The Bratva's Bride

by Jane Henry

  “Hush,” I tell her. “Shhhh. Stay calm.”

  “They killed our father!” she says. “And he taught me how to do this, so I did it to honor his memory.”

  “Who, baby?” I whisper. God, who the fuck did she do this to?

  “They call them the brotherhood,” she says happily, eating another cookie. My stomach churns with nerves. “The Bratva.”

  No. This can’t be happening.

  “How did you…” my voice trails off as I take a deep breath and try to will myself to stay calm. “How did you know it was them?”

  When her eyes meet mine, for one minute I see a glimpse into the Calina that died the day of that accident. Fierce, brilliant, dauntless. “The tattoos, Larissa. The Russian mob all have the same tattoos. I don’t remember much but I know that. The guy who ran us off the road had the tattoos.”

  My eyes water and I blink rapidly to stay calm. “Calina, many people have tattoos, honey.”

  “But not those tattoos,” she says, getting to her feet. The cookies fall to the floor and scatter, forgotten. I’m on my feet, too, palms faced downward, trying to calm her. “Those are the ones who did it!”

  “Shhh, honey. Calina, sit down,” I tell her sternly.

  Like a child, she flounces back on the bed.

  “You removed the VPN blocker,” I tell her. “I can tell just by looking at this screen. Why?”

  My stomach clenches in knots.

  “Because I want them to come,” she says with conviction. “I want them to come and tell me why.”

  I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, then open them and pick up my phone. I call Glen.

  “Yeah?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “They’re coming tonight, Larissa.” Glen’s voice sounds strained, as if he’s going to cry, and the sound alone makes tears prick my eyes.

  “What?” I whisper.

  It’s been one week since I called Glen after finding out what Calina’s been up to. One week trying to cover her tracks and find out what the hell I’m going to do about this clusterfuck. One week of sleepless nights as I tossed and turned fearing the worst.

  I paid one of Glen’s men to patrol the hospital to be sure Calina was safe, but it cost me. The movies might make scammers and hackers look like they’re rich, but the reality is far from the truth. On a good month, I bring in about twenty-five thousand rubles… or about four hundred American dollars. My work is unpredictable and haphazard at best, but I get by.

  It took everything I’ve scrimped and saved to pay for the surveillance for Calina, and now…

  “What does that mean?” I ask him. “What can I do? How do you know?”

  He tells me how he’s found out, and my blood runs cold. If they knew what he’s done… how he’s hacked into the communication between some of Russia’s most feared criminals… his life would be forfeit. I hear what he says but the blood pounds in my ears so rapidly I can’t think straight.

  They’re coming for Calina.

  I stifle a sob.

  Tonight.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Larissa,” he tells me. I’m standing outside the back door of the dilapidated apartment building where I rent a room, biting my nail until I feel pain and taste blood. I don’t really hear him, for I’m already formulating a plan.

  I could somehow get her out and hide her… but if they found us, we’d both be dead.

  If I could somehow get her to America…

  But they won’t stop looking for her. They won’t stop until she’s dead. However, if they think they have her…

  I could take her place.

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  It will take everything I have, but I need to save her.

  She’s all I’ve got left.

  “Listen. I know she’s your sister, but she did this, not you—“

  I hang up on him.

  “Goodbye, Glen,” I whisper to the dead receiver. “You were a good friend.”

  I hope their justice is swift and painless.

  It’s darker than I expected in here and I’m afraid that shining my flashlight beam like a beacon, when I need to avoid notice, will draw the alarm of the guards. I think my plan is solid, but still, nothing quite goes as planned and I’ve come to sort of expect the unexpected. I have to.

  I’ve called in favors and now my plan is in place.

  They’ll take Calina. Bring her to a safehouse. See to her needs.

  I’ve got enough money saved to take care of her for a few months. And when the money is gone…

  I shake my head. Something will have to be done.

  The door to the supply closet I’ve been hiding in since visiting hours ended two hours ago shuts with an audible click, and I freeze. I’ve disabled the lock, so I’m not shut in. Still, I need to remain hidden. I disabled security cameras, but the risk of getting caught is high, and if we get caught… if Calina stays here tonight… her life is forfeit. This much I know.

  No one moves, and it seems deadly quiet here for one minute. Way down the hall, so far it’s barely audible, someone screams. The noise freezes me in place. Hushed voices respond to the scream, and I realize that it’s just a patient, and the nurses are with him now.

  God, this place smells terrible, like hopelessness and soiled clothes and desperation. My stomach churns with nausea, and I don’t know if it’s the stench, or the knowledge of what I’m about to do. I’ve put this plan into action without a second thought and took sleeping pills every night leading to this one to shut my brain off from the endless rounds of what if. I’ve been awake now for twenty-four hours, though, fueled with adrenaline.

  It doesn’t matter what happens next. My course is clear. I will save Calina.

  I hope my death is mercifully painless.

  I swallow hard and focus on what I need to do. The syringe feels heavy in my pocket, like lead, as if the weight of what I must do next is physically weighing me down.

  I walk as slowly as I can, the soft-soled shoes I wear specifically chosen to be noiseless. I’ve tried to prepare for what comes next, but how does one really prepare for certain death?

  I’m wearing my glasses, because contacts are too easily lost.

  My money’s been secretly funneled to Glen, who’ll be seeing to Calina’s wellbeing in the future. It’ll make things easier in the long run. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. This is my chance to be the heroine. Only no one but me… and the few people I’ve worked with… will ever know. Including Calina.

  There’s a huge, circular clock with a white face and vivid black numbers looming in the hallway. Jesus. What kind of a moron puts a clock like that in the middle of a psych ward? It’s weird enough to freak anyone out and give them nightmares. I wonder sometimes if being in a place like this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Like, even if I wasn’t crazy, would I become crazy being in a place like this with huge clocks and random people screaming and bars on certain windows and doors. Would it actually cause me to slowly go insane?

  I stand in front of Calina’s room and close my eyes, then glance at the clock once more. My pulse quickens and my palms dampen. I don’t want to do this. God, I don’t want to do this. But I’m the one to blame for this, and I have to take make this right.

  If I take her and hide her, they’ll find her. And hell, it’s my fault because I’ve taught her everything she knows.

  I open her door and step in quickly, then slide the lock in place. You can’t typically lock a room in a pysch ward from the inside, but I’m prepared.

  Thankfully, she stays asleep and doesn’t budge when the door clicks shut. My breath comes ragged and feels like I’m sucking air through a straw. I glance out the window and give a nod. Glen’s team’s in place. It sucks she’s on this floor since it makes things trickier, but we’ll have to make it work.

  With hands shaking so badly I almost drop the syringe, I draw the plastic into my palm and walk to her bed. I give myself the luxury of just half a minute of looking a
t my sister’s beautiful, serene face. She looks like a child when she sleeps, so carefree. None of the worry lines that wrinkle her brow show now. Her troubled eyes are mercifully shut. I hope she’s the hero in her dreams, and I hope she has so many more like it.

  Years and years.

  And I hope she never, ever knows what I’m about to do so she can keep those dreams.

  A brief memory of our childhood comes to mind, like I’m watching my life flash before my eyes. The two of us before the accident. Best friends. Holding hands as we went trick-or-treating together. She hated chocolate and I hated sticky things, so we’d always trade when we got back. I can still hear the giggles, still feel her hand in mine, still see her bright, vivid smile.

  She’ll smile again one day if I have anything to do with it.

  “I’m so sorry, Calina,” I whisper, apologizing to the child of our youth who’s still buried deep inside this angry, troubled shell of a woman. I stand at her back so she doesn’t have to see my face, and gently drape the gag around her mouth in case she wakes up screaming. I tie it, crouch down behind her, and take out the needle. My hand shakes so badly I drop the cap to the syringe. I will myself to calm with a deep, shuddering breath, then point the sharp metal at the insertion point. Quickly, I pierce her skin, and close my eyes when I meet my mark. She wakes with a start and lets out a muffled scream against her gag but quickly slumps back into bed.

  She didn’t see me. She doesn’t know. Hopefully she’ll remember none of this.

  I take my phone out of my bag and send a message.

  Go.

  I get up quickly and open the windows. Even though I’m prepared for this, it still makes me queasy when I see three masked men slide noiselessly inside. Within seconds her limp body is taken right out into the dark. I shut the windows with trembling hands.

  She’s gone. The first part of our plan is complete.

  We’ve deactivated security cameras on that side of the building so no footage will exist.

  I’m already wearing the clothes she was earlier. Twenty-four years of being an identical twin, and we still wear the same size.

  I slide under the bed sheets and close my eyes, but I don’t sleep. I won’t. I want to hear them when they come for me.

  The bed smells faintly like Calina, like the white soap and vanilla-scented lotion she uses. The pillows are thin, the mattress hard and uncomfortable. I’d be more comfortable sleeping on the ground, and my conscience pricks me. She’s slept on this bed every night, alone, in this dark room with haunting shadows.

  I wait for what seems like hours. My sources said they’d get Calina at eleven, but it’s easily midnight now, I’m guessing. I don’t know for sure. I don’t want to risk looking at the clock.

  What if they aren’t coming tonight at all?

  What if I’m stuck here, and the people who work here think I’m my sister? Suddenly, I’m not sure what I fear more—the men who are going to take me and likely end my life, or living here instead, as if I am Calina. Being stuck with needles and forced into therapy and having to eat food brought to me on trays.

  My stomach churns.

  Will they come in through the window, or from the hall?

  Glen tried to talk me out of this. When he knew what I was doing, he begged and pleaded to find another way, but there is no other way. I’ve studied the lives of these men. It could be any of them, since she’s stolen from so many groups they all want her blood. But according to the message Glen intercepted, we suspect it’s the Russians who will come first.

  Bratva, some call them.

  Russian organized crime.

  They have a long, sordid, detailed history that trounces through death and destruction, establishing themselves as the ruthless killers they are.

  I should have kept a closer eye on her. I should’ve been more careful.

  I don’t know what she was thinking. Does she even know what the Bratva are capable of?

  I didn’t give her enough credit, though. I didn’t know she was capable of the financial devastation she brought to them.

  She was proud of herself. Hell, in some weird and twisted way I’m proud of her. But God, she didn’t know what the aftermath would be.

  And it doesn’t help to focus on that now. Now, I need to steel myself. I think of happy thoughts for a little while. Things that make me smile to myself. Memories of what happened before my parents were killed. Before Calina suffered the devastating damage that wrecked her mind. Before everyone left me for dead.

  And just as I’m reliving the last Christmas we all spent together, I hear the sound of the door opening.

  They’re here.

  I don’t have to pretend I’m asleep. I don’t have to pretend anything. I’m terrified, and my sister would be, too.

  What I am, however, is surprised.

  There aren’t half a dozen masked men wearing gloves in black ready to carry me off.

  There’s one.

  And when he steps into the moonlight pooling at the bottom of the bed, I blink and stare at him. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a wiry, thin, rat-like man like the one reportedly hauled into jail a few months ago, or his greasy, hefty counterpart. This man looks nothing like them at all.

  When I meet his gaze, a shiver shudders through me. His blazing, ice blue eyes are frigid. Ruthless. He has short, tousled, sandy blond hair and the hint of dark scruff on his firm jawline. High, sharp cheekbones, and full lips twisted into a sadistic smile. Tattoos lace up his neck and shoulders, the black ink still visible under the thin, white t-shirt he wears stretched over his powerful form. Muscles ripple when he moves toward me. He’s strong and powerful, with arms as thick as trees. Capable of hurting me, and I know before he says a word that he will.

  That’s why I’m here.

  He’s come in unmasked, as if he doesn’t give a damn who’s going to see him. As if he has a right to get me.

  “Hello, Calina.” He says in English, his voice sharp and acerbic.

  You’d think after twenty-four years of being a twin I’d get used to hearing someone call me my sister’s name, but you’d be wrong. It still feels weird.

  I swallow. I need to play this right, but I will go with him.

  “What do you want?” I whisper. “Who are you?” I know exactly what he wants, but he’ll expect me to act surprised.

  “You,” he says simply, stalking over to my bed. I wasn’t sure if he’d speak to me in English, but apparently he wants to be understood. “I knew it was bullshit they had you locked in here,” he says in a thick Russian accent. “I knew you were far more intelligent than they let on.”

  I feel the sting of what he says. He’s right, but not because of what he thinks. It’s better he doesn’t believe I’m as brain damaged as Calina, because I can’t feign her mental capacity with authenticity. But as my mind turns this over, the knowledge that he came in here to abduct my sister makes hatred pulse through my veins.

  His sharp tone cuts through the quiet. “I can tell with one look in your eyes you know who you are, where you are, and why I’m here for you.”

  I swallow.

  I way underestimated how this would go down.

  He bends down and reaches for my hair, twists it around his hand, and pulls hard. I gasp from the pain, my heart racing. “Tell me,” he says in his deeply accented voice.

  “Tell you what?” I whisper, genuinely confused. The grip he has on my hair is painful and tight and I want it to stop, but I can’t make him. So I go still. If I don’t move, it doesn’t hurt as much.

  “Tell me why I’m here,” he whispers in my ear.

  I want this over with. “I stole your money,” I whisper. “And you’ve come for revenge. Just take me, then. Kill me. Just get it over with.”

  He releases my hair and places his hand at my neck. His mouth comes to my ear and he whispers, “It won’t be that simple, kitten,” he chides. “You have much to answer for. Reparations to make. So this is how it will go.”

  I
listen in silence.

  “You will stand,” he says. “You will come with me. We will go to the hallway, where our easiest, least trackable escape route lies, and you will do exactly as I say. Am I clear?”

  I nod and swallow. I expected I’d be carried out or something. Hell, I don’t really know what I expected, but this man’s calm control of the situation wasn’t it. He doesn’t manhandle me or drag me out of here. He doesn’t need to. His very presence warns me of his utter control.

  He walks to the door as if we’re going for a mere stroll in daylight.

  “Those who would stop us have been temporarily neutralized,” he says in his thick accent. “We will walk out of here as if we were meant to. You will cause no disturbances. You will come with me like an obedient little one. Understood?”

  I nod, once.

  To my surprise, he leans in and pinches my chin between his thumb and his forefinger. It’s an almost intimate gesture, a dominant one that commands my undivided attention. His voice lowers to just above a whisper. “When I address you, you will say ‘yes, sir.’” He gently nods my head up and down like a puppet’s. “I will not tell you again.” With his hand still on my chin, he makes my head bob up and down in a nod. “Nod.”

  I swallow. “Yes, sir.”

  He smiles, revealing perfectly straight white teeth, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s merely approving, and I can tell his beautiful, cold face masks a ruthless killer.

  “Good girl,” he breathes in my ear. “Let’s go.”

  He takes my hand and opens the door to the room. I blink, fearing someone will come running down the hall or alarms will flash, but nothing happens.

  They’ve all been neutralized.

  “Walk quickly and do not avert your eyes,” he orders in a cold tone that reminds me his more patronizing tone is only an act. He’s ready to hurt me in an instant. He’s here to punish me. I have to trot to keep up with his long strides, and soon we reach an elevator. “Hands by your side.”

  I wonder if they’ll notice him anywhere on the security feed, but then I remember I was the one who neutralized those. By the time they discover anything, I’ll be long gone.