Darkest Deeds
Cavalieri Della Morte
Cora Kenborn
Copyright © 2019 by Cora Kenborn
Cover: Jay Aheer, Simply Designed Art
Formatting: Raven Designs
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in the work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Contents
The Cavalieri Della Morte
The Authors
Ava
Ava
Niko
Niko
Ava
Ava
Niko
Ava
Niko
Ava
Ava
Ava
Niko
Niko
Ava
Niko
Ava
Niko
Ava
Ava
Niko
Niko
Ava
Niko
Ava
Niko
Niko
Niko
Ava
Niko
Ava
Niko
Ava
Ava
Epilogue
The Cavalieri Della Morte Series
A Sneak Peek at Scarlet Mark
Prologue
Killian
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Follow Me Online
Also By Cora Kenborn
Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.
Phaedrus
Ava
Present Day
Quantico, Virginia
The minutes keep ticking. I know, I’ve counted all one hundred and twenty of them.
They’re trying to rattle me with one of their basic ploys: always keep your opponent off guard. It’s law enforcement’s initial interrogation tactic.
Well, technically, the first tactic is to establish a rapport and roll out the “kill ’em with kindness” act. However, since federal agents had me in cuffs as soon as my plane landed, I’m pretty sure they skipped it and went straight for psychological manipulation.
Their white-washed concept of torture is to keep me locked in an office for two hours. I want to laugh, but it isn’t even worth the effort. Two hours is nothing. I’m fully clothed, and I’m wearing shoes. My hands aren’t bound to this chair, and I can see the sky right outside the window overlooking Quantico.
Yeah, they can wipe their asses with their two hours.
The door behind me opens then slams, but I don’t flinch. Keeping my eyes forward, I ignore the intrusion until FBI Section Chief Dunning stomps around the oversized desk in a storm of heated fury and arrogance.
Throwing a stack of files on his desk, he takes his seat and glares at me. “I don’t suppose you understand what kind of shit you’re in.”
“And all this time, I thought I was the victim. Thanks for clearing that up.” Folding my hands, I interlace my fingers and sit back. My eyes wander, landing on an American flag encased in glass hanging on the wall behind his head. The way it’s situated, he looks like he’s wearing it as a crown.
Like the prince of freedom.
The irony isn’t lost on me, and as nauseating as the red and white stripes are, at least they give me something to focus on other than the arrogant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He slams his palms against his desk and cocks his chin, the dark skin pulled tight across his jaw. I know his game right away. Intimidation. He wants me to break first. Good in theory, but if he’s been debriefed on anything that’s happened in the last week, he should know better.
I have nothing left to break. A conscience can’t fracture if it doesn’t exist, and if you bargain with the devil, sometimes you pay with your soul.
With his tactics failing, Dunning’s demeanor changes, and he digs his nails into the wood. “You’re part of a Russian crime syndicate.”
I don’t hear a question in there, so I hold his stare while brushing my thumb over his nameplate. “Well, that may be true, Carl, but I also took out one of this country’s most prolific assassins who, I might add, your agency has failed to identify, much less apprehend. Shouldn’t that count for something?”
A faint flush stains his coffee-colored cheeks as his fist comes down hard on his desk. “You will address me as sir. Your actions were unprecedented, not to mention stupid. You walked into an undercover FBI investigation completely unarmed.”
He watches me for a reaction, and I recognize something familiar in his eyes. Controlled chaos. He desperately needs to assure himself of his own authority, so I sit motionless.
“Oh, I was definitely armed. I was just relieved of it shortly after my capture.”
“That’s what you choose to focus on, Miss Chernova?” What’s left of the chief’s composure snaps. Unclenching his hand, he sweeps it across the polished wood, sending stacks of papers scattering to the floor. He’s pissed, and with good reason. Every word I say exposes something ugly he doesn’t want to face.
Gritting my teeth, I relive the moment I stumbled into a nightmare. “Might I remind you that your agency came to me. It’s not like I had much choice in the matter.”
“Agent Schaeffer didn’t have authorization to conduct his own investigation. Least of all with you.”
He’s baiting me again. “Well, maybe you should take that up with him. Oh wait, you can’t, can you?”
There’s a flicker of something in his dark gaze. Fear? Respect? Regret? I can’t get a read on it, and as quickly as it appears, it vanishes. “Agent Schaeffer’s actions were unsanctioned, but his intentions were honest. He was trying to save countless girls’ lives.”
Leaping out of my chair, I slam my palms on his desk. “What about mine, Carl?” The words taste as bitter as they sound.
His nostrils flare, and a vein pulses in his right temple. “It’s Section Chief Dunning, and take your seat, Miss Chernova.”
I freeze at his sharp tone, and the room spins. In a dark, hazy corner of my mind, another voice calls to me.
“Dostatochno! You should always think before you speak, pchelka. Either choose to fight battles or strategize to win wars, but never underestimate your enemy.”
Even now, he commands, and I listen.
Drawing in a deep breath, I slowly exhale and lower myself into the chair. I’m calm now, a fact that should disturb me more than the reason I’m here.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I offer in a controlled tone. “I did
what I had to do.”
He huffs, rubbing the pad of his thumb against his temple as his fingers fan against his face. “Offer yourself up as bait?”
I shake my head. “Offer intel. I just didn’t expect things to go quite so left of center.”
“Left of center?” Wrinkles crease his forehead as he peers at me through an opening in his index and middle finger. “That’s what you call getting yourself kidnapped and starting a war this government has to clean up? A decorated FBI agent is dead because of you.”
He doesn’t have to remind me. I was there. The image is burned into my memory for eternity. Nothing will bring him back. Nothing will bring any of us back.
“Maybe you missed the part where I was enslaved and tortured, yet still managed to put an end to Niko Gaheris. You remember him, right—the other ambiguous unchecked box on your precious most wanted list?” Chief Dunning winces at the disgust in every word, and I’m glad. Relaxing my grip on the armrest, I manage a smirk. “Let me remind you again that I’m the victim here, so instead of berating me, maybe you should give me a medal.”
“For what? Taking off your clothes before taking his life?”
My heart slams against my chest, but I won’t react to his taunts. “I did what I had to do. You weren’t there.”
“Good thing too. The only one who gave a damn to help you returned home in a box.”
I clear my throat. “Can we please stick to—”
“Frankly, Miss Chernova,” he yells, anger causing the vein in his temple to throb, “I have a hard time deciding what to do first—charge you with reckless endangerment, accessory to the murder of a federal agent, or just being a fucking pain in my ass.”
Strike one. Temper.
I gather my long red hair in one hand and drape it over my left shoulder. “Well, while you’re deciding, let me add one more charge to that list—collusion.”
Sweat beads above the chief’s black and gray eyebrows, and that flicker in his eyes returns. This time, I have no doubt what it means. Fear is raw and distinctive, a siren for darkness and a source of nourishment for the wicked.
“What have you done?” he whispers.
I smile and detonate the bomb I’ve held quietly strapped to my chest. “Your job, sir.”
Ava
Miami, Florida
Two Weeks Ago
Just breathe.
I repeat the words over and over in my head while I’m stuck working a VIP room at three o’clock in the morning when my shift was over an hour ago. At least the constant shouting from downstairs is drowning out the incessant grunting behind me. I have no idea what’s going on, but the DJ’s solution is to crank the music up louder to see which of the three can give me a headache the fastest.
I’m pretty sure he’s winning.
“Do you like that, baby?” John groans. I have no idea if that’s his name. I call him that because I don’t care to know any different.
I nod. “Mmmm-hmmm.”
To be honest, I’m not sure what he said. I’m too focused on a crack I found in the wall. It’s not a big one, but to me, it might as well span from one side to the other and have a circle drawn around it in scarlet red lipstick. The more I stare at it, the more it looks like the letter S.
S for slut.
“That’s it, just like that.”
S for sacrifice.
“You love it from behind, don’t you?”
S for secret.
“This is just between us.”
A crack in a wall seems like a dumb thing to notice when there’s a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound guy pounding me from behind, but over the years I’ve found that focusing on small details is the only way to survive. It allows me to check out without slipping underwater.
Although drowning would be easier than pretending I’m enjoying anything that’s happening right now.
I close my eyes as the grunts behind me get louder. Locking my elbows, I brace my palms and drop my head as he pulls me against him and drives in hard.
“Shit, I can’t hold back anymore!”
I roll my eyes at the ceiling and let out the breath I’d been holding.
After grunting like a pig, he braces one sweaty hand on the wall beside mine. “Nobody gives it to you this good, right, baby?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Finally getting the hint, he stops talking and turns to dispose of the condom. As he makes his way back, the door rattles, and we both freeze. Only three people have keys to a VIP room at any given time: the girl, the customer, and Dmitry.
And Dmitry would never interrupt anything that makes him money.
I let out a yelp as the first blow hits.
“What the hell is going on?” John frowns, shifting a glance up at the security camera.
I shake my head, unable to speak as the door takes hit after hit. I can’t run—where the hell am I going to go? This isn’t the movies. There’s no secret passageway to an underground tunnel. Whatever’s on the other side of that door is coming in, and we’re going to be right here when it does.
One more kick and the hinges break away from the frame, sending the door crashing inside the room. Three men in blue police uniforms stand there with guns pointed straight at my face.
A man in a three-piece suit steps in front of them and lands a hard gaze on me. “Ava Chernova?”
“Hold on a damn minute!” John pipes up from behind me. “You can’t just break down a door like—”
Suit guy’s eyes shift from me to John. “Name?”
Within seconds, one of the officers pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Thomas Reid. Age, thirty-eight. Married to Joy Reid. Two kids, Bryan, age ten, and Melissa, age six. Employed by Langford, Richter, and Ames, Personal Injury Law Firm for the last ten years.”
John’s mouth drops open. “How the hell do you know—”
“Ambulance chaser, huh?” Suit guy interrupts him again with a sarcastic chuckle. “Well, I’m not surprised. A shady fucker caught shady fucking.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” John huffs, stomping toward him. “The lady and I were just having a conversation.”
Suit guy glances down and smirks. “You’d be more convincing if you tucked your dick in your pants.”
Cursing under his breath, John turns to zip up as the main officer gives a quick nod to the other two. Before he can take another step, the officers have his hands behind his back and are reading him his rights.
“You can’t do this to me!” he yells to suit guy. Red-faced and panicked, he swings his chin over his shoulder and glares at the officers. “Stop talking. I know my damn rights.”
Suit guy grins. “If that’s true, Tommy Boy, you also know that soliciting sex is against the law, and if convicted, punishable up to a year in jail.”
“What proof do you have?”
“Besides your dick hanging out?” He points up at the security camera. “We have your personal porno confiscated in the raid.”
“You can’t do this! My wife—”
“Is probably going to be real pissed off,” suit guy finishes for him. “You might want to start looking into divorce lawyers.”
Suit guy and I stare at each other as the officers escort John out of the room. I try to seem fearless, but I shiver. Deep lines sink into his forehead, and he bends down, grabbing the short satin robe from the back of the demolished wall.
“Put some damn clothes on,” he growls, tossing it to me before turning his head.
For some reason, I feel myself blushing and quickly cover myself. Once he turns back around, I flop onto the couch and cross my arms. “The door was a little excessive, don’t you think?”
He studies me, his thumb rubbing over the dimple in his chin. “You seem almost bored, Miss Chernova.”
I snort. “You don’t think I’m used to police raids? You put on a good show, but we both know Dmitry’s going to fill those hungry pockets of yours, and there’ll be no record of anyone ever being here tonight.”
“I’m s
ure that’s usually the case, but there’s a problem with your analysis.”
I gasp, dramatically throwing both hands over my heart. “No pockets?”
“We’re not the police.” Pulling what looks like a black leather wallet from inside his jacket, he flips it open to reveal a badge and credentials. “Special Agent Ethan Schaeffer. We’re the FBI.”
* * *
The FBI’s Miami satellite office looks like a typical interrogation room seen on every television crime show. Bland, sterile, and impersonal. One table, two opposing metal chairs, stark white walls, a two-way mirror, dark blue carpeting, a framed picture of the state of Florida, and not one damn clock to be found.
“For the hundredth time, I don’t know anything.”
I shift, the backs of my legs sticking to the metal chair. I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but if the pins and needles attacking my feet and hands are any indication, it has been hours. At least Special Agent Ethan Schaeffer had the common decency to give me his suit jacket to cover up my scantily clad body.
He’s a real prince.
Ethan picks up a pen and flips it between his fingers. “Come on, Miss Chernova. You really don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”
“Ava,” I say.
“Huh?”
“You’ve seen me naked. I think we’re past formalities, don’t you think, Ethan?”
He sighs, squeezing the pen in his fist. “Okay, Ava, let’s go over the facts one more time. My colleagues and I received a tip that Seven was operating an illegal brothel to a certain select set of pre-vetted customers.” He uses air quotes on that last part, and I have to hold myself back from rolling my eyes. “We raided the premises and not only did we catch you in the act of prostitution, we also have it on video. Since this is your third offense, it’s considered a felony. That alone can put you away for five years. Now, I’m not in the business of chasing down women who willingly sell their bodies. I have bigger things to worry about.”
Darkest Deeds: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 1
