Away with You (The Revenge Series Book 2)

by M. S. Brannon

  I attach the band around my bicep, affixing my small iPod shuffle to arm and take in the grinding beats of music. I push the buttons, getting my machine moving, and start with a fast-paced walk. My side hurts, but I keep my body in sync with the rhythm. I fix my eyes on a motivational poster across from me and drown everything out. Then I look beyond the wall and allow it to disappear from my sight as I shake off the agitation inside my midsection and simply fall away.

  As the song loops over again, I pick up the pace, moving into a jog. My feet find the rhythm and start plodding in time to the beat of the drums. Before I know it, I’m running and feel great. Nikolai and his dangerously beautiful self fade away from my mind. I erase all thoughts of his icy blue eyes ripping me apart, the threat against my life and others, and Gabe’s protective instincts. I let it all just go away, and the next thing I know, it’s only me and Marilyn Manson who exist. I hear nothing other than the intense riffs, infectious melody, and tormenting voice. I allow it to only be us as I run on the treadmill.

  .*.*.*.

  August 9, 2015 8:53 p.m.

  My body finally gives in to exhaustion after forty minutes after running on the treadmill. The muscles in my legs turn to mush and the air in my lungs rapidly huffs out of my body. I achieved my goal—complete and total fatigue. I muster up enough energy to call another taxi and find my way home.

  I trudge up the flight of stairs outside my building and soak in the rain-kissed air as I come to my apartment door. The adrenaline eases out of my pores once the sweat begins to dry on my skin.

  Now the occurrences of the past two days are starting to all come back to me. The most noticeable is the pain in my side. It burns with every step I take, and for a moment, I think I may have overdone it, but I really don’t care. I needed to escape what is happening in my life. I needed to run until I couldn’t feel the darkness Nikolai holds over me and the fate of lives if I were to talk.

  I slowly walk across the threshold and toss my gym bag on the floor. When I walk to my bedroom, the agonizing throbbing at my ribs reminds me it’s time to take a pain pill and fall into a coma-like sleep.

  As best as I can, I peel off my damp clothes. My skin is sticky with dried sweat, and I definitely smell like I have spent time at the gym.

  The bathroom light flickers as I turn the shower on. The pipes whine and water sputters from the shower head as I wait for the water to warm.

  When I turn to get a clean towel from the shelf, I get a glance at my naked body. It’s the first time since it all happened that I have actually looked at my injuries. I already saw the marks on my face, but I didn’t get the time to really study the remainder of my body.

  My entire side is covered in a purple bruise flaked with specks of blue. I run my hands over my ribs, touching the tender skin. With every pump of my heart, I feel like my hand slightly jumps as the pain pounds against my muscles. It’s then I really notice my hands. A few of my knuckles are covered with scabs where the skin broke away from fighting off Nikolai. The only mark I left on him was a bruised face, whereas he left his damage inside and outside of me.

  I slowly step into the shower and allow the warm beads of water to pass over my skin. I don’t turn around, wanting to only feel the warmth on my face. I can feel it all brewing under the surface … everything. And I don’t want to feel their heat, only the heat of the water.

  My eyes are closed tightly, and when I tip my chin up, I can feel the stress of the day start to consume me. My tough exterior breaks, and I wilt under the stream of water.

  I rarely permit myself to have a weak, emotional release. My mother’s death a few years ago was the last time I allowed myself to feel every single emotion inside. In my eyes, crying only shows others how fragile you truly are on the inside. The armor should always be in place, never letting anyone in.

  I slide down the shower wall, sitting on the floor, and wrap my arms around my knees as I tuck them up to my chest. The sobs sputter from my mouth before they fully consume my current existence. Fear, agony, and frustration bubble over and fall from my eyes. I don’t hold any of it back. I keep my bottle open, exposed, as every emotion boils from the top. I let myself tap in to the fear of keeping the secret and the frustration of what he could do to me in a single second.

  I cry because my insides are broken and ache with pain. I shed tears for the family who lost their lives over something as senseless as betrayal. I weep for my father, the man who molded me into the woman I’m today. The man who turned me into the cold, hard detective. And I cry for Nikolai. He doesn’t deserve my tears, but he also didn’t deserve to grow up the way he did. He was singled out of society and marked as a loser from the moment he was born, only to end up trusting a man who turned out to be the murderer of his twin brother and family. That’s enough to send the purest man down a path of evil.

  My body shudders. The pain travels through every inch of my body because I’m allowing myself to feel it all. I remain balled on the shower floor as the destruction of my emotions takes over and out of me and down the drain.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nikolai

  August 10, 2015 6:03 a.m.

  The sun is barely over the horizon when I’m ushered into the prison transport van. My ankles are tethered by chains to my wrists bound in front of me. It’s very uncomfortable, but the excitement of the day is enough to help me ignore it.

  Vankin came through for me in a big way. Because of his efforts, I will be meeting with Zaretski today and hopefully get the answers I need on Stravinsky’s whereabouts.

  I know going to Victor is a long shot, but I killed the only reliable source when I stabbed Boris with my Bowie knife. My hate for that man overtook me, and I couldn’t swallow down the words he was spewing. Knowing what he did to my family, I couldn’t let him breathe for a single second longer. Boris needed to die in that moment, and I don’t regret the setback it gave me.

  The pure, dripping revulsion I have for Boris boils under my skin. It becomes slick with sweat, and my muscles catch fire in an inferno-like heat. I clench my fists as I recall his disgusting face.

  The van moves and I’m soon transported to the hospital. I keep the hate for Boris and Stravinsky brewing below the surface of my skin. I hold on to the loathing and revenge. I keep pictures flashing in my head of my brother and his family. I see Josslyn as a young girl, violated and disconnected as Boris climbs from between her legs. I grasp the images so hard and use them as my lifeline to the man responsible for all of it.

  The second I stepped in Blythe Harbor, my mission to destroy him was set, but it was altered as new information came to light. It’s not only me who needs to see his demise. Josslyn needs to witness it too. Hell, she needs to contribute to his death.

  .*.*.*.

  August 10, 2015 9:13 a.m.

  The three-hour trip feels like it lasts three minutes as I keep myself swimming in disgust. The officer pulls open the back van door, visibly stunned. My muscles are hard as stone, and the pacing monster who lives just beneath the surface is surely noticeable in my expression.

  I step from the van and shuffle my feet along the walkway. The patient entry door is opened by a large security guard. Then I’m ushered deeper in the hospital, and we come to the central control area. A small woman is sealed behind bulletproof glass in a room no bigger than a prison cell. The monitors are stretched on one side of the wall with another man staring at every screen. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, my sights set on the screens.

  One of the transport guards walks to the woman, speaking to her through a microphone system. Her voice sounds slightly robotic as she gets the details for the officer. I drown out their conversation and study the surveillance televisions.

  The video cameras blink and flash every few seconds to a different view. Four rows of four screens, sixteen monitors in total. Each one is labeled with a floor number. As soon as I spot that particular detail, the tiny woman says, “Fourth floor.”

  I quickly scan my eyes to the top row of sc
reens and study them. I count five seconds between views as the pictures switch from the hallway to the elevators to a stairwell. It appears these are only the main traffic areas. There are no patient rooms or testing rooms located on this set of screens, which tells me there is another security or monitoring room for those.

  After a loud buzz sounds, the cage-like steel gate retracts, and the transport team walks me through. Prison bars are right in front of us as we stop in the small space while the gate slowly closes, trapping us between the two. The buzz sounds again, and the prison bars are unlatched and mechanically slide open. I’m ushered through the security gates and taken down a bleak white hall to a bank of elevators. To my right there is a single window covered in steel bars, and when I look up, I see the surveillance monitors mounted in the corner of the elevator area. The small, red blinking light alerts me to its presence. I make a mental note I will probably find another camera in the same spot when we get off the elevator.

  The space inside the elevator is crowded with four other men in front of me. I look down at one of the officer’s belt and see the keys to the handcuffs hanging off the side.

  Although these men are dressed in full tactical clothing, guns strapped to their waists, I could easily kill all of them. If I was free, of course. I could grab a pistol, and then their deaths would follow moments later. It would be messy and loud, but it would be done. However, that is my plan B if things don’t unfold how I want.

  The elevator dings and the doors open. Once out, I glance up and notice the camera positioned exactly as I expected. To the side of us is a window. Each area is like the one before; however, this window has no bars.

  The guards turn to the left and take me in the only direction allowed. The sounds of my clanking chains and the scuff of their boots vibrate off the white, cinderblock walls. The air is cold and the view even colder.

  Every surface is painted white. The hallway is long and branches off into other areas, but we only stay on the main thoroughfare. Looking off into the distance, I see a black, glass bubble fixed to the ceiling. The camera is hidden behind the tinted glass, providing a bird’s eye view of the hallway.

  The guards walk to the second to last door where a man in a white doctor’s coat greets us. He has the steel door open and ready for my entry. I assume he’s the doctor I’m here to see, but I couldn’t care less about him. All I need to know is if Manny came through for me and someone on the inside will escort me to Victor’s room.

  There is nothing in the room. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I assumed there would be more to it. Instead, it’s stark: no windows, no bed, no desk—nothing. There’s only a table and two steel chairs, one on each side.

  I’m placed in a chair, and my handcuffs are unfastened from around my feet; however, my wrists are still bound. I assume this is their way of making me more comfortable.

  The transport team leaves me alone as the doctor shuts the door behind them. He places two Styrofoam cups in front of me, one filled with water and the other with coffee. I pick up the coffee, missing the taste of my morning cup, and take a sip, finding it is barely hot. I supposed it’s kept cooled down so I can’t splash it in someone’s face and burn them.

  The doctor standing over me is about my height and build, only a little heavier in the waist. His hair is an ash-blonde and eyes a golden brown. He has a unique scar under his eyes. It makes me wonder for a moment until he pulls the chair out and sits down.

  “Black?” the man says, getting my attention immediately.

  When I finally got through to Manny, I told him he needed to provide a single word to the man he’s secured on the inside.

  I nod my head in acknowledgement, refusing to speak. I have to build my trust in this man, even though we just met. Therefore, I ask him some questions to get an idea of how he feels about what he is going to help me with.

  “What is your name?” I ask as I pierce him with my eyes.

  “Arthur Matthews,” the man replies with a slightly shaky voice.

  “And, Mr. Matthews, do you have any family?”

  He tenses slightly, letting me know he fully understands why I asked the question. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now that we have that out of the way, tell me, what is your job at the hospital?” I tent my fingers and sit with the ease of a mafia boss, only looking at him and keeping my face devoid of any emotion.

  “I’m a physician’s assistant for the head psychiatric doctor here at Washington Mental Hospital.” Matthews moves uncomfortably in this chair as I continue glaring directly at him.

  “I assume Manny filled you in on the details of why I’m here today. Care to share those with me?”

  “All I was told was to show up with these.” He pulls a black flip phone and a bobby pin from his pocket then places them on the table. So far, it looks like Manny has followed the requirements. “And to find a way for you to speak with Victor Zaretski.”

  I take the phone and tuck in the front of the brief underwear the prison forces you to wear and then hold the bobby pin between my index and middle finger. After tucking it away until I’m ready to use it, I motion toward the camera in the room.

  “And that?”

  “I deactivated it when processing told me you were on your way up, but the cameras in the hallways are on a different server, one I do not have access to. There was nothing I could do about that.” He adjusts himself in the chair and pulls his hands from the table, placing them in his lap.

  “I’m not worried about those cameras; I can have that taken care of easily. Now, why were you so willing to help me out, Mr. Matthews?”

  “Because I have an ailing daughter at home, suffering from cancer, and my salary and insurance don’t cover the experimental medical treatments she needs. Because I hate my boss for not giving me the deserved raise I need to help finance the treatments.” His voice grows angrier as he enlightens me. “Because I want nothing more than to leave this god-awful place and go somewhere warm, sunny, and welcoming.”

  I study Arthur Matthews. He is a desperate man, and desperate men make consequential choices. I understand his motives, but do I trust him? When it is all said and done and the money is in his grasp, how do I know he won’t recant his word and turn me in to the police or set me up?

  He looks hopelessly at me. “I guess it’s time I make a deal with the devil, because there’s no one else who can help my daughter.”

  “Mr. Matthews, I’m not the devil. I like to think of myself as an angel of mercy. I can take all your troubles away. I know people in high places who are connected to the best this world can offer. I can relocate you near the best doctors who can help your daughter. With one phone call … I will do that for you.” Leaning forward, I give him a taste of what it would be like to get on my bad side, giving him a murderous glare. “But know this: if for any reason this deal is tarnished, I will destroy everything you love, starting with your precious daughter. If I get any inkling you’re withdrawing from your side of the deal, I will become the devil you speak of. I will be evil incarnate.” I sit back and place my hands in my lap. “Do we have an understanding?”

  Matthews nods his head and swallows hard. The light shining on his brow shows a slick sheen of sweat. By the way his hands are trembling and his eyes widen in worry, my message is crystal clear. Arthur Matthews knows exactly what will happen if he doesn’t comply.

  “When is this all going to happen?” I ask, ready to get the wheels in motion.

  “Now.”

  My adrenaline rises as I clear my head and listen to what will happen next.

  “Dr. Siyyid has one other appointment before he’s scheduled to see Victor, so you won’t need to worry about him. However, there are students visiting from the university today, and they’re supposed to arrive soon.” Arthur holds up his wrist watch, looking at the display. He stands at the same time I do. Then we walk to the door, but before he pulls it open, he asks, “How will I know you’ll really help us?”

  “Well, this
is the part where I tell you to trust me.” I pull the cell phone out from next to my groin and motion for him to take it. “Program your number. No names—just put in the number, and I will know who it belongs to.”

  Arthur takes the phone, and within moments has his number programmed. I tuck it back into my briefs. Then we walk out of the room and down toward the hall. My feet remain unshackled, making it easier to walk. I keep my head down and ears open as Arthur gives me directives.

  “You will have a fifteen minute window to speak to Victor and get out of there before the interns come to the floor.” I nod in acceptance. “Many of them are excited to see him in person. They’ve been studying psychopaths like him throughout school. Now is their chance to get up close and personal with one.”

  I roll my eyes, knowing he’ll be looked upon like a damn zoo animal. They will point and gawk at him while trying to understand the inner workings of his mind. It’s sick and disgusts me, but that is neither here nor there. My only goal in this matter is getting in and out without too much disturbance.

  He continues, “So get what you need and get out. I’ll remain just outside the room. If, for some reason, this goes awry, I will deny any affiliation with you. I will tell them you threatened to kill me. I can’t afford to lose my job.” While we keep moving forward, Arthur’s whispers are felt with his hot, unsteady breath. “Okay?”

  I say nothing, only nod my head. I don’t want to attract any attention, and I don’t want to be visible to anyone if possible. I’m not worried about the cameras. I have a genius for that. Fortunately, there aren’t too many people walking past us.

  He stops several doors down and pulls a key from a spool hooked on his belt. Arthur puts the key in the lock and starts to open the door. The metal retracts on the thin chain, securely going back in place.