” Moving away from the water, he walked slowly down the beach with her. “So, what do you do, Sanaa, besides interrupt people?”

  “I’m a lifeguard,” she said proudly. “I save lives.” Her feet kicked up the sand as she walked beside him. “What do you do?”

  Dmitry found the irony comical. “I’m a mobster. I take lives.” He half expected her to stop right there and leave
him to finish himself off, but she just kept walking like he had said nothing at all.

  Sanaa pulled at the chain as she glanced across the waterway. “You should consider changing professions. It’s taking its toll on you.”

  “You might be right,” Dmitry said, looking down at her with a half-crooked smile. “Do you live alone?”

  “It’s a small place. Only meant for one.” From the looks of him, she wasn’t sure he even understood what a humble little shack looked like.

  “Can you make room for one more, just for tonight?” he asked, stopping in his tracks. He turned to look at her, enjoying the chance to do so. “Let me repay you for saving my life?”

  Sanaa’s attention was drawn to the intricate tattoos across his mountainous chest. She’d heard about men like him before. People whispered when they came into town. Everyone avoided them. They were trouble. Big trouble.

  “If I let you stay, IF…” She raised a finger as her voice rose slightly. Their eyes were locked on each other. “You had better not make me regret it.”

  “If you let me stay, I know of one part you won’t regret,” Dmitry said, tongue and cheek.

  “You seem overly confident in yourself.” Sanaa smirked. “Most men like you tend to but trust me when I tell you it’s just the money, friend. Without it, the girls would be singing a different tune.”

  Dmitry liked a challenge. This one made him feel alive again.

  The thought of her brown body laid across a bed was driving him mad. Dred had been replaced by heated desire. Dmitry pulled her to him and picked her up in two swift motions. Even though she was thick, it was all muscle, more than likely from swimming in the same bay he was prepared to use as a coffin.

  With his hands cupping her large firm ass, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, tasting those big lips that had smarted off to him seconds before. He lost himself in her mouth, emptied his pain, sucked at her tongue, fondled her as he held her against him by slipping his fingers into the fabric that covered her plump little place, pressed her breasts against his bare chest. Damn, he had never wanted to fuck a woman so bad in his entire life.