When there were no more targets, the lights in the gallery shut down, and the hum of the target retrieval system ceased. Yet my heart still beat loud and fast in my ears, so fast, in fact, my stomach began to churn with the elevated level of adrenaline coursing through my body. I placed my weapon back in the corner where I’d first found it.
Removing my safety glasses and headphones, I turned to Greg. That was it. I’d passed his test. He stared back, his eyes wide and disbelieving. Then a grin began to spread across his face, but he remained silent. I could almost see the wheels turning in his evil mind, rehashing the plans he’d devised, envisioning them coming to fruition, and the idea that he might actually retrieve the keys to his goddamn kingdom, because that’s all he wanted, to be king.
But his plans meant nothing to me, less than nothing. I was only concerned about my family. I’d finally earned their freedom. At last, they would be safe—if Greg kept his promise. I had no guarantee he would, and no way to confirm either. I stepped closer to him, disregarding the click of Pavel’s handgun as he pulled the hammer back and raised it.
“I want proof you’ve set my wife and daughter free,” I insisted, “that they’re safe.”
He nodded, still silent, still assessing. Seemingly in a trance, he walked to the door and opened it, then turned back to me. “You’ll get your proof, once you submit as promised.” He continued to look at me, staring with that shit-grin on his pretty-boy face. “This is a stunning turning point,” he added, “for both of us.” Then he spun away and was gone.
***
Greg made me wait several hours before one of his men retrieved me from my shabby quarters. I’d spent that time pacing and worrying what I might be in for, what I had promised to submit to. I tried to focus on that voice, the words—whatever it takes—but my fear was starting to get the best of me. I knew my life was not in danger. I was a means to an end for Greg. No way would he compromise that. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t torture me in some way, scare me into complete compliance, like I wasn’t there already. I wondered if Greg knew how well he’d conditioned me. Stupid! Of course he knew; that was the point.
Leverage.
What a perfect word—a bargaining chip; the power to influence. Even in the mechanical sense, it was the action of a lever, pivoting around one point to move an object at a second point. Basic physics really. I was the object, my family the lever, and Greg was the force that moved us. We were little more than an experiment to him. He didn’t care about the collateral damage, just his game and the prize at the end—his fucking empire.
Whatever it takes, I kept chanting to myself. Then it was time. The door clanged open and my attendant arrived to escort me to my “ritual of submission”, whatever the hell that meant. Visions of Nick and the decree carved into his chest came to mind, making the short trek to wherever we were going feel like walking the plank, the finish a plunge into shark-infested waters of the unknown.
Whatever it takes...
I must admit, though, it felt a bit anti-climactic when I was shown to a small, sparsely furnished exam room. A single chair sat in the middle, like something from a dentist’s office. A stool and table squatted beside it. Overhead glared the bright, sterile light of a buzzing fluorescent fixture. The floor was a tile checkerboard, easily mopped up should the need arise.
Whatever it takes...
I was pushed into the chair and tilted back. I shook my head as Aaron Moody’s face danced before me, his neck under the knife and his mouth contorted in terror and pain. My fingers wrapped around the chair’s arms to keep me from fleeing.
Whatever it takes... Whatever it takes... Breathe, damn it, breathe!
I took exactly ten deep breaths before a tiny, stooped man entered. My guard stepped toward the door and allowed him access to me. Holy shit! It was the troll from the Russian bookstore. He carried a small black bag which he set down on the floor and opened. He pulled out a device that looked like an airbrush—until he attached a needle-sharp nib to the end.
Fuck! A tattoo gun. Greg was having me branded.
“Disrobe above za vaist,” the troll ordered, and I did as commanded, removing the black t-shirt Greg had loaned me. The grizzled old man pulled on a pair of latex gloves then swabbed disinfectant on my chest below my left shoulder. After wiping it clean, he took a seat on the stool and tipped my chair even father back so he had access to his canvas—me.
I gritted my teeth as he went to work. He didn’t apply a transfer decal. He worked like an old pro who’d probably inked the same catalogue of Vory tats a thousand times over. I didn’t know whether it was wise to ask what I was being stamped with, so I bit my tongue and closed my eyes as the old troll swept back and forth between me and the ink on the table. His pen felt like a sharp fingernail scraping across freshly sunburned skin. I focused on the incessant buzzing to keep myself from going stark, raving mad. I told myself not to look. Whatever it was, I didn’t care, and it didn’t matter.
Whatever it takes... You can do this.
After an hour, the troll moved to the top of my left ring finger, where he needled a large square amulet with a black Orthodox cross. And that was it. He was done. He tipped my chair fully upright and motioned for me to get up. He studied his handiwork and nodded in self-approval, then called out, “Yah-nah-yehl’-syuh,” to the guard as he put his equipment back into his bag. It wasn’t two minutes later that Greg appeared with an expectant grin on his face.
“Well?” he said, pulling a small handheld mirror from behind his back and holding it up in front of me. “What do you think?”
I peered at the mirrored image etched into the reddened flesh on my chest. It was a star, similar to a compass rose. I ran my fingers across it and recalled what Aaron had once told me of Vory tattoos. This eight-pointed star was one of the most common among them. Besides denoting rank, it branded me a killer at the behest of my boss, Greg.
This was his statement, his proclamation. I was his now, completely.
There was no going back. I could be killed just for having these tattoos. Though unofficial, I was now part of the Brotherhood, the Bratva.
I...was Vory.
CHAPTER 56
Conner
Maks glanced back and forth between me, the road, and the paper in my hand. “Murder?” he asked. “What murder? What are you talking about? What is that?”
“It’s an itinerary,” I replied.
“For what? What does it have to do with Ty? And what goddamn murder?”
I looked over the names, locations, and directions listed on the paper then refolded it and stuffed it back into my pocket. “Before I tell you, I want the same deal you gave Ty.”
He snorted. “What deal? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Immunity. I want immunity from prosecution before I tell you anything else.”
“Why would you need immunity? Have you done something prosecutable?”
“I’ve no idea,” I said with a shrug. “I just need to know, before I say anything, that you won’t use it against me. Otherwise, I won’t tell you.”
“Again, that would be obstruction, Conner, and that is prosecutable.”
“No, that would be me invoking my right to remain silent, a right I was recently reminded of by the Seattle Police Department. So, what’ll it be, Maks, deal or no deal?”
He thought about it then said, “Fine, whatever. Now tell me before I change my mind.”
I was on the verge of spilling when I suddenly thought better of it. I had an odd feeling and wasn’t comfortable disclosing sensitive information from such a vulnerable position. Maks was the law, and he was armed. I was alone, injured, and completely at his mercy.
He’d driven into Georgetown, a rather rundown neighborhood near the county airport, but up ahead I saw a restaurant with a few people coming and going. I pointed toward it.
“Let’s stop there,” I said. “I’d rather sit down and talk face to face, if y
ou don’t mind.”
“Actually, I do mind,” Maks replied.
“Sorry but…I’d feel better with a little…company around me. Besides, I’m starving.”
He eyed me with suspicion but turned down the alley next to the Jules Maes Saloon. “This better be good,” he warned as he parked the car. He unlocked the doors, and we walked into the restaurant. It was a casual place, dark but tidy, and surprisingly busy for a bar just after ten in the morning. That alone helped calm my nerves, and I didn’t feel at such a disadvantage.
We took a seat at a booth away from the crowd. A waitress placed two menus in front of us. Ignoring Maks’ glare, I studied my menu until the waitress returned. I ordered a burger and fries then followed the waitress’s stare as she turned her attention to Maks.
“I’ll have the same,” he ordered, “plus a couple IPAs, whatever you have on tap.” He said it with such calm authority, the waitress never even checked my ID. She simply wrote it down and smiled as she collected our menus then walked away.
I raised a brow at Maks. “It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”
He removed his glasses and slipped them into his inside coat pocket. “By the smell of your breath, I’d say it doesn’t matter. Vodka was it?”
I couldn’t help but raise my hand to my nose and mouth and remember the shot Greg had forced me to swallow earlier.
“I thought you were in recovery,” Maks added.
“And I thought you were on duty,” I bit back, causing Maks to fume at me silently, so I sat back with a sigh and shrugged. “What can I say? Circumstances beyond my control.”
“I think it’s time you shared those circumstances with me.”
So I did. I told Maks all about my evening with Greg and his goons. His jaw ticked the entire time, and as the story stretched further along, he ordered two more rounds of beer, I assumed to mellow his own anger, but maybe also to loosen me up, which it did. I found myself not only sharing the details of Greg’s plan for Tyler, but my plan for him, as well.
I laid out the paper I’d stolen from Greg’s file. At the time, I’d actually thought it might help Ty, to foil Greg’s plan and save my stepfather from having to kill against his will. But after hearing Maks confirm every sordid thing Greg had said about Ty—after learning what he was capable of, what he’d put my mother through, made her suffer—all I wanted to do now was get back at him, expose him for the criminal he was and see that he was punished for it.
I unfolded Greg’s note then smoothed it out on the table. “Greg gave Ty a dossier with information on the Vory he wants taken out.” I slid the paper under Maks’ nose. “I stole this from the top of that file. It’s a summary, a list of names, dates, and the locations where Greg wants Ty to assassinate them.” I pointed to the first item on Greg’s list. “You be there waiting for him at his first kill, you’ll have everything you need to arrest and prosecute Tyler Karras.”
Maks peeled his gaze from the document and looked up at me. “It would be conspiracy charges at best, difficult to prove, harder to prosecute.”
“Then you let him complete his mission and kill one of those Russian motherfuckers!”
“Keep your voice down,” Maks hissed as he leaned in with a sneer.
“I don’t give a shit, Maks. Each and every one of them deserves it. Look what those pricks did to my mother.”
“Conner, I can’t allow Tyler to actually kill someone. Legally, I’d be an accomplice and face collusion charges, possibly even conspiracy.”
“Who the hell’s gonna know? Just me, and I’m not gonna tell. I’d be just as liable as you are. Come on, Maks, I want those fuckers dead, and I want Ty in jail where he belongs. This is the proverbial two-birds-with-one-stone. Plus, you get the credit, to redeem yourself for fucking it up the first time. It’s a win-win situation.”
Though I could tell he was thinking it over, he shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t permit Ty to kill anyone. And I could have you arrested for even having this conversation with me.”
I slammed my good hand against the table. “Whatever, Maks, give those Russian fucks a bye, if that’s what you want, but you get Ty on attempted murder at the very least. Wait ‘til he attempts a shot, then arrest his fucking ass.” I leaned in, close to his face. “You do it, Maks. Ty deserves it. You know it, and I know it. You do your fucking job and arrest that prick!”
Maks pulled away with a tiny smile and a weird look in his eye. Then he shook his head at me. “Seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree now, does it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “Means you’re a lot like the man you now profess to hate so much.”
“I’m nothing like Ty.”
Maks chuckled. “Aren’t you? Isn’t Ty’s thirst for revenge what got him into this mess in the first place? You’re doing the same thing. It can’t lead to anything good, I assure you.”
I shook my head, refusing to acknowledge his point, but seeing the validity of it nonetheless, not that it mattered. I still wanted Ty to pay for what he’d done to my mother, and to me. I was determined to find a way to get Maks to do just that.
“So, what?” I asked. “You’re Ty’s friend first, Special Agent second? That it?”
Maks stared down into the last of his beer. “No, not at all. Karras and I merely tolerated each other all those years ago. We were never friends. Aaron was the only one Ty was friendly with. He even protected Ty from the higher-ups in Command. I never really understood that, to be honest.” He tipped the glass to lips, drained it, then set it back down hard on the table.
“Maks, look…I’m sorry if I got a little carried away, but…you can do this, without breaking the law. Think of it as a sting, if that’s what it takes. You’re just setting Ty up. You know the time, you know the place, you even know the victim. Whether he chooses to break the law or not is up to him. If he does, arrest him. It’s as simple as that.”
He glanced away for a moment and nodded. “And what about your mom?” he asked, once again staring me in the eye. “She’s about to have Ty’s kid, isn’t she?”
“She already has, but…she’ll get over him, like she got over my dad, and both she and my baby sister will be better off in the long run. It’s the right thing, Maks. For everything you know he’s done. He deserves it.”
Maks nodded with every point then mashed his lips together and shrugged. “Yeah,” he finally agreed. “He does. Always has.” He sighed loud and long, like it was the hardest decision he’d ever had to make. “All right. We’ll set it up.”
I couldn’t keep from smiling, though a part of me felt badly for some reason, my mom, I supposed. I didn’t relish the idea of destroying her marriage or her happiness, but it was the right thing to do. Ty had to pay for what he’d done to her, as well as for what the Russians had done. That was his fault, too. It was only fair.
“Good,” I said. “I wanna be there when it goes down, to see the look on his face.”
Maks shook his head, his brow high. “Yeah, that is so not going to happen,” he said as he swiped the paper away, folded it neatly, and slipped it into his pocket.
I shrugged, knowing it was pointless to argue. It didn’t matter really. I’d already memorized everything on the first three targets. I’d do whatever it took to be there and witness the downfall of Tyler Karras once and for all.
CHAPTER 57
Tyler
Following my branding as yet another Vory dog, I was given new quarters inside Greg’s house, a great privilege I was told. If it allowed me more freedom than being locked in a metal box, then I was all for it. Unfortunately, I was being watched closer than ever and had a guard on me at all times, even in “my room.”
I wandered around my newly assigned apartment. It was adequately outfitted with a queen-sized bed, a side table and lamp, and an armoire with a flat screen TV inside, all very masculine, contemporary and sleek, even the bathroom, which was tiled in h
eavy slate. But just because my accommodations had improved didn’t mean I was any better off. I was just closer to Greg, more readily available when he chose to blow his whistle and beckon me to his side, exactly what he was doing now.
My guard opened the bedroom door and ordered me to precede him into the hall. Greg wanted a meeting to discuss my first assignment. I was escorted downstairs to a home office—large, darkly paneled, and impressively detailed. Greg sat behind an ornately carved desk where he tapped away at his laptop keyboard. He didn’t even look up when his man opened the doors and showed me in. He merely pointed to the guest chair opposite him and said, “Have a seat,” then continued pecking away in silence.
I kept my eyes pinned on Greg instead of allowing my attention to skim over the room. That was the intention of a space such as this, to intimidate the guest while validating its owner. I didn’t need to soak in the details to understand it spoke of power and influence, dominance and wealth. Frankly, I didn’t care, nor was I impressed. I knew the man well enough already, what governed him and directed his actions. He was a coward who used others to attain what he couldn’t on his own. Hard to respect a man like that. Yet everything about Greg begged for respect and validation—demanded it like a child throwing a tantrum. Greg could bully all he wanted, but he’d never truly have the respect of those he ruled. Someday soon, he’d come to realize that. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be around to witness it or not.
Leverage (The Mistaken Series) Page 37
