He is not going to make this easy on me, not one little bit. And that pisses me off. I’m not mad because I don’t want him here. It’s because he can’t be here. The more Gabe questions me about my distracted state of mind, the more inclined I will be to tell him about Nikolai, and I can’t have him getting into my head. If Nikolai comes for me, Gabe will try to defend me and that could end disastrously for him. As in, he’ll be fucking dead.
Gabe is my friend. He knows me better than any other person. Like he wants to protect me, I want to protect him. Nikolai will not hesitate to kill him to get to me. If I happened to survive this, I don’t know how I would live with myself, knowing I’m the reason Gabe is dead. I need him to get the hell out of here. For his own damn good, he needs to be gone.
“Gabe, I … I really would rather be alone.”
“That’s not happening, Joss.” God, he’s a stubborn ass sometimes.
“You don’t know what he’s capable of. I have seen it—seen him in action. He’ll kill you.” I’m pleading with him, but I know it falls on deaf ears.
Gabe turns to me, his eyes boring intensely into mine. “Josslyn, I’m not some idiot rookie. I do know how to handle myself in situations like this. And since you know what he’s capable of, it only cements the reasons for me not to leave.” He turns his head back and rolls his shoulders. “Now shut up and try to relax.”
I smile on the inside because it’s very noble of him to be here with me. However, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t keep my bad attitude flying his way.
“Well, if you’re planning on grilling me over what happened, don’t expect me to do any talking. I was already interrogated by our boss. That was enough.” I expel a deep breath, hoping that was enough for him to leave me alone if he is so insistent about staying here.
I can feel my emotions start to bubble again; only, I will not let them trickle down my face this time.
Why? Why am I acting this way? Could it be that I’m glad he’s here? When I really think about it, do I want Gabe here?
I push the comforting thoughts away as soon as they enter my brain. I don’t need someone holding my hand, getting me through the emotions. I can and will do it myself. I’m a strong woman, a fighter, and I have survived that asshole’s terror once. I can do it again.
My stomach grumbles loudly, distracting me from my random notions. I look up at Gabe, embarrassed by its outburst. Then I realize it’s been several hours, maybe even days, since I ate any food. When my stomach protests noisily again, I grab my gut and hold my hand against it. I can feel the vibration from my groaning appetite.
Gabe smiles and gets off the sofa. Putting his hands on either side of my face, he palms my cheeks in his large, familiar hands. “Look, you don’t have to say a word. I’m only here to make sure you’re okay. And when you’re ready to talk”—Never—“I will be here for you, okay? Now, let me order a pizza, and we can watch a movie or play cards. Whatever you want.”
“Fine,” I acquiesce and flop down on the couch. The sudden jolt of pain shoots through my midsection, and I wince.
“Whoa, now take it easy. Do you want something to drink?” Gabe walks to the kitchen and pulls my fridge open.
“Whatever. Water … I guess.” I try to act like I don’t need him here, that I can manage my life problems on my own. But the longer he stays with me, the more I don’t want him to leave. I can try to convince myself that I’m okay alone, but seeing him now makes me want to be the opposite of alone. I blame this on Nikolai. He made this threat on my life. He’s made me weak and dependent on others. That is something I vowed to never do when I was old enough to make it on my own.
“Damn, your mood needs to change,” Gabe snaps, handing me a bottle of water before snagging the television remote from the side table. “Let’s make sure we watch a comedy or something a little more upbeat so you don’t yank my head off for looking at you wrong.”
He cracks open a beer while I pull the blanket off the end of the couch and wrap it around my legs. The warmth of the fabric cloaks me and calms me all in one.
Gabe messes on his phone, ordering a pizza online, and then we settle in for the night. We choose a recently released movie, something with inappropriate potty humor, and I’m glad for the distraction. Forty minutes later, the pizza arrives, and we waste no time before diving in.
Lying on the couch with a belly full of pizza, I look over at Gabe. My feet are stretched out, resting on his lap, and he’s rubbing small circles on my lower leg with a small smile on his face. Unexpectedly, I get the sense of how normal this is, or it would be if I were normal, too.
I wonder why I couldn’t be with someone like him. He’s kind, funny, nurturing, and very attractive. He has a good job. He’s loyal, dedicated, and wants to do right by society. Surely, if my dad were to pick out a man for me to love and spend the rest of my life with, Gabe would be his top choice. Still, I can’t seem to get to that level with him. I do like him and the time we spend together. I would be devastated if anything were to happen to him. I give him a hard time, but that is how I cope with my demons. He’s always been there for me.
I guess I attribute my lack of intimacy to the one night that changed my life. I don’t think I could ever be good, not like Gabe. Yes, I’m a police detective, and my main focus is catching the bad guy. However, I don’t do it to serve my community. I do it because I have this deeply embedded hatred for the men I arrest, and I want nothing more than to see them suffer. I allow the revulsion I have for those horrible criminals to take over my entire body. I enjoy the challenge of seeking out the sick and demented assholes. I adore the cat and mouse games. I always keep connected with my disgust for criminals. That way, I’m always reminded of the reality that looms freely in this world.
In the back of my fucked up mind, I feel that, if I were to fall in love with anyone, it would be someone who is more like the real me, the scary me. The one I keep hidden deep on the inside. She is a person who has always been present in my life, someone who has only begun to truly come alive. This is a girl who has hate and vengeance flowing through her veins. A girl who wants to watch criminals get destroyed by the hell she brings them. The girl who is satisfied instead of afraid when she watches their executions delivered by the state of Washington.
The girl he recognizes.
A girl he has maliciously unearthed.
My stomach drops at the realization. Nikolai knew the second he looked at me. He could see the hate and pain hidden deep in my psyche. Nikolai had the key all along, the key to the door guarding my dark, hidden soul, my buried murderous thoughts. Nikolai knew we were kindred unmerciful spirits. He understands the demons all too well, because the blood lust I crave for the criminals who killed my father is the very same blood lust he possesses for the men who killed his family. These thoughts can only lead to one conclusion, and that’s with Nikolai on my doorstep and my life clenched in his fist.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nikolai
August 10, 2015 12:45 p.m.
I lucked out by assuming Arthur Matthews’s identity. His wallet was tucked in the back of his pants, the car keys in the front pocket, and his identification badge was clipped to his white doctor’s coat. As a result, getting out of the employee exit undetected was very, very easy. Now, driving back toward Blythe Harbor, I have my own identity to erase. Granted, the police have no idea who I really am, but they do have my picture in their database and footage of me on their server.
Another number I memorized of a criminal opportunist is that of Aya Nakamura. She is a computer genius. Educated at the best schools in the United States and Japan for information technology, Aya was the star pupil, the government’s wet dream. But she, like many of us criminals, has a shady past which grew her into the dark shrew she is today.
Aya needed to feed her sinister side. She wanted more than to sitting behind a desk for some stuck-up corporation or being a flunky for the government. Aya wanted to live dangerously, and she wanted to make money while
she did it.
Like Erik Vankin, Aya is another one of my hidden secrets from the organization. Granted, I hired her to complete necessary computer work for the Thieves, but I never divulged her identity to them. All my organization knew was I had someone who could erase anything from any computer and have it done quickly. I informed them that their only stipulation was to remain anonymous.
What I find amusing is Aya is nothing you picture a computer hacker to be. She is a beautiful, delicate-looking woman hiding a conniving vixen underneath. Her stature is a tiny four-foot-eleven on a good day. She has long, ebony hair with eyes just as dark. Her skin is flawless, slightly flushed and smooth. Her lips are pouty, supple, and pink. She is a vision.
I have to admit, the first time I saw Aya, I was momentarily smitten. Then I caught a glimpse of the manipulative villain she truly is and knew this is a person I wanted to keep on my good side. She is a lethal weapon with her computer hacking abilities. She could destroy your life with one click of her mouse. She likes nothing more than to make people who have wronged her grovel as they fall to their knees, begging Aya not to expose them as the world’s worst people.
As if that isn’t enough, Aya is also a master in karate, judo, and taekwondo. Most importantly, she is a wizard when it comes to deception. In my opinion, Aya quite possibly is the most dangerous person on earth, and I’m glad to say I’m on her good side.
Stravinsky was trying to secure a new buyer in Hong Kong for our recently acquired vault of former Soviet army weapons. I was standing in the background while Stravinsky was meeting with the criminal mastermind when a young Asian beauty strolled through the door. She carried a crystal decanter filled with brown liquor and acted as if she didn’t have more than two brain cells in her body. She giggled like a school girl when men tapped her on her ass and groped her under her short, plaid skirt. She appeared to be a ditzy, clueless tramp.
No one else saw her, but I did. Our eyes connected for a split second, and I instantly recognized the viciousness she housed on the inside. Aya was an evil temptress who was looking to destroy. The sin was practically dripping from her tar pit eyes. Turns out, I was dead right.
Aya carefully pulled a small, round object from under her shirt. The item was small enough to fit unnoticeably in her tiny palm and cylinder shaped. I stood back and watched as her evil plan started to unfold.
To this day, I think Aya wanted me to see her. She has always been a bit dramatic.
As she leaned down to pour the Chinese leader more liquor, Aya pretended to trip, spilling the drink on the table and angering him. Of course, she was greeted with the back of his hand and escorted out of the room. However, when she passed by me, a small, evil grin appeared on the corner of her mouth. An hour later, the Chinese leader started to convulse then keeled over, dead. I never reported to his crew what I saw Aya do, because I knew she was someone not to be trifled with. Yet my fascination for her grew immensely, and I needed to know who the woman was.
It took some time, but I was able to track down Aya Nakamura as she blended in with the millions of people in Tokyo, Japan. There was where I found out about her dark, genius side and her ability for destroying anyone who crosses her. From what she alluded to, the Chinese leader had owed her one million Yen, and when he had refused to pay, she’d killed him. It was as plain as that. No warning or threats, she simply infiltrated his organization, got close, and assassinated him. All that danger and revenge for less than ten thousand American dollars.
Something else I found out that night was Aya was in the midst of torturing two of the Chinese leader’s men in the back room of her apartment. Tucked away in a tiny, soundproof room, she opened the door to muffled screams and the scent of blood. After that, I decided I needed to go.
Tucking away my memories of Aya, I pull the prepaid cell phone from the pocket and dial her phone number. Within moments, she answers.
“Hello?” Aya’s voice is very delicate yet authoritative.
“It’s Black,” I respond.
“Oh, Mr. Black, it’s been a while, yeah?” Her voice is heavy with a Japanese accent, but I can still detect the hint of malice she keeps hidden.
“I’m in need of your services.”
“What kind of services would those be, Mr. Black? I’m an expert of many satisfying ventures, and if I remember correctly, there’s one you still haven’t taken full advantage of.” Aya gives her school girl giggle and sighs into the phone.
She has wanted to sleep with me from the moment we first met. It is tempting, and I’m sure it would be a very eye opening experience, but sex can destroy relationships. One wrong move, one wrong word, and she would be a woman scorned. God help the man who ever scorns Aya. In fact, if the man were smart, he would steer clear of her altogether. I would never openly share that with Aya, but I always graciously decline her offers.
“As beautiful as you are, my dear, I’m in need of your professional services at this time.” I can hear her huff out a small laugh then clear her throat, ready to talk business.
“Someday, Mr. Black, you’ll understand what’s good for you. So, what do you need?”
“I need an identity extraction from the Blythe Harbor Police Department, Washington Mental Hospital, and any and all surveillance videos cameras to be wiped clean in the Washington area.”
It’s a big job, one that will cost me several thousand dollars. She’s the sole creator of a facial recognition software program that has the capabilities to hack into any computer-based device and erase or destroy any trace of an individual person. It’s mind blowing to think about because cameras, phones, and surveillance instruments are everywhere. Millions upon millions of devices would need to be manipulated, but with her software, she can do it with a click of her mouse. I’m sure the process entails more, but I don’t have the patience or desire to comprehend it.
“Dates for extraction?”
I have to think back to when I first arrived in Seattle. I need to wipe out my identity entirely and get myself across the country as soon as I can. It will soon be known I escaped from prison, but the erasing of my pictures from every database and camera in the state will give me a much better chance of getting out undetected. From there, I can easily blend in with my surroundings. It’s a skill I have mastered, one of my finest.
“July twentieth through the end of this week.” Although my goal is to be gone from Blythe Harbor within two hours of obtaining what I want, I add in a couple more days to get my possessions, car, and the detective just in case. I will hang back, waiting until dark tonight, before I make my move to get any of them.
“This is going to take up several days of my time, Mr. Black, and if I calculated it correctly, it will cost you quite a lot. What currency are you paying in?”
“American,” I reply, knowing she’ll only accept yen or dollars.
“You’re looking at five and a half.”
I nearly choke when she provides me with the enormous estimate. This is the biggest transaction I have requested. Aya is a shrewd business woman who can ask for the exorbitant amount of five and a half-million dollars because she knows she is in control.
“Done,” I say curtly.
“I expect payment within twenty-four hours, Mr. Black. I will contact you directly with the accounts where the funds can be deposited, and then I’d be happy to get started on this little project.” Aya laughs again then says, “I was getting bored, anyway. Now you’ve given me something to do.”
I roll my eyes and snap the phone shut. My mind is racing with all the things I need to do before I can get out of this fucking place. I turn on the radio and scan the channels, finding a classical music channel. I need clarity and calm. I need to get my head on straight and the details of my plan in order so I can execute this with precise timing.
The daunting sounds of the rumbling percussion, piano, and strings reverberate as they travel through my veins. It’s an anthem. The powerful track to my mighty charge into Blythe Harbor.
.*.
*.*.
August 10, 2015 10:43 p.m.
I have been waiting several hours now, hidden in the tree line surrounding The Ruins. I wait for darkness to consume the sky and my time to emerge from this wooded haven. I’m tucked back in the dense forest several feet, hiding the black car while giving me an angle for viewing the shambles ahead of me. The rain has since come and gone, leaving the air crisp but not too cool.
I took my time assessing this area for possible escape routes when I arrived in Blythe Harbor, and I came across a small, unforgiving path within the forest surrounding The Ruins. Today, I took that path for the first time in Arthur’s car. The dirt was wet and divots were large, but I managed to drive through the trees and make it to the spot where I’m currently positioned. I could tell when I was driving that the undercarriage of the car was breaking and scraping against the molded dirt tracks, but I had little concern as I foraged my way through the rough terrain. Besides, it’s not my car. With a bit of work and some luck, I may just be able to repossess my own personal vehicle.
As I look at the sight in front of me, I think of how I’m now the most wanted man in this town. The bright spotlights shine from the old manufacturing plant, creating a beacon in a vast sea of darkness. The police have been here for two hours in their search for any trace of me. The time between Arthur Matthews’s ruse and now has finally run out.
I can’t sit in this car forever. I can’t just hang back and wait out the police. I have to keep moving if I want to complete the mission. Besides, it won’t be long before they start to search other buildings or the forest.
I step from the car and quietly close the door behind me. Looking down at myself, I see the white doctor’s coat and button down shirt don’t exactly disguise me. I move to the back of the car, opening the trunk and rummaging through its contents. Old work boots, a tennis bag, CDs, and jumper cables are just a few items amongst the shit stuffed back here. I push a pile to the side, hoping to find some article of clothing that will keep me somewhat hidden in the dark. Underneath a box of mismatched tools, I find a dark green hooded sweatshirt. I quickly shrug off the coat and button-up shirt, tossing it back inside the truck before putting on the sweatshirt then pulling out the crowbar stuffed inside the box.
Away with You (The Revenge Series Book 2) Page 9
