Three
Nicky
Sixteen hours later, I disembark Valentina’s private plane on the tarmac of a Colombian airport. Thanks to last night’s trio of beauties, I have a knot on the back of my head, a king-sized headache, and a wounded ego. I should be angry, but I’m not. Instead, I’m impressed. Breaching Roman’s security deserves the utmost respect. According to him, the women relieved a number of guests from their priceless jewels. I endure his angry rant on my ride from the airport to this warehouse.
Heat shimmers above the asphalt in the narrow alley. I’m in the bad part of Cartagena, the part smart men avoid. A trickle of sweat crawls between my shoulder blades. It’s so damn humid here. I hate this city. Not because of the heat. Because of the memories and the obligations and the disgust I feel for myself every time I visit. While I wait for someone to open the warehouse door, I use my handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from my forehead. Behind me, the taxi driver stomps the accelerator to the floor, launching his cab forward with a squeal of tires.
“Enter.” The intercom speaker distorts the gruff Russian voice. A buzzer sounds, the locks click, and the door swings open. My heart gallops in my chest. I pause long enough to get a grip on my nerves then cross the threshold.
The strong stench of dust, mold, motor oil, and exhaust assaults my nostrils. I try to breathe through my mouth, ignoring the taste of those things on my tongue. Through the dimness, the shapes of cars—expensive ones—begin to take form. Lamborghinis, Maseratis, Maybachs, Bugattis. All stolen. All about to be chopped or sold or shipped to foreign allies as gifts. I skirt the perimeter of the vehicles and climb the rusty iron stairs to the second-floor office overlooking the warehouse floor.
“Ah, the whore is back.” Yuri Sokolov is a big guy, barrel-chested but fit. “Come in, whore. Sit.”
Although I’d like to punch his ugly face, I manage to maintain a neutral expression. “Is she here?” Hopefully, after today, my bargain with Valentina will come to an end. I slide into the leather club chair next to Viktor, his henchman. I want to get this over as quickly as possible and get back to living my life.
“You know, I was just telling Vik that we haven’t seen you here in forever. We’ve missed your smiling face.” As he speaks, he pours three shots of vodka into short glasses. “Perhaps Valentina has tired of you. Maybe she’s replaced you with someone younger. Someone with a bigger dick.”
I accept the vodka, hoping it will take the edge off my hangover from last night. Vik watches me through heavy-lidded eyes. Tension thickens the air among the three of us. “I don’t know about that. My dick’s pretty big.”
“If my wife is not happy, I am not happy.” He reclaims his seat behind the desk and smooths a hand over his more-salt-than-pepper hair. “And you will answer to me for that.”
Despite the air conditioning, my dress shirt clings to my skin. “I’m here because you can’t get it up anymore.” I shift in the chair, cross a leg over my knee, and try to pretend my life isn’t in danger of ending. Fear has a distinctive odor. I’ve smelled it on my enemies more than once. Maybe Vik and Yuri smell it now—on me. “If you were fulfilling your husbandly duties, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Is that what she tells you? My mistress would say otherwise.” He lifts the vodka to his thick lips, downs the shot in one gulp, and takes a minute to study my face. “You should be more like Roman. He would never become whore to another man’s wife.” His gaze crawls over me, searching for cracks in my calm façade, eager to regain the upper hand in our uneasy relationship. Well, he doesn’t need to worry. I’ve offered my soul on a silver platter to his wife. He stops staring long enough to light a cigar, puff on the end, and send clouds of thick, white smoke into the stale air. “Roman is arrogant. I like his testicles.”
I choke back a chuckle at his stilted English. “Balls.” Yuri frowns at my correction. “You mean balls.” When his scowl deepens, I wave a hand. “Never mind. Anyway. While I’m here, maybe you can help me out with something.”
His laughter booms through the room. Even Vik cracks a smile. “A favor? You come here after you fuck my wife and your brother slaughters my men, destroys my business, and steals my weapons? To ask a favor? Perhaps you are the one with enormous testicles.” The smile drops from his face. “Either you are crazy or stupid. I don’t know which. Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t end your life right now.”
At my elbow, Vik nudges aside the lapel of his suit coat to reveal the leather gun holster strapped beneath his arm. My bowels turn watery. Coming here was a bad idea. I should never have made a bargain with Valentina, but I did it anyway. For Rourke. Because sacrificing my self-respect and body meant she’d be safe from Don McElroy. Now that Don is safely imprisoned, I want my freedom back.
“You need me.” The answer leaps off my tongue. I’ve always done my best work under pressure. The kind of pressure exerted by Yuri Sokolov turns coal into diamonds or dust. I prefer to become a diamond. “Without me, you’ll have no one to deal with Roman. Without Roman, you have no guns. And without guns—well, you get the picture.”
“Sad but true.” Yuri exchanges glances with Vik. The portly man relaxes into his chair. I swallow down the fear clogged in my throat. Yuri jerks his head toward the door. “Perhaps we can be of use to each other. Come.”
The three of us clatter down the metal staircase. I follow Yuri between sky-high stacks of barrels to the back of the warehouse. Vik walks behind me. Two men dressed in disposable coveralls greet us. The scene behind them escalates my anxiety. Sheets of plastic cover the walls and concrete floor. Seated on a chair in the center of the room is a man about my age. Zip ties tether his ankles to the legs of the chair. His hands are bound behind him. Terror shines in his eyes. The room smells of blood, fear, and death. Things I’ve scented too many times during my life.
“I apologize for the interruption. Please continue.” Yuri twirls a finger in the air, encouraging his minions to resume their work. The dispassionate gleam in his eyes is almost as disturbing as the implements of torture lined up on the adjacent workbench.
“What did he do?” My voice is calm and confident. Inside, I’m none of those things.
“He lied to me, Nicky. To my face. And now he has to pay the price.” The big man places a placating hand on the shoulder of the prisoner. “Do not fret, comrade. It will be over soon enough.”
I glance at my watch. “Valentina’s not here, and I have another appointment. Maybe I should come back.”
“Your favor—what is it?” A single bead of perspiration rolls down his temple and hangs on the point of his chin.
The faces of the men turn to me. I lick my lips to ease the dryness, stalling. On the plane ride here, I rehearsed my speech a dozen times, but nothing prepared me for this. After a deep breath, I plunge ahead. “I’m looking for three women—beautiful ones—working as a team with sophisticated knowledge of security systems. They stole jewelry and artwork, and I want it back.”
Vik sucks in a shocked breath. Yuri’s head snaps back like I’ve struck him. The droplet of sweat falls from his face and lands on the shiny patent leather toe of his shoe. Even the captive ceases to struggle against his bonds. He draws a white handkerchief from his pocket and drags the cloth over his forehead. “I have heard of them. They work for Cash Delacorte.”
“Where can I find this guy?” The chances of reclaiming the stolen items are small, but I need vindication.
He closes his eyes, rubbing two fingers over the furrow between his eyebrows. When he opens them, a gleam of challenge flickers in his dark irises. “Cash is a friend and business associate. My answer is no.”
I shrug and head toward the door. “Roman said you were losing your edge. But if you’re afraid…”
In unison, three pistols point at my head. Roman had also said that coming here was a suicide mission. I lift my hands in the air. Fear weakens my knees. I always knew my final breath would be drawn while staring down the wrong end of a gun. N
ow that the moment is here, I’m swamped with regrets. I should have been a better person, told fewer lies, stayed away from married women, started a family. As much as I don’t want to die in a scummy Colombian warehouse, I doubt anyone will miss me.
“Say the word, boss, and I’ll take him out.” The cold steel of Vik’s gun barrel presses against my temple. “I’ve always hated this fucker.” He pushes harder until my head tilts to the side from the force. “On your knees, Nicky.”
“Are you sure? This is a custom Italian suit.” Desperation forces me to stall. I grasp for any reason to distract or delay the inevitable.
“What is this?” A feminine voice with a heavy Colombian accent draws Vik’s attention. He lowers the pistol. The overhead light reflects off her shiny, dark hair as she moves to Yuri’s side. Five men in matching black suits hover in her shadow.
“Valentina, my love.” Displeasure flattens Yuri’s lips. “You should have called. We’re in the middle of personal business.”
“I don’t need to call. This is my business, Yuri. You work for me, or have you forgotten?” The fabric of her pink jumpsuit clings to her large breasts, narrow waist, and wide hips. She rakes long fingernails over his cheek in a wicked caress. “Tell me now. What is going on? Don’t make me ask again.”
I ease away from Vik. The movement draws Valentina’s attention. Her brown eyes study my face. I give her a casual grin. “Hello, Valentina.”
“Nikolay? You made it. What took you so long?” She pushes past Yuri, ignoring the captive tied to the chair. When the tips of her tan sandals touch my toes, she stares up into my eyes. “Have you missed me?”
“No.” I return her stare with equal temerity. The scent of jasmine floats around her. From my stance, I can see straight down her bosom. “The only reason I’m here is to tell you that I’m done.”
“Don’t be like that, baby.” Her fingers trail down the lapels of my suit then back up again. Although her demeanor is friendly and flirtatious, I know better. Death and destruction cling to her high heels. Even Yuri keeps a respectful distance. “You’ve been a bad boy.”
“I suppose that’s a matter of perspective.” Just standing next to her makes me want to hurl.
With a sweep of her hand, she tosses her sleek hair over her shoulder. “When I call you, I expect you to be on my doorstep within twenty-four hours. I was about to send Vik to get you.”
“I wish you’d keep your whores out of my warehouse,” Yuri sputters.
She lifts a hand to shut him up. His mouth snaps closed. An obedient pit bull on a tight leash. “We had a bargain. I provided you with the man who threatened to kill your beloved sister-in-law, and you agreed to be my whore.”
“That was three years ago. It’s time to renegotiate.” A pact with Valentina Sokolov is akin to a deal with the devil.
“You seem to respond well to threats. Maybe you’d be more accommodating if I brought your beloved niece here to spend time with me. What is her name? Milada?” The bottom drops out of my stomach at the mention of Milada’s name. Valentina’s gaze locks with mine. “How old is she now?”
“Fifteen.” The lump in my throat intensifies.
“Such a tender age for girls. She’s at a boarding school in New York, right? And such an excellent student. Good grades, pretty, a champion equestrienne. Is she a virgin, too? A beauty like her would go for big dollars on my auction block.”
The fire in my veins turns to ice at the threat. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” A cold smirk twists her bright red lips. “In fact, my men have eyes on her right now.” She digs out her phone from her purse, presses redial, and holds up the screen to me. It’s a live video of Milada in her school uniform, walking through the school campus. One of her men wearing dark sunglasses walks a few paces to her left while another holds the phone. My guts shrivel in a way I’d never thought possible.
“We might be able to work something out.” I refuse to add more disappointments to the infinite list of ways I’ve failed Milada. My life already belongs to Valentina. Despair hangs on my shoulders, heavy and relentless. At this rate, I’ll never be free of her.
“Yuri, kindly tell your men to point their weapons elsewhere.” Valentina’s gaze locks with mine. “And, Nicky, you come with me. We can discuss the specifics of our new agreement over dinner. Have you eaten yet? I have reservations.”
The last thing I want to do is eat. Being around her nauseates me, but if I refuse, she’ll make good on her threats against Milada. I won’t let that happen.
After a shared bottle of wine and a plate of empanadas at an upscale restaurant, Valentina places her hand on my knee. My skin crawls at the touch of her blood red nails on my leg. “Now, who are these women you spoke to Yuri about?”
“You were listening?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. There isn’t an inch of Yuri’s business that she doesn’t know about. He might be the leader, but she’s the true mastermind behind his enterprise.
“Of course, darling. Yuri is useful but stupid. How else can I keep him out of trouble?” The sharp edges of her claws rake up and down the inside of my thigh, making the spicy food curdle in my stomach. Everyone knows her marriage to the Russian mobster was one of convenience. Their union promoted her from a Colombian smuggler to an international powerhouse and tripled their wealth. Together, they’re formidable. “I’ve heard of these women. In fact, one of them is of particular interest to me.”
“Is that so?” I straighten, allowing her hand to climb a little higher on my leg.
“Yes. She’s a voluptuous woman, big ass, even bigger tits.” She cups her hands in front of her to indicate a large bosom. Her eyes narrow into dark, predatory slits. “This woman stole from me. If you could bring her to me, I’ll end our bargain. Forever.”
Four
Calliope
For the past two nights, the same guy has sat in the same corner booth of the bar, drinking Macallan highballs and watching my every move. A stranger. Not one of the many regulars who circulate through the doors of this Ohio sports bar. His elegant grace, the expensive suit, the perfect hair—they’re incongruous with the football jerseys and baseball caps of the other patrons. My gaze snags on his for the hundredth time tonight. The collision forces the breath from my lungs. Brutal like a punch to the gut. He shifts back in his seat, cloaking his face in shadows.
“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Edna edges up to the bar and stares at the mystery man. “If you like that type.”
“What’s wrong with his type?” I ask, a little too brusquely.
“Nothing. If you like a perfect, arrogant, pretty man. Me? I prefer a beer-drinking, sports-loving teddy bear like my Tim.” She rests an elbow on the counter, her chin on her fist, and watches him.
“For goodness sake, stop staring. He’s going to think we’re talking about him.”
“We are talking about him.” Challenge eddies in her eyes made larger by her red plastic-framed spectacles.
Ignoring her, I perform the rote task of pouring drinks for the other waitress while a sliver of suspicion tightens in my chest. It’s been three months since I slipped away in Mr. Big Dick’s Porsche. When I reached London, I sold the car to a sleazy dealer and bought a one-way ticket to the most obscure place I could find. What if Cash sent this guy? As quickly as the thought occurs, I push it away. Impossible. No one could ever trace me here. I was careful to cover my tracks. I’ve got a fake ID and the lecherous bar owner pays me cash to avoid taxes.
I’m so focused on not looking at the guy in the corner that I accidentally trip over the rubber mat at my feet, stumble into the wall, and almost upset a stack of clean shot glasses. “Crap.”
“You should go talk to him.” Edna steadies the glasses before they crash to the tile floor. “You know you want to.”
“No. I don’t.” I fill two mugs with Guinness from the tap, set them on her tray, and ignore the questions in her voice.
“It’s just—” She falls silent as Lloyd, the othe
r bartender, hovers at her elbow to grab coasters and cocktail napkins.
“Can you close up?” he asks. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Sure,” I reply.
The instant he leaves, Edna leans over the counter to reclaim my attention. Sincerity softens her features. “Guys hit on you all the time, but I’ve never seen you leave with one. Why is that? You’re still young. You’re pretty. Do you prefer women? It’s okay if you do. No one here will judge you for it. In fact, I know a really nice girl from—”
“Not your business.” I arch an eyebrow but tolerate her concern because she’s my only friend.
Edna ignores the warning in my tone and continues. “It’s not. And I really don’t care, except—except you’ve been a raging bitch for the past month, and we’re all tired of tiptoeing around you.” The confession tumbles out of her mouth in a rush, like it’s been hovering on the tip of her tongue and she can no longer hold it back. “You’re always angry. Always guarded. What’s going on with you?” When I don’t answer, she keeps going, even though my back is to her. “You never hang out with any of us. You don’t talk about your personal life. It’s like you don’t exist outside of this bar.” Her brow furrows in an otherwise unlined face. “It’s weird. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Better get back to work.” Using my knee, I close the storage cabinet beneath the counter and pivot to face her. Unlike the other employees, my glare doesn’t dampen her determination. “Those beers won’t serve themselves, and I want to close up at a decent hour tonight.”
Lloyd bumps my backside, causing vodka to splash over the glass I’m holding and onto my shoes. I scowl. “Watch it, Lloyd.”
“Sorry.” He keeps moving, like he’s afraid I might jump down his throat. The pained scrunch of his forehead reinforces Edna’s accusations. The realization saddens me.
The Ruthless Knight Page 3
