Ivanov’s scarlet face flushed with anger to an unhealthy purple at the sight of the case that was clearly too small to hold a nuclear warhead.
“What is this?” Ivanov spat angrily. “You are supposed to be delivering a nuclear warhead, and you’re sent with a case that’s not even big enough to hold the money that I paid for its construction!”
Eugene remained silent.
Ivanov glared at Eugene and yelled, “Speak dammit! Is this some kind of a joke?”
“This is what I was given,” Eugene stated adding an inflexion of perplexity. “This is what Dr. Terzini instructed me to deliver.”
“Your boss has been warned. And now he plays games!” Ivanov shouted his face a dangerously dark contrast to his pale hair.
Eugene pushed the case closer to Ivanov. Ivanov angrily grabbed at the case and opened it. Upon seeing its contents, the brawny criminal’s red face blanched. He froze in horror.
Inside the container was an explosive device. Fastened to the center of the bomb was a digital timer in the process of counting down from ten.
Eugene watched Ivanov’s guards from behind his dark lenses. The shorter of the two, a ginger-haired man of squat stature stood to the right of his boss. He had beady eyes the color of soil that shifted about nervously. Whether it was drug use or nerves that caused his eyes to dart, Eugene did not care. He simply knew the dumpy redhead would die first. The bodyguard standing at Ivanov’s left was a tall rangy man with black hair. His face drooped and sagged like an aged hound dog. A prominent nose filled much of his face and arched continuously from his forehead, curving outwardly as it sloped to his blubbery lips which jiggled and shook in sync with his racing pulse.
Eugene watched as their confidence collectively waned, replaced with dread, with fear. Their weapons lowered as they stared in shock at the contents of the case, a mistake that would prove deadly. Such a misstep allowed Eugene a fraction of a second, sufficient time to act.
In a motion orchestrated with skilled precision, Eugene descended on the guard to Ivanov’s right.
Caught by surprise, he looked up just in time to see Eugene advancing.
Eugene moved with the speed and grace of a jungle cat descending on his prey, grabbing his adversary by the face. He used the full weight of his enormous frame and drove the flame-haired guard’s skull into the concrete wall behind him.
Eugene quivered, elated by the sound of bone meeting the hardened surface, of the man’s cranium crushing under his blow. The impact sent the defunct wall clock above Dmitri Ivanov crashing to the floor below.
Eugene felt cheated that he could not linger and allow himself to be fully enraptured by the redhead whose life was slipping away incrementally. He wished to lock eyes with the dying man; to be hypnotized by his death, to delight in it. But such luxuries could not be afforded. Others needed to die; individuals with loaded automatic weapons that would soon be pointed at him.
Instead, Eugene moved without pause to the other man. His movements were instant. Ivanov’s remaining guard had no time to react. He attempted to fire his weapon, but Eugene was already on him and had seized the gun by its barrel, ripping it from his hands as bullets sprayed into the far wall.
After being disarmed, the raven-haired guard wanted no part of a confrontation with Eugene and turned to run.
Eugene extended his arms, swiftly landing his hands on the fleeing man’s narrow shoulders. With a swift grabbing motion, he positioned the man in front of him then hoisted him high overhead. With one hand on his groin and the other at his arm pit in a hold resembling a professional wrestling maneuver, Eugene brought Ivanov’s gangly guard crashing down on his raised knee.
A loud, sickly snap was heard as the spine and surrounding vertebral bones were severed. Death slowly encroached before finally overtaking him. A tremor passed through Eugene as he tossed the lifeless carcass to the floor. He then turned his attention to Dmitri Ivanov.
As he moved toward the mob boss, the timer on the explosive device bottomed out to zero.
It signaled the end of its countdown by issuing a distinct ding sound as benign as a toaster. No explosion ensued. The artificial bomb proved a successful distraction.
He advanced further, stepping slowly, relishing Ivanov’s reaction. Dmitri Ivanov sat mouth agape. Eugene removed his dark sunglasses revealing his unnatural, feline eyes. He parted his thin lips and stretched them across his teeth into a twisted smile. Like a ferocious animal baring his incisors, his face contorted into a nightmarish image.
He watched as Ivanov’s carotid artery pulsated erratically; he could practically hear its fitful drumming. The burly, blond criminal’s expression was no longer cocky. Instead, he more closely resembled a man who had seen the devil himself. Fear and horror flashed across his reddened face as he regarded the abomination positioned across from him.
Dmitri Ivanov, though shocked and horrified, attempted to feign confidence.
“What the hell are you?” he asked.
Eugene leaned toward Ivanov and spoke, “What I am is the man who was sent to kill you, Mr. Ivanov.”
Eugene paused, allowing the weight of his words to be fully absorbed.
“You’ve insulted Dr. Franklin Terzini. You threatened his life. Now, I’m here for yours.”
“If you kill me, you will start something you cannot finish!” Ivanov said his words pressured by fear he sought to suppress. “Do you have any idea how many men I am connected to? There is no country in the world that you or Terzini will be safe in, you will be tracked down like dogs. If you Let me live,” he tried, but Eugene had heard enough. He interrupted Ivanov’s ramblings and spoke, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
“Let you live? I don’t think so. But I will give you a sporting chance and offer you a count of twenty to flee before I come after you.”
“Do you hear me?” Ivanov asked, his voice turning shrill. “There is no,” he tried again futilely.
“Twenty!” Eugene spat angrily, alerting Ivanov that there would be no bargaining.
“You’re a dead man!” Ivanov proclaimed as he rose from his chair.
Eugene smirked at Ivanov, before resuming his countdown.
“Nineteen!”
Accepting his fate, Dmitri Ivanov frantically scrambled out the door in to the surrounding wooded hills.
Eugene, true to his word, gave Dmitri Ivanov a full count of twenty before slowly walking to the door of the dilapidated structure. He paused at the threshold and sniffed the air. Though thickened by fog, the scent was distinct; it lingered. Savoring the trail for just a moment, Eugene felt a familiar emotion swell with in him: rage.
He needed to kill. His entire body quivered involuntarily before he stepped outside to begin his pursuit.
Swiftly closing the distance between him and Ivanov, Eugene descended on his prey.
There was no longer a need for him to rush, he was able to take his time, enjoy himself.
If anyone had been in the forested hills of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, they would have heard the tortured screams of Dmitri Ivanov suffering at the hands of his killer. Fortunately for Eugene, no one was present to hear the cries.
Chapter 7
The second of two electronic bells sounded and signified that Gabriel was late for his third period English class. His meeting with his academic adviser had taken far longer than he had estimated. Additionally, he had to meet with the school nurse, the principal and had received a tour of the campus from the student council president Evelyn, an overly enthusiastic girl with braces on her teeth.
When the tour was finally over, Gabriel proceeded to his first class at Harbingers High School. He consulted the campus map Evelyn had given him and arrived at Mr. Adams’s third period English class. He rapped his knuckles against the door, lightly at first. There was no response, so he knocked louder. A tall, lanky man with gray hair opened the door and accepted his late pass signed by the principal.
All eyes focused on him as he entered the classroom. The unfami
liar sensation of discomfort resurfaced. Unsure of exactly how to manage it, Gabriel shifted his weight from one leg to the next, waiting for instructions. But he did not receive any. Instead, he received a formal introduction.
“Class, your attention would be nice. Okay. Direct your eyes to the front of the room, please. Thank you. People, let’s welcome Gabriel James,” Mr. Adams rambled with a pronounced nasal twang then directed him to sit at an empty desk near the rear of the room.
As Gabriel scanned the room, he saw many unfamiliar faces; most were unremarkable, but friendly, nevertheless. One male student among them did not seem altogether friendly, however. Though seated, Gabriel could tell he was tall and athletic. He watched Gabriel through narrowed eyes, all the while wearing a crocked smile that revealed a single dimple in his right cheek. Gabriel met his gaze, did not look away, but matched the dimpled boy’s intensity. His intention was not to be confrontational. He merely wanted to make plain that large athletic high school students posed no threat to him, that he was not intimidated in the least, that he felt no fear. Gabriel watched as the boy with the dimpled cheek ran a hand through his spiky blond hair and turned to the person sitting next to him and whispered loudly
“pretty boy” then laughed. The person to whom he spoke did not share in his laughter. Neither did Gabriel.
Gabriel intensified his stare, his face expressionless. He guessed that his posture and stony aspect warned the dimpled boy off for he immediately fumbled with his textbook and submerged himself in its content with urgency.
Satisfied that the fleeting incident between him and the boy with the dimpled cheek had been adequately handled, he scanned the room again quickly. Mr. Adams had finished his rather winded inaugural presentation and ushered Gabriel to his desk. Upon closer inspection, he realized the seat assigned to him was next to someone he had seen before. His desk was beside the girl with the green eyes from earlier in the morning.
Her eyes were cast down, likely examining lecture notes. She looked up as he brushed past her desk, locked eyes with him for a split second. Without warning, his pulse rate accelerated again.
Gabriel struggled to understand the occurrence. His reaction to her was completely alien to him, yet not entirely unpleasant. He decided it would be beneficial to speak to the green-eyed girl. He reasoned that it was imperative to forge friendships as they were a necessary element of his integration process.
***
Melissa found Mr. Adams’s English class to be the longest and most grating of all her courses. Though it was fifty minutes, just as all other classes, it dragged on endlessly.
Typically, the point at which her misery peaked was the precise time the bell would ring to end the session, but not on this day. Instead, twenty minutes into class, Mr. Adams droned on and on but stopped briefly to introduce a new student who had just entered the classroom.
She recognized him immediately. She had seen him earlier in the hallway before school had started. It would have been impossible to forget him; he was breathtaking. He was better looking than any boy she’d ever seen. Melissa dared not stare at him as others did. She found their gaping to be brazen, rude even. Instead, she focused on her notebook, but couldn’t concentrate. She looked at the words she had just written, but read none of them.
She glanced up as he passed her desk and took his seat beside her. For a fraction of a moment, they made eye contact. There was no mistaking it this time; she was certain of it. His deep-set sapphire eyes met hers.
He sat and turned to her unexpectedly.
“Hi. I’m Gabriel,” he said and waited for a response.
Melissa did not answer right away. She was too stunned to speak.
“Your name is?” he asked.
“Um, Melissa, I’m Melissa Martin,” she fumbled.
She smiled and felt a familiar sensation of warmth spread across her cheeks. She knew they’d reddened. He smiled back at her, a genuine smile that did not end at his lips but traveled to his eyes and she felt her face blaze. Embarrassed, she immediately turned from him and feigned interest in her study materials, trying desperately to avoid resembling a tomato with hair.
Gabriel’s gaze lingered. She felt his eyes on her briefly before he lowered them. Straining to see him through a curtain of golden-brown tresses, she stole a quick glance at him. He was scanning the contents of his course textbook. His azure eyes were veiled by dark, thick lashes. He seemed preoccupied so she allowed her gaze to settle in his general direction. She scanned the far wall with him still in her line of vision. She glimpsed at the analog clock mounted on the wall, she looked over notes her instructor had scribbled on the dry-erase board. She tried desperately to remain inconspicuous, but it was almost impossible to keep her eyes averted.
His profile displayed the contours of his face. The straight line made from the base of his nose to the tip, the gentle indentation of the skin between his nose and upper lip, the ampleness of his lips, the architecture of his high cheekbones, the strength of his jawline, all of it culminated to form perfection. He looked unlike anyone she’d ever seen, like an extraordinarily handsome work of art.
Without warning, Gabriel lifted his chin and turned back to face her. She froze briefly. Certain that his exceptional looks enabled him to read her mind, her face flushed anew. She feared she resembled a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, but did not look away immediately. He looked back at her, puzzlement etching his every feature.
Her shyness and general lack of confidence colored her skin a deep crimson and left her worrying whether the new student was mocking her. Mercifully, the electronic pealing of a bell signaled the end of third period English. She gathered her belongings as quickly as possible and left.
Fortunately, fourth period was lunchtime. Embarrassing or awkward interactions would be limited. After what had just taken place, she desperately needed a moment alone to decompress. She intended to navigate the students bustling through the hallway and make a quick exit from the back doors of the school. Fresh air and a brisk walk off campus would clear her head.
Moving across an area littered with the desks of twenty-five students, some of whom loitered and loafed about, Melissa politely edged her way to the door.
As she rounded the corner outside the door to Mr. Adams’s English classroom, Gabriel James caught up to her.
“Hey Melissa!” he called.
Shocked, she turned to face him. She was powerless to conceal the expression of astonishment on her face. But her surprise was quickly replaced with confusion as Gabriel stood wordlessly before her.
He shifted from one foot to the other as if searching for something to say. Yet, Melissa dared not speculate that he was nervous around her. After all, he must own a mirror. She found the idea inconceivable, ridiculous; his good looks would likely render every girl to putty in his hands.
The silence loomed.
Melissa furrowed her brow as she sensed another red mask settle across her cheeks. She waited for what seemed like eternity for Gabriel to speak. But he did not. He simply stood there.
She remained, mirroring his behavior, shifting her weight from one leg to the next, unable to simply walk away and leave him standing there. She inhaled sharply, mustering the courage to answer the voice in her head that screamed, urged her to say something, anything, and break the silence. But before her words were formed, Gabriel spoke.
“Does Mr. Adams always sound like that, or is he sick or something?”
Melissa paused briefly then laughed aloud.
Though embarrassed by her outburst, she could not stop herself from laughing. The tense moments, the awkward silence leading up to his question about Mr. Adams instigated it. She did not want Gabriel to think she was mocking him or worse, that she was crazy.
“No. He’s not sick,” she giggled, wiping tears. “He just has an unusual voice. You’ll get used to it, eventually.”
“Wow. That’s a nice way of putting it.”
She laughed again.
Gabriel remained, smiling at her as she fumbled through her purse for a tissue to blot her eyes. He continued chatting with her, asking about other instructors and courses. As he did so, various girls, many of whom were barely acquainted with Melissa, suddenly stopped to ask her an assortment of questions. She knew they were just excuses to be around Gabriel as most, if not all, were ridiculous questions about homework assignments for classes she was not a student in, foreign language programs she was not affiliated with, and hairstyling tips she did not have. With Gabriel at her side, Melissa was suddenly the most in-demand person at Harbingers High School. Yet as each girl spoke, their eyes remained on Gabriel, not Melissa.
Gabriel stayed despite looking as though he wanted to flee the pack that had descended on him, circling and stalking him like wolves surrounding wounded prey. He stayed as she addressed absurd questions and deflected others altogether. She tried to stay calm. Her tone was neither sarcastic nor angry and she kept her facial expression neutral. But the more she interacted with her hormonally charged peers, the more obvious their agendas became. She also noticed that Gabriel was uncomfortable.
Unlike Kevin Anderson who rejoiced in being flanked by groups of adoring girls, Gabriel subtly rejected the advances offered. Melissa watched as many girls flirted overtly. Hair was flipped, bosoms were outthrust, Gabriel’s arms were continually touched, giggling reached excessive levels, and eye contact was prolonged. The display was shameless.
Unable to endure it a moment longer, Melissa ushered him out of the group claiming she needed to get him to the guidance counselor’s office to iron out conflicts in his course schedule.
As she shepherded him away from the group, Melissa turned to him and said, “I’m sorry for those girls back there. They’re a little overcharged, hormonally, I mean.”
She blushed and rolled her eyes at her words, at her awkwardness then continued, “I mean that must have been weird for you. They kind of descended on you like a pack of wolves.”
Planet Urth Boxed Set Page 73
