Past Never Dies

by Cate Clarke

  All except for maybe the young man in front of her, pacing and casting occasional nervous glances her way.

  “English?” she asked.

  The man stopped pacing, and he looked at her for a moment before giving a frantic nod.

  Diana nodded back and asked, “What’s your name?”

  “V-Viktor,” he stuttered and took a step forward.

  “You don’t like this stuff, hey, Viktor?” she said. “You didn’t sign up to be a police officer to do this, did you?”

  Viktor shook his head and took off his hat; his forehead and his hairline were slick with sweat.

  “Listen to me, Viktor,” Diana said. “Those guys…they’re bad guys. They report to the bad guys. You’re the good guy. It’s not me, and it’s not them. It’s you. And a good guy like you…you gotta help me out here, Viktor.”

  “Good guy?” Viktor asked. Diana sighed, worried he wasn’t understanding, but then he said, “Like… like Jack from TV show Lost?”

  She almost laughed. Instead, she sucked in through her teeth, raised her eyebrows, flicked her hair out of her eyes and said, “Yes, Viktor. Exactly like Jack from Lost.”

  That unexpected reference was also an indicator of how young he was. Diana would have chosen an example from something much older and much more Bruce Willis-y.

  “What can I do?” Viktor asked. “I cannot let you out. They will know it was me.”

  “Good point, Viktor,” Diana said, thinking as she looked around the room at the spattered blood and discarded weapons. “Pass me that.”

  Using her shoe, she pointed to a small pocketknife that had been left and kicked under the table in between them. Viktor got down onto his knees, crawling across the tile to grab the plastic handle. He held it out for her.

  “Uh,” Diana shook the handcuffs. “Going to have to do a bit closer of a handoff, Jack.”

  Viktor scrunched his eyebrows, confused.

  “Put it in my hands,” she clarified, whispering as she heard footsteps and laughter coming down the hall once again.

  “Oh yes,” Viktor said and bounded around the table, circling behind her and sticking the knife into her palm. She pointed the blade up and out of sight.

  “One more thing,” she said as Viktor started to walk toward the door. He looked over his shoulder, at the door and then back at Diana again. “If you see another American…brown hair, blue eyes, kinda chubby—let him inside. Just inside, that’s all you have to do.”

  The door opened. Arthur and his gang returned, clomping inside and giggling, the smell of beer and cigarettes making its way to Diana’s nose. One of them clamped a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, whispered something in his ear and threw his head back with laughter.

  With half a laugh and a nod, Viktor slipped out the door, not wanting to see what was about to unfold. And Diana didn’t blame him for that.

  Three of them. One of her. But, this time she had her own toys.

  This was her only shot unless she wanted to wait for Ratanake and the American government to interfere. It could be months before she would ever see outside this building if she went that route, and what fate would await Kennedy if Diana never showed her face for Taras’s retribution?

  Clanging the handcuffs against the metal chair, she felt the initial obstacle—get out of the chair. They hadn’t cuffed her ankles, which had already proved to be a mistake with all of the kicks she’d landed between their legs. But they seemed to enjoy it when she fought back. It led to a chorus of laughter, so she was about to make their day.

  Arthur walked forwards, the nightstick passing between his meaty hands. He put the plastic tip of it against her cheek, running it down her face, her neck and her torso. The strong sickly smell of booze reminded Diana of her hangover. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and flipped the knife over in her palm so it was pointed downwards.

  Arthur brought the nightstick down further until he stopped between her legs.

  Snapping her legs up, she crouched on the chair and then pushed off of it, headbutting Arthur as hard as she could, the force of it almost knocking her out cold. Her vision blurred. Her hands still pinned behind her back, she passed the knife between her hands, turning her body so she could plunge the knife into his leg.

  Arthur screamed. The other two officers rushed her. Diana kicked the chair, pushing it into one of their torsos, giving her time to grab at the knife in Arthur’s thigh and yank it out with her cuffed hands. Just as the other officer reached her, she ducked underneath the table, weaving her hands under her legs so the knife was in front of her. The officer pushed swearing and screaming Arthur out of the way so he could crawl under the table. Two kicks to his face, the knife in his neck and then back out, Diana clambered out from the other side of the table, not turning around to see the blood pouring down his uniform.

  As she popped up from the table, the remaining unstabbed guard tackled her, and, from the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur pull out his gun, holding one hand to his thigh. He pushed her head into the ground, her face spreading out against the concrete, fighting against his weight. Lifting her hips hard, Diana bumped the officer up. He was momentarily surprised. She flipped around and using both cuffed hands, tried to plunge the knife into his stomach. With both hands, he grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

  There was a moment of struggle between them—her, trying to push the knife into him and him, trying to hold her wrists still.

  Diana brought up one of her knees, hitting him between his legs. His grip loosened, and she squirmed out from under him, but his fingers managed to tear the knife out from her hands. Hopping back up to her feet, she went for the TASER, grabbing it off the table just as the gun went off, bullet whizzing by her head. The TASER dropped by her feet. She ducked down, grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, completing the flip with a final kick. Her wrists ached, the cuffs rubbing against her raw skin, making every movement more painful than the last.

  She picked the TASER up and flicked the trigger, aiming it at the man who was cupping his balls with one hand and reaching toward her with the other. Two prongs spurted out from the end of the gun, latching on to his shoulders and chest. Diana let the gun fall, unable to hold it in her hands as she went for the door. The man and the TASER gun dropped at the same time, him with a heavy slap and the gun with a plastic crack.

  The doorknob turned in her sweat-covered palms as there was another gunshot behind her, the bullet wedging itself into the steel door just to the right of her head. And just as she stepped out into the hall, the third bullet hit her.

  It grazed her waist, sliding past her skin and ripping her shirt into two. The bullet whirred across the hall, right through the opposite door. It hit a desk, and Diana watched papers explode into the air through the window in the door as she fell to the ground, her side burning with pain. There was a scuffle and gasps coming from the end of the hall.

  She grimaced as Arthur limped his way to the door, grabbing her by the cuffs and holding her up as if she were a piece of luggage. Defeated, she spat out, “Let me go.”

  Arthur leaned down into her face, his smell of beer, cigarettes and sweat dripping into her mouth. Still holding the handcuffs, straddling her, he growled, “You’re never leaving, fucking dirty green face.”

  He dropped her, and she yelled out, her spine and waist battered with more pain as she hit the tile hard.

  She’d failed again. The impossible task had stayed impossible this time. Arthur was right. She was never leaving—if not this building then Kushkin’s territory. Diana was as trapped as her daughter was, just another woman to be trafficked, to be used for ransom, for sex, for revenge. There was a heaviness on her chest and eyes, encouraging her to give up and submit to what they wanted her for.

  There was a click—a safety turning off.

  At first, she thought Arthur was going to finish it off right then and there, push the gun into her head and release the bullet into her brain. But, his safety was already off.

&nb
sp; Diana turned her head, forcing her eyes open and looking down the hall.

  The sight of it almost made her cry. Andriy Kushkin spread out over the tile, his tan trench coat collar pulled up and choking him slightly. His hands bound behind his back. His face bloodied and bruised from the fingers of the man that was standing behind him, one hand wrapped around his collar. Rex Tennison, in full military uniform, holding a gun to Andriy’s head with the safety off.

  Chapter 29

  Rex Tennison

  Kharkiv, Ukraine

  On the way to the cheapest hostel he could find, Rex wondered about his Mitsubishi. Where had Diana left Lauren? She had been his saving grace in the early days of the divorce and now, maybe, Diana had parked her somewhere in the middle of Nevada, dust and sand wearing away at her beautiful teal body.

  The cab driver kept looking at him. Dark eyes flicking in the rearview mirror so often that he was worried they were going to go flying into one of the many squat cream buildings that made up Kharkiv. It really was a beautiful city. It was too bad they were visiting it under such weird and homicidal circumstances.

  “It here,” the cab driver said, pointing to a tall skinny building with a hanging sign that said “Hostel” and then a bunch of Ukrainian that made Rex’s eyes cross. He thanked the staring man, passed him the cash and booked himself into the hostel through a variety of hand signals and pointing to pictures.

  There was a naked woman in his hostel, asleep on the top bunk. They had tried to tell him something about shared rooms and though he hadn’t really understood down at the desk, Rex really understood now.

  Lingering, blushing and ducking into the bottom bunk, he pulled the curtain around the bed so he could check the information that Ratanake had sent. For being such a huge man, Ratanake was one of the most insecure men he’d ever met. If anyone so much as breathed on Diana, he was instantly all over them. Sure, Rex loved Diana. He always would. He would straight-up die for her, and Ratanake seemed to activate a jealousy in him that he didn’t know he had, but he wasn’t going to be that possessive military guy. Not his style.

  But, he wouldn’t even get the chance to reconcile things with her if he didn’t get her out of that jail cell or wherever they had her now.

  First things first, he had to go to the drop where Ratanake had gotten a military associate to leave him equipment. Second, find Andriy Kushkin. Beyond that, there wasn’t much of a plan, but Rex worked better without one. Most of the time, it didn’t work out for him. It certainly hadn’t with his marriage, but he didn’t need to reflect on those mistakes right now.

  After noting down the address, Rex kicked his way out of the bottom bunk. The woman on the top had turned over, her eyes open and staring at him with a slight smile as he stood up and stretched.

  She said something in an unknown language and laughed.

  “What?” Rex cocked one eyebrow up.

  Laughing, she said something else and turned over so he could stare at her ass. And he took a good look before leaving the room, heading past the desk and into the streets of Kharkiv.

  The Aurora Hotel was downtown, not too far from the city gardens and from Rex’s hostel. Still, he didn’t take his time. Everything was a race against time. Who knew what they were doing to Diana in that jail? And he couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what was happening to Kennedy. Not because he wasn’t capable but because he really really didn’t want to.

  It was getting dark. The setting sun painting the sky with a haze of gray from behind thin clouds. Rex walked by what looked to be an Italian restaurant—it smelled of garlic and wine and there was loud music playing inside.

  He turned the corner, seeing the Aurora’s pink exterior from down the street and picking up his pace.

  Whoever Ratanake’s contact was had worked fast. They’d left a package at the front desk that a man in a navy suit handed to him with way too big of a smile on his face. It was all in a large black haversack that Rex was able to swing over his shoulder and lug back to his hostel.

  The naked woman was gone when he came back, and he was more than a little disappointed. Gathering himself into his bunk and pulling the curtain closed again, Rex went through what they’d given him. A couple of handguns, three SMGs, flashbangs, smoke grenades, regular grenades, mini surveillance drone, some rope, black sacks, and a full SEAL-grade uniform. Way more protection than he’d ever had throughout his year in Afghanistan, and he couldn’t help but feel a little indignant as he looked at all of the equipment laid out on the sheet that smelled of soup. Really, the whole hostel smelled of soup.

  There was something about putting the military uniform on that brought Rex back to why he’d enlisted in the first place. That feeling of power after years of being looked at as weak and nothing special.

  He did stop to think, but it was only for a moment. This uniform was going to give him attention, good and bad. So after he had everything on, knee pads, elbow pads, vest, he threw on a hoodie over top. That was really the mistake in it all because it made him way too hot.

  Sweating profusely, address in hand, Rex made his way out of the hostel for the second time. He was strapped up in places he hadn’t been strapped in years, and he was feeling the donut and hot dog diet that he’d been living on since he and Diana had split.

  Not trusting the naked woman and his other mysterious roommates, Rex had taken everything with him. One block away from the hostel, he was dying, sweating and breathing so hard that he thought he was going to pass out on the street. He flagged down a cab and gave them the address, collapsing into the backseat with all of his extra weight.

  All of the stress of it, being alone, without Diana, being suddenly suited up for war, the long flight, it almost caused him to fall asleep in the backseat. He was exhausted, and he hadn’t worked this hard in a long time. Trying to motivate himself with Diana’s words, he thought about what she’d said on the plane: “I chose you, Rex, because I can trust you.”

  After all those late nights, breaking her trust over and over again with those young girls at the bar, Diana still had faith in him. And that was really the only thing that kept him going when he arrived at Andriy Kushkin’s townhouse.

  Standing in front of the white door with the gold knocker, Rex had no idea what to do. Should he just knock on the door? Barge in and throw in a flashbang? No, smoke grenade? More sweat.

  A group of young people walked by on the sidewalk, pointing at him, their laughs ricocheting off the walls of the street.

  Rex knocked on the door.

  A woman answered. She was tall with long blonde hair and an angular nose. A robe wrapped around her thin shoulders and silk nightdress underneath, she was absolutely striking. Large dark eyes looked him up and down, and her eyebrows furrowed.

  “Who are you?” she asked in English like she could sniff out the American on him.

  Not knowing what to say, Rex pushed himself inside. She didn’t seem bothered, like this was a usual thing for her. The house was beautiful—modern chrome accents and perfectly white furniture. Sculptures and paintings that looked very expensive and that Rex pretended to examine.

  “Are you here for Andriy?” she asked, closing the door.

  “I am,” Rex said.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Her voice was smooth and raspy with only a slight accent.

  “What do you have?”

  “Anything that you may like.” She smiled and took off her robe. “Did my husband send you as a gift?”

  “Uh—”

  “The uniform is a nice touch,” she said, her tanned collarbones flexing and pushing out as she moved herself closer to him. “This, though—” She touched a manicured nail to his sleeve. “Please take it off. It is obviously making you too hot.”

  Rex took off the hoodie, tossing it onto the couch as they entered the living room. She poured them each a glass of something clear that smelled of bathroom cleaner.

  “Homemade horilka,” she said and passed him the drink. The crysta
l wineglass terrifying in Rex’s sweaty hands.

  “You’re not the usual type,” she continued. “I like that he is keeping things interesting with an American this time. A fat one at that.”

  Rex looked down at his layers upon layers of uniform, suddenly self-conscious and forgetting why he was there as she flopped down onto the couch, putting her bare feet up on his lap. She sipped on the drink and wriggled her toes.

  Rex put his drink down onto the glass coffee table that sat in front of an electric fireplace.

  “Listen, I—” Rex tried.

  She moved her foot between his legs and whispered, “I want you to tie me up.”

  He remembered why he was there. He remembered Diana. And this lady seemed like she was going to make it as easy as possible to get what he was there for, especially if he played along.

  He laughed and said, “Okay!”

  She gave him a strange look and then laughed as well—both of them in on a joke that neither of them understood. Removing the rope from his backpack, he slowly moved her feet off of him; she dragged them along the soft carpet. He did take a small sip of the horilka, needing the confidence. The back of her was smooth as the front, pale shoulders revealing themselves as she moved her blonde hair and turned her torso. With one hand, she placed her drink on the coffee table and then brought both of her wrists together behind her back, waiting for him.

  Her dark gaze slid to him from over her shoulder as she said, “Well?”

  Rex scooted forward, tying up her wrists tight. She moaned, and Rex swallowed hard. Once she was tied, he took a black sack out of his bag and put it over her head. He also tied her ankles.

  Then, he left her there.

  She was muttering, but Rex gave himself a tour of the house, helping himself to some rice crackers that were laid out on the island. He waited. Her muttering eventually turned to yelling, and he eventually made his way through the crackers, but Rex waited for four hours for Andriy Kushkin to return home. Giving him plenty of time to prepare exactly what he was going to do. It wasn’t a particularly good plan, but it would be effective and it would get Diana out. And that was all that mattered.