by Rina Kent
“So she’s the one Kyle married.” the stranger observes quietly. British accent. Wait, could he be…
“Are you…Kyle’s…”
“Godfather, yes. My official name is Ghost, but you can call me Julian.”
“You’re the one who told him he’s dangerous.” My voice rises. “Why would you say something like that to him? Don’t you know he lost his parents when he was freaking five? They were murdered in front of his eyes, and he was never able to receive love after that. That’s why he becomes overprotective—it’s because he doesn’t want to lose any more people. He says you raised him and knew him his entire life, so how could you make him believe he’s defective?”
“Because he is.” Julian remains calm, not a single muscle moving in his face. “He was defective from a young age, and he will never love normally or have fairytale characteristics. He’s obsessive, he’s driven, and he can become reckless sometimes. It’s who he is and it will never change.”
“Who told you I want to change him? I accept him the way he is.” My lips part at that confession, because it’s true. I do accept him the way he is. I even love those darker parts of him, the overprotectiveness, the possessiveness, how he makes me feel like I’m his world. I love everything about him, from his infuriating passive-aggressive attitude to how he provokes me and everything in between.
I love him.
I just love him, and that’s what has been breaking my heart since I woke up to find a letter in his place.
“No wonder he said he drove you to the point of no return,” Julian muses.
My heart picks up speed. “Have you talked to him?”
“Yes, some time ago.”
I leave Sergei’s side and stand in front of him. “Where is he? What is he doing?”
“Last time I checked, he was trying to kill Rolan.”
“He’s not dead.” I chance a glance at Sergei. “Right?”
“No, he isn’t,” my granduncle confirms.
“Then…where is he?”
Julian forms a steeple at his chin. “I suspect something went wrong.”
“What?” My voice sounds as spooked as I feel.
“When I was talking to him, I believe he was interrupted.”
“Interrupted by what?”
“The question is who.”
“What happened?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.” Julian stares at his watch. “If Rolan has a demand, he would make it about now.”
“You think Rolan has him?”
“I’m almost sure. Kyle went there to kill him, and since he’s not dead, that means the situation slipped out of control.”
I brace myself against the chair, sucking in a deep breath. The idiot. Why did he have to go there? Why did he jeopardize himself like that?
He’ll be okay, right? It’s Kyle, after all. No one will be able to hurt him.
Sergei’s office phone goes off, its ringing echoing in the silence of the space. My head jerks up at the sound.
Granduncle picks it up and puts it on speaker. “Sergei Sokolov.”
“Rolan Fitzpatrick. How have ye been, Sergei?” The unmistakable voice with the Irish accent slips through the phone. My fingers dig into the cushion of the chair.
“Good, good.”
“Unfortunately, the piece of news I have might ruin yer mood.”
“What happened?”
“Sadly, I was attacked by one of your closest men. Your grandniece’s husband, I believe. How unfortunate.”
“Where is he?” Sergei asks slowly, not losing his cool, which is far different from how I’m barely holding on.
“He’s with the lads downstairs. How unfortunate, indeed.” He has a provocative way of speaking, slow, but meant to get on your nerves.
“What do you want?” Sergei asks.
“Not much. Just the territories you’ve been slaughtering my lads over. Hand me those and I’ll hand ye yer in-law.”
“You think I would ever give up brotherhood territories?”
“Does that mean you’d rather give him up? Unfortunate. Very unfortunate.” Rolan pauses. “I’ll give ye a day to think about it. After that, I’ll send ye his head.”
The line goes dead and I stagger against the chair. My stomach churns and I grab it as I slowly sit down.
“Are you okay?” Sergei asks me.
“I’m…not.” My voice catches at the end, but I swallow and meet his gaze. “We have to do something.”
“I won’t give up Bratva’s territories, not even for my own daughter. After all, dozens of men died to secure them. The leaders would choose to kill Kyle themselves instead of making the brotherhood appear weak.”
I know that. I know it, and yet, my brain is fried. All I keep thinking about is the image of Kyle’s head.
Shit.
My stomach lurches again and the need to vomit hits me out of nowhere. I breathe deeply to shoo the sensation away.
I can’t fall down now. If I do, I won’t be able to protect Kyle and our unborn child.
Sucking in a deep breath, I face Sergei. “Can you call a meeting? I have a plan.”
30
Kyle
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
Mam? Where are you?
The place is pitch-black like a cave. It smells rotten too, as if a dead animal is decomposing inside it. My legs get lost in something sticky underneath, but I can’t see it.
I can’t see anything except for darkness.
The sound of weeping gets louder the more I walk. It’s my mother. I’d recognize the sound anywhere, even though it’s been thirty years.
“Mam? Where are ye?” I don’t know why I’m speaking in a Northern Irish accent, but all of a sudden, it feels as if I’m back to being that small boy. The only difference is that I’m trapped in a grown-up’s body. “Mam!”
The only answer is the sound of weeping. It’s long and wretched as if her grief is clawing out from the grave.
“Mam, come out. I can protect ye now. No one will hurt ye.”
The weeping ceases and a rustle comes from right in front of me. I halt, the sound of the sticky mud under my feet stopping too.
The darkness slowly dissipates like fog in the early morning. A slender woman stands in front of me, tears sliding down her cheeks. Her face is soft, petite, and her nose is straight, like she’s from aristocratic origins.
Her hair has a reddish hue and freckles are like specks of dust on her cheeks and nose. My mother used to tell me it’s unfair that I look nothing like her and resemble my father instead.
She’s wearing the trousers and the jacket from the day when she held me in her arms and attempted to run. Her blue eyes that match mine aren’t sad like back then, though. There are laugh lines around them, even as tears continue streaming down her cheeks.
So this is how she looked. I had started to forget her face, and it has turned into a white halo over the years.
“Ye finally found me, baby boy.”
“Ma…” I start toward her, wanting to hug her or even watch her closer.
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. “If you come closer, I’ll disappear.”
“Why would you disappear?”
“You found me but ye didn’t find yer father yet, right?”
“Dad is the reason ye’re gone, Ma. He’s the reason I had to become like this. Have ye forgotten?”
“No, but ye have to find yer father, and if ye can, forgive him.”
“I’m not exactly a ghost hunter.”
“He’s not a wee ghost. He’s by yer side, too. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry yer mammy was a such a disgrace.”
“What are ye talking about? It wasn’t yer fault.”
“It was, and ye and Niall paid for it. Now, ye’re paying again, and so is yer wife.”
“What does Rai have to do with this…?” I trail off when my wife appears beside Mum and places her hand in hers. She’s wearing a wh
ite nightgown, but bruises cover her porcelain skin, as I left her this morning. Her hair falls to her shoulders in disarray, and mascara streaks down her pale cheeks.
I swallow, forcing myself to look at her. “Rai? What are you doing here?”
She says nothing, her lips thinned in a line, and I hate that I can’t listen to her voice even now. What was I thinking? I already left and there’s no going back.
But can I have a last touch? Just once more.
I step toward them, wanting to take them both somewhere no one can find them. A large figure appears behind them, and the unmistakable click of a gun ripples in the air.
My legs stick to what’s underneath them as Rolan’s shadowed face comes into view.
I reach into my waistband for my gun, but my hands find nothing. Fuck. I bend over to search at my ankle, but the knife isn’t there either.
Fuck. Fuck!
A smirk lifts Rolan’s lips as he places the gun to Mum’s head then slides it to Rai’s. “Choose one, my lad.”
“Take me! I’m the one you want, right?”
“Not really.”
A shot rings in the air and a patch of blood covers my mother’s chest in the same place as it had thirty years ago.
I run toward them, but it’s too late.
Rai clutches her middle and falls to her knees, blood gurgling from her lips. A tear slides down and clings to her upper lip as scarlet red explodes from her stomach.
“No,” I whisper, then roar, “Noooo!”
I startle awake, my clothes sticking to my body with sweat and my pulse close to beating out of my throat.
For a moment, I think I’m in that dark, rotten place and if I look down, I’ll find my mother’s and Rai’s bodies lying lifeless at my feet.
“Ye’re finally awake, Sleeping Beauty.”
My head jerks up, and just like in the nightmare, Rolan is standing in front of me, holding a gun in his hand. The only difference is, we’re not in that tunnel anymore. We’re in a gray room with a metal door. The only furniture is a table covered in torture devices: nail clippers, whips, screwdrivers, and knives. Nothing I haven’t seen over the years.
I’m tied to a chair by thick ropes around my wrists and torso, the thing digging into my skin with how strong the knot is.
A few of Rolan’s guards are stationed near the wall. Flame is one of them. Thank fuck.
I try not to squint at him or draw attention. He’s wearing black trousers and a plain gray T-shirt. His red beard is trimmed and his bland blue eyes are watching me as if I’m a cockroach. He’s always been the best at controlling his facial expressions.
“I have to admit,” Rolan continues, “I hadn’t thought the Russians’ sniper would show up at my door like a wee stray kitten.”
“Surprise, motherfucker.” I grin.
He narrows his eyes. I might not remember my uncle from when we lived under the same roof, but due to later research, I know he doesn’t like it when things don’t go according to his plan.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” I scoff. “But then again, why would an old man like you recall the good ol’ days?”
I keep staring at him. If I’m already caught, might as well face him. Besides, it’s my chance to buy Flame time so he can get me out of here.
Rolan places the muzzle of his gun at my cheek, then uses it to make me show him the other side of my face. “I suspected it was ye. I thought ye’d be dead in a hole ’bout now.”
“Obviously, I’m not dead, Uncle. As I said, surprise, motherfucker.”
“Don’t call me uncle, ye filthy bastard.”
“Why? You don’t like thinking about how you murdered your own brother in cold blood?”
“I was never yer fecking uncle. Your whore mother was pregnant with ye before marrying Niall and hid it. But even when I gave my brother all the evidence to get rid of her and ye, he still had a soft spot for that fecking harlot. I had no choice but to do it myself because my brother wasn’t fit to lead us. He was too weak and didn’t deserve to be boss. I did. So I just took it.”
My mouth falls open. Did he just say Niall wasn’t my father?
Find yer father, Kyle. He’s not a ghost.
Mum’s words from the nightmare slam back to me. Could it be a warning about the truth?
“Who is he?” I ask Rolan. “Who’s my father?”
He releases a long laugh that echoes in the space around us. “Ah. Isn’t this grand? Ye lived with the Russians for years and still didn’t recognize yer father? A bastard is a bastard, after all.”
“Who the fuck is he?”
“Don’t ye worry, my lad. I already called him and gave him evidence that ye’re his boy, so if he does want ye, he’ll show up. Though, I doubt anyone wants a filthy bastard whose only use is killing from the shadows.”
“Was he the one from that night? The one who came when my mother tried to escape?”
“Probably. Yer mother was smart, but not fast enough. My idiot brother promised to protect her and ye, but she knew I’d kill ye both the first chance I got, so she decided to leave. But that didn’t turn out grand for her, did it?”
“I’m going to kill you,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “I don’t care how or when, but it’s going to happen.”
“Grand threats from a wee boy.” He taps my cheek with his gun. “Ye’re nothing, Kyle. Ye always were nothing since ye were born. I told the Russians they’d get ye once they give up territories, but here’s a secret.” He leans in to whisper. “I’ll kill ya anyway. This time, I’ll make sure ye join yer mother’s side.” He steps back and motions at his guards. “Take good care of him and make him scream.”
“Aye, boss!”
Two guards follow him, leaving me with Flame and two others.
“Guess I should start.” Flame appears bored as he heads to the table and retrieves the nail clippers, muttering under his breath. “What a pain in the arse.”
I’m actually impressed with his Irish accent; it almost sounds authentic.
He stands in front of me, his eyes gleaming with pure sadism. “Shall we, lad?”
The fucker is so engrossed in his role.
“I don’t usually waste time.” He taps the nail clippers on his hand. “I know people start with the least painful torture then go up, but I prefer hardcore stuff from the get-go. It’s more fun, innit, lads?”
The other two nod like idiots.
I glare up at him, and he hits me in the face with the device. “What are ye looking at, ye little fuck?”
I groan as pain explodes in my temple and hot liquid cascades down my face.
The fucker.
“Blood—yum.” He grins, and he’s definitely not faking it. The sick fuck does enjoy the sight of blood more than anything. “Let’s start with those pretty nails, eh?” He steps behind me and takes my hand in his. I tense, holding my breath. If he hurts my sniper arm, I’m going to bloody murder him.
“Oh wait.” He motions at one of the guards. “Pass me a knife, would ya? I want to cut his skin at the same time.”
The younger of the two, obviously eager to please, goes to the table, snatches a knife, and comes to our side. His entire attention is on me as he hands the sharp object to Flame.
That’s his mistake.
Flame jams the knife in the man’s jugular and slices. A bloody fountain splashes on my face and clothes. I close my eyes so it doesn’t get inside.
The bastard always goes for the most gruesome methods.
The other guard realizes the situation and yanks out his gun, but he’s by no means faster than Flame. My mentor gets his gun out first and shoots him in the forehead, killing him on the spot.
“Ah, pain in the arse.” Flame snatches the knife from the man’s throat. The victim grabs his neck, choking on his own blood, but to no avail. A few seconds later, he’s on the ground, drowning in a pool of crimson.
Flame uses the knife to cut the ropes. I spring to my feet and yank a gun from the bloodied man’s
hand.
“Now, I got blood all over me.” He switches to his bored—and normal—English accent as he wipes his face with the back of his hand.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have slit his fucking throat.”
“It’s more fun that way.”
Crazy fuck.
“Now what?” I head to the entrance. “Is there a clear exit?”
I need to get out of here before the Russians actually decide to save me. That would mean Rai would get involved, and there’s no way in hell I’ll let her near the bastard Rolan.
“Not really.” Flame clicks his gun. “We’ll have to get out the old-fashioned way.”
“Which is?”
He hits me upside the head. “Kill our way out, punk. Did playing house with the Russians make you lose your skills?”
“Piss off.” I narrow my eyes on him. “You were going to clip my nails.”
“He said screams.” He grins as he types in a code on the door, causing it to open. “You know I like those.”
“Fucker.”
“By the way, the beep of the door alerts all the other guards. They’ll be swarming us any second now. Ready?”
“Always.”
“Though, there should be backup coming up.”
“Who?”
He rolls his eyes. “Your beloved godfather.”
I don’t want him involved either, so I’ll just get out of here on my own.
We rush in different directions, but unlike what I expected, only two guards come by. We shoot both as we make our way up the stairs. “Where are they?”
“They should be around.” He studies our surroundings. “Unless Rolan has them.”
“Even better. Take me to him.”
“Bloody annoying.” He shakes his head, but leads me up the stairs to a lounge area.
I stop short at the scene in front of me.
Rai is here.
With Rolan.
Just like in the scene from my nightmare.
31
Rai
I did it.
I’m in the Irish’s club, which Rolan has a back office in.
It hasn’t been an individual effort. Thanks to Julian and his acquaintance with Kyle’s insider with the Irish, we were able to figure out the location.
