Then I see the lava-red hair.
Ava.
She cocks her head. “What’s option two?
“What the hell are you doing here? Where is Mikhail?”
She takes a tentative step closer, and my immediate reaction is to grab her and shake the shit out of her, but I don’t. She has that blank look again. The one from the basement.
“You said I have two options, but you only offered one.” She tries for an even tone, failing miserably as she scrubs her balled fists up and down her bare thighs.
Her momentary bravado crumbles, and thankfully it’s rerouting some much-needed blood back to my brain. I motion to where most of Sergei’s body lay in a puddle of blood. “You want to know the other? Ask him.”
My threat isn’t empty. I’ve done much worse in less time.
Her brows crease as her eyes lower to my stomach. “You’re bleeding.”
“Courtesy of some asshole waiting for me outside Seven. Don’t get your hopes up though, I’m fine.”
She bows her head, staring at her feet.
“However, in case you’re interested, Dmitry didn’t fare so well. Your friend Rose found him in his office slit ear to ear, but from the look on your face, you don’t look all that surprised.”
I stare down at her, her finger twisting mercilessly around something round and silver. There’s no way. Grabbing her hand, I lift it up to get a better look. A perfect metal circle with a long pin attached—exactly what I thought. I don’t know if I’m more shocked, pissed, or impressed. Maybe all three.
“Holy shit. Were you the one who set off the—”
Before I can finish, she walks past me and stands over the head of her beheaded father, her bare feet bathed in his warm blood. Every killer’s instinct roars at me to throw her over my shoulder and get the hell out, but I’m mesmerized.
“I warned you,” she growls hoarsely.
She should be disgusted. Any normal person would be, and the fact that she hasn’t looked away from the gruesome scene sets off warning bells inside my head. Unfortunately, I don’t hear them because I’m too engrossed in watching her stare at what’s left of him. Then every piece of the puzzle clicks together, presenting a picture I never saw coming.
She knew my mother was here the whole time.
I’m on her before she can react. Her mouth opens in a silent scream just before I shove her against the wall with my forearm across her throat and my gun to her head. Again, she doesn’t flinch as the barrel pushes against her temple. “Where’s my mother, Ava?”
“Let me go.” That’s all she says. I have a gun to her head and she just stands there staring at me. I tense, a familiar sensation swimming in my veins. I can’t look away from her eyes. I’ve looked into hundreds of them and never felt a thing. Eyes that cried. Pleaded. Begged for mercy. Not once did they change my mind.
But none of them were hers.
Smoke consumes more of the room, turning my anger into coughs. Ava sags against me, rattled wheezes coming from her chest.
“I should kill you,” I growl.
“I know.”
We both know I should, but those fucking eyes are my undoing. Underneath the emptiness, I still see that sad little girl. The reckless teenager. The broken void. And the only woman who has ever owned my heart.
Killing her won’t bring my mother back.
I lower the gun, and grab her arm while hurling her toward the flaming doorway. “Get out of here, Ava.” When she just stands there blinking at me in that pathetic excuse for a tank top, I take off my jacket and throw it at her face. “Go, before I change my mind!”
She clutches it to her chest, still hesitating with her brows drawn together until I lift my gun and aim it at her face. Before I even have a shot, she’s gone, leaving bloody footprints as the only sign she was ever there.
Letting out a string of curses, I count to ten, cover my face, and haul ass in her wake.
Fucking pussy will get a man killed every time.
I’m fighting flames and smoke while running like a rat in a maze. Lack of oxygen is slowing me down, so if this next turn isn’t the way out, I might as well call my time of death.
Because I let her go first.
As the thought sinks in, my frantic pace slows then eventually stops.
She’s not broken; she’s brilliant.
Sergei was right about one thing. I chopped off the head of a dragon but one grew right back in its place.
And she’s breathing fire.
Ava
The sun is bright.
Instinctively, I shield my face and cover my eyes.
“What’s wrong, girlie? You never work the daytime before?”
I glance to my left and stare at the aging heavyset man all but salivating at my bare legs. He thinks I’m a hooker. Not that I’m shocked. When I flagged him down on the side of the road half naked and desperate, he probably thought he’d get a free blow job.
Free.
I’m free.
Staring out the window at A1A, the phrase repeats over and over in my head, but it still doesn’t seem real. How can it? For twenty-four years, my reality has been a forsaken hell even the worst nightmare wouldn’t dare conjure. Constant torment at the hands a vicious man determined to steal more than my freedom—he craved my sanity.
“What day is it?” I ask, still staring at the street.
“Friday.”
I shake my head. “No, I mean the date.”
“December 22nd.”
I roll my forehead against the glass. “Of course it is.”
If I wasn’t so shell-shocked, I might laugh at the irony of gaining my freedom on the day I caused Niko to lose his. As it is, I’m still trying to process the fact that I haven’t taken a breath like this in eight years. Hell, it could’ve been even longer. I’m not sure. Time isn’t a concept I’m familiar with anymore.
A low grunting sound diverts my attention back toward the man who’s currently staring more at my bare thighs than the road. He shifts in his seat as one hand disappears from the wheel into his lap.
I swallow hard.
The guy is big. The kind of big that I could easily outrun on the street, but trapped in a car he has all the advantage.
Tucking my legs underneath me, I wrap Niko’s huge leather jacket tightly around me like a suit of armor. “The corner up here will be fine.”
“You sure?” he asks, the hand buried in his lap finding its way to my knee. “My house isn’t far from here, and you look like you could use a warm bed.” His calloused fingers caress my skin as they inch higher.
No. Never again.
Glancing over my shoulder, I hold his eye as I grab his fingers and bend them backward. “Let me out.”
“Fuck!” He jerks his hand away and turns the wheel so fast the side of my head smacks against the glass. Horns honk behind us as he pulls to the side of the road and slams his foot on the break. “You’re one crazy bitch, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I say, yanking the door open and climbing out before he changes his mind. “But you picked me up, so what does that make you?”
I barely have both feet on the pavement before he guns it and peels back into traffic. I bite my cheek, a rare South Florida breeze reminding me how little I’m wearing underneath the jacket. I’m not sure what to do now. I paid attention to every road sign I could, so I know I’m in Hollywood, not far from Fort Lauderdale. I didn’t think much past getting out of the car, but I’m sure as hell not going back to Mikhail’s house or anywhere near Seven.
So I walk. And I walk. Then I walk some more. I walk as the sun climbs higher in the sky. I walk as more and more people crowd around me, offering the occasional curious glance, but never offering to help. I keep walking when tiny shards of glass cut my bare feet. I walk even though I’m exhausted, but I never complain.
I’m outside without having to look over my shoulder.
I walk until I reach the infamous Hollywood Beach Boardwalk, listening as the city
wakes up and a handful of pedestrians become crowded tourists. Colorful Spanish-speaking markets and bars line the sidewalk along with aggressive street vendors. I’m lost in thought, and the higher the sun rises, the more I realize my feet are numb and my head is filled with nothing but him.
That’s not normal. Nothing that’s happened is normal, but having the constant image of a man who a few hours ago beheaded my father and held a gun to my head can’t be sane. Of course, sane isn’t exactly a word I’d use to describe anything I’ve done the last few weeks, so why try to put myself in that box now?
Still, I can’t find a logical reason why Niko let me go. I didn’t give him any reason to. I hid like a coward. I never told him his mother was alive. I never told him I planned to shoot my father’s other leg then walk out and let him burn alive.
So why?
I’ve known more men like him than I care to remember. Mercy isn’t in their nature—especially toward witnesses. So, why am I here walking when I should be there burning?
Good question. I don’t know.
The only thing I do know is that I need money, and considering my phone and ID are long gone, there’s only one way to get some.
Steal it.
I’ve committed murder. It’s not like robbery is going to damn me to hell. Besides, I don’t have much of a choice, and this is the famous Boardwalk. Most of these people are tourists, so they probably have a backup stash squirreled away in their hotels.
My target doesn’t take long to find. A family of three stands fifteen feet down the Boardwalk, but it’s the father who catches my attention. He’s desperately licking a melting ice cream cone that’s dripping all over his long Bermuda shorts and freshly airbrushed T-shirt with the words Hyland Family Vacation written across the chest.
But it’s the clear plastic fanny pack slung around his waist that seals the deal. The one that announces to the world, “I have money and an iPhone. Please take them both.”
I follow them into a few shops, not nearly crowded enough to risk it. By the fourth one, the young boy has apparently shit himself, so the wife straight arms him like an atomic bomb and runs outside, leaving her husband alone in a crowded souvenir shop.
I’m trying to come up with an idea when we’re both jostled by the woman beside me haphazardly sifting through a wall of cheap T-shirts on her tiptoes.
“Watch it,” I hiss, grabbing one of the wire racks to steady myself.
“Piss off.” Chewing a wad of gum, she blows a bubble in my face before sucking it back in. “Not my fault you have to be in the NBA to reach this shit.”
I’m about to rip off one of the racks and shove it up her ass when her words sink in.
That’s it.
For once in my life, being five foot two is going to come in handy.
I glance up at a pink T-shirt two full rows above my head. Even on my tiptoes I wouldn’t be able to reach it, which is exactly what I want. Making sure the man is still standing beside me, I hook my fingers and toes through the wire mesh attached to the wall and climb. Glancing down at the floor, I blow out a shaky breath.
Damn, this is going to leave a bruise.
Before I can change my mind, I squeal and let go of the wall, making sure to twist at the waist. My aim is perfect, and the man barely looks up before I barrel into him, taking us both to the ground.
“Jesus, lady!” Tilting his chin back, he winces while rubbing the back of his neck.
My landing couldn’t have been more perfect. I’m lying on top of him, chest to chest, his fanny pack now shifted against his hip.
The hip that’s right next to my hand.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, forcing sympathy in my voice as I carefully unzip the bag. “I wanted that T-shirt, and I’m short.”
“Well, how about asking for help next time. You could’ve really hurt someone.”
I force a few tears to well up in my eyes as I slip his phone in Niko’s jacket pocket. “I wanted a souvenir. I had a shirt like that when I was little. Back when my parents were alive. We came here all the time.”
Lies. How easy they fall out of my mouth.
The man’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you let me buy it for you?”
“No!” His eyes widen with the force of my words, but I cover with a well-placed sniffle while pocketing his money. “I mean, no, thank you. I think I’ll just go back to the hotel. I’ve caused enough harm for one day.”
He smiles and nods, and as I push off his chest, a shrill voice slices through the shop like a knife. “Jason! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Oh shit. His wife is back.
And she’s pissed.
“Nancy! It’s not what you think!” He scrambles out from underneath me, knocking me on my ass in the process. “This is…uh…” Bushy eyebrows knot together and he whispers to me in a panic. “What’s your name?”
“Ann,” I lie.
“This is Ann. She was trying to reach for a T-shirt and fell on me, and see, her parents are dead, and, well, that’s not why she fell, but it’s still sad, and she cried because she’s short. Well, she didn’t cry because she’s short, but…shit. Ann, you tell her. Ann? Ann?”
I can hear him calling me, but I’m already halfway down the Boardwalk. While he babbled, I inched my ass toward the door and took off. I had no intentions of sticking around when Jason and Nancy found out I robbed them blind.
I’m out of breath and have no idea where I am, but I do know it’s close to noon because the brutal sun is almost completely overhead now.
God, I’m hot.
Common sense would tell me to ditch Niko’s jacket, but I can’t. I haven’t let myself wonder if he made it out of that fire until now, but the possibility that he didn’t twists my stomach in a knot so hard, I’d throw up if I’d eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours. If it’s the last thing I have left of him, I won’t let it go.
But I’m too hot to keep it on, so I unzip it and tie it around my waist.
My first instinct is to veer off onto a side street and call Ethan, but that’s the first place the police will look for me. As the saying goes, the best place to hide is in plain sight. Instead, I settle into a corner booth of a crowded bar and pull the tourist’s phone from my pocket. It’s not even password locked.
“Jason, you dumbass.”
My stomach feels like it’s devouring itself, so since I’ve recently come into some money, I flag down a waitress and place an order. Returning quickly with a frosted beer mug, she offers a pleasant smile that I don’t return.
I’m not being a bitch, there’s just nothing pleasant about what I have to do.
Taking a sip of my beer, I let the cool liquid coat my dry throat as I punch in the number I know by heart. I’m not shocked when Ethan doesn’t answer. He’s an FBI agent. Why the hell would he answer a random line based in Alabama? So, I text him instead. Three simple letters that I have no doubt will get his attention.
AVA.
Not even ten seconds after I hit send, the phone rings. I nod and smile at the waitress as she sets a plate of nachos in front of me. “It’s about time.”
“Where the hell are you, Ava? Where the hell have you been? Who the hell’s phone are you calling from?”
“So many questions,” I say, crunching on a chip as a glob of cheese slides off and back onto the plate.
“The whole department has been looking for you!”
“Well, I’m fine, but I can’t talk right now. The only thing I can tell you is that I’m in an Irish Pub called Mickey Byrne’s on the Hollywood Beach Boardwalk. If you leave now, you’ll be here by the time I finish my nachos.”
“Fuck, Ava, you’ve been missing for almost a week. Look, Dmitry called me a few minutes ago and told me everything. I know you’re still with Gaheris.”
The chip in my mouth suddenly tastes like cardboard, and I have to take a huge gulp of beer just to get it down. “Dmitry called you?”
&nbs
p; “Yes. You’re in danger, Ava. I need to get you into protective custody now.”
“Then come and get me, Ethan,” I reiterate, scooping up the pile of cheese with my finger and licking it off. “And I’ll hand you Sergei’s killer.”
Disconnecting the call, I motion for the waitress to bring me another beer then stare at the screen. Finally, I clear my throat and dial one last number. It rings and rings and rings, and just when I’m about to hang up, there’s a click followed by complete silence.
“This is Ava Chernova, but you already knew that, didn’t you? Don’t bother answering. That was a rhetorical question, and I’m sure neither of us have time for idle chit-chat. I’m calling because I have a business proposition for you…”
Niko
Staggering inside Mikhail’s house, I peel off my blood-soaked shirt, and drop it the middle of the floor on the way to the bathroom. I know what I’m going to find, but I turn sideways and raise my arms, wincing at the sharp pain as I inspect my ribs in the mirror. It’s bleeding like a son of a bitch, but it’s only a graze.
Nice try, dickhead.
With a low grunt, I dig under the sink for a first aid kit. Finding one shoved in the very back, I lean against the counter and rip open a pack of gauze, patching myself up as I drink vodka straight from the bottle. The liquid burns a fiery trail down my throat and I welcome every drop. Maybe if I drink enough it will set fire to her memory, incinerating it to ashes.
Nothingness is better than acknowledging the reality that she’s saving her own ass by sacrificing mine.
Again.
Making my way to the couch, I lift the bottle in the air. “Here’s to breaking all the rules, then having them shoved up my ass. Good job, Niko. Next time your dick decides to overrule your brain, jerk off and do your fucking job.”
Exhaustion and booze work their way through my system, and I sink deeper into Mikhail’s couch until I feel the bottle slip from my hand and hit the floor. I don’t think it broke, but even if it did, a little broken glass isn’t enough to drag my ass off this couch to clean it up. I need to close my eyes, because once I open them, everything will have changed.
Darkest Deeds: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 18
