Leverage (21 page)

I was trapped inside my own body, unable to move, to open my eyes, to hear anything coherently, just muffles as I was lifted in someone’s arms and placed along a soft, cushiony surface. It was a car I guessed when the world began to move beneath me. Music played around me, hip-hop or rap, but not in English. Something else. Something familiar. But I couldn’t focus any longer before even the sounds and motion fell away.

It seemed but a moment later when I felt a hand gently stroking my arm, then my hair, my face, my belly. It was accompanied by a soothing voice, one I couldn’t identify, yet found oddly comforting, because I recognized the accent. It was the same soft burr of my husband, though higher in pitch and speaking in a way Tyler never had before.

That’s when I realized I was in serious trouble.

I screamed at myself to move, to open my eyes. Why wouldn’t my body obey? Then I remembered the rag over my mouth and that sickly-sweet scent before I tumbled to the floor. I’d been drugged. Oh my God, was my baby okay? I tried to move my hand to my belly, so I could detect her movement. A soft moan escaped my mouth as my dry, sticky lips pulled apart.

I pried each eye open slowly, one at a time, but all I saw were fuzzy blocks of shifting color and light. Then the closest shape moved, and I couldn’t help but jump. In drowsy confusion, I tried to pull away from the mysterious form. It was the man who’d been stroking my body and speaking to me in that familiar British cadence. He hovered over me. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision then stared when the man’s face finally came into sharp focus.

He was young, late twenties, and handsome in a delicate way, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, a slender nose, and strangely familiar eyes, green, but intensely dark. I peered at them, riveted by the weirdest sense of déjà vu, like I knew him already when I was positive we’d never met. Then a shield seemed to close down, preventing me from seeing any further. He smiled with a curt nod, and a thick, black curl loosened from his otherwise closely trimmed hair and fell across his forehead.

“My, my, my,” he said in a peculiar sing-song rhythm.

His voice—again, so familiar—startled me, and I pushed myself away from the stranger. I looked around and saw I was lying on an overstuffed sofa with richly embroidered fabric. The room was dim and heavily paneled with wood beams and coffers at the ceiling, and library shelves at the walls, stuffed full with leather-bound books. Dark plantation shutters blocked most of the sunlight, allowing only narrow slats to strike the thick Oriental rug atop the gleaming parquet wood floor. It was a man’s den, a lair, and it spoke loud and proud of its owner’s wealth and power. With fear coiling in my stomach, I looked back at the man.

“So,” he said, “you’re the infamous Hannah Maguire—here, in the flesh, in
my
house.” He gave his shoulders an animated shudder, like it was just too good to be true.

“No, I’m Hannah Karras now,” I said, my mouth feeling as though it were packed with cotton. “Who are you?” I glanced around again. “Where am I?” I asked and locked eyes with him once more. “How did I get here? Where’s Katy? And Roman?”

The young man smiled then stood and sauntered to the center of the room. “Ah, yes, Roman, your accommodating neighbor. He was fairly helpful, as was our dear Katya.” He faced me with a scrunched up nose. “She is rather pliable when need be. I like that in a girl.”

I swung my legs down slowly and pressed my feet to the floor as I sat up straight. I smoothed my hands over my belly and felt my child stir within. A soft breath of relief escaped as I turned my attention to my captor. “From what I gather, she didn’t have much choice.”

With a roll of his eyes, he threw a quick wave. “Katya’s such a drama queen.”

“How do you know her? How do you know
me
? Just who are you exactly?”

His face split into a magnanimous grin as he glided back over with his hand out. “You may call me Greg. Everyone else does.”

I drew in a loud breath and balled my hands into fists, retracting them from his reach. “Greg?” I asked. “Or Gri-
gor
-y?” I spat, carefully articulating the foreignness of his name and making it more an accusation than a question.

He bent his arm at his waist, then cocked his head and raised one brow before he dipped into a slow, elegant bow. “Madame Karras,” he announced and bounced back up. “I am, indeed, Grigory. Grigory Dmitriev to be exact. But originally, a Chernov.”

I nearly choked. “Chernov?” I said in shock, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Yes. I believe you knew my father, Dmitri, and my Uncle Alexi.” He smiled, small and bitter. “Tragic they can’t be here to reacquaint themselves. I believe you might have had something to do with that, did you not?”

With my legs shaking beneath me, I stood and spit at him. “They were monsters, both of them, especially your father, and I hope they’re burning in hell. They got what they deserved. They used people in despicable ways.” I wobbled then stumbled back onto the sofa.

“Rather like your son, I would say,” he threw back. “After all I did for him, offering him my stage, giving him a job, then he turns around and uses me as a virtual cash machine.”

I stared at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Greg screwed his mouth into an exaggerated frown. “Oh, poor Mama. Seems your sweet boy has been withholding information from you, has he not?”

He finished with a smile, turned, and walked over to an enormous wood desk. Slipping between it and the built-in credenza behind, Greg pulled out the rolling executive chair and took a seat on the supple brown leather, his elbows on the desktop and his fingers steepled beneath his nose. He studied me silently for a stretch of time.

“Conner’s dug himself into a rather deep hole, I’m afraid, gambling with borrowed funds, wading in a pool of drugs and alcohol.” He slouched back in his seat, his arms languid against the armrests and his eyes hooded in contempt.

“And now he’s stolen from me, Mrs. Karras, like a knife to my back.” He stared hard for a moment then began to examine a well-manicured fingernail, seemingly bored. “Yet I, in my benevolent generosity, dropped the charges against him. But I will not forgive the debt. Conner still owes me, and until he can pay, I’m going to hold onto you as collateral. And Katy, as well, since she got herself in a smidge deeper than planned, a complication that might actually work to my advantage, wouldn’t you say?” He ended with a taunting grin.

“I’d say you’re insane, much like the rest of your sick, twisted family.”

He chuckled first then scrunched his mouth together as he rocked his head from side to side. “Perhaps, Mrs. Karras, but I’ll just say thank you and take it as a compliment.”

I shook my head in disgust. “Look,
Greg
, I’ll pay whatever he owes. Just tell me how much and I’ll have it deposited into any account you want.”

Greg pulled his chin in close, his brow low. “Oh no, Mrs. Karras, I’m afraid that would be bad parenting. You cannot simply sweep in and assume your adult child’s debt. He needs to step up and be a man. Has his father not taught him this? Or dear old Stepdaddy, perhaps?”

Greg pushed to his feet and rounded the desk, leaning back against the front edge with his arms crossed over his chest.

“My own father was a stern man. He insisted I make my own way. But I ignored his advice, and, much like Conner, got myself into some hot water. I was young, so my father offered me a one-time deal and paid off my creditors, like you’re offering now. But my father treated me as he did everyone else, and when I couldn’t pay on his terms, I was forced to secure payment in whatever way he deemed appropriate, a bitter lesson indeed.” He paused and stared off into space, his upper lip lifted in seeming distaste. “Having known my father, Mrs. Karras, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

I could only imagine what Dmitri Chernov deemed appropriate, but I shook my head at Greg’s assumption. He reacted with a cock of his head, his brow high in disbelief.

“Oh, but I think you do. Tell me if this sounds familiar.” Greg pushed away from the desk and began to walk slowly across the room. “My father had a fondness for bloodsport, and his customers a penchant for gambling.” He looked up at a row of books high upon a library shelf. He ran his finger along the long row then stopped and slipped a worn tome from its stack. He studied it for a second then held it up for me to see.

Gladiator: A History of Deadly Sport
, the title said. I looked back up at Greg in wonder.

“
This
is my father’s idea of repayment.” He glanced back down at the book and smoothed his hand over the surface almost lovingly. Then, without warning, he hurled it across the room toward the cold, empty fireplace, knocking the black wrought-iron toolset down against the raised slate hearth.

I startled with a shriek. Greg paced a few steps as he raked his fingers through his inky hair and took a few deep breaths. He spun back toward me with a falsely composed smile.

“Did you know we met once before, Mrs. Karras—you and I? Well, not really met, exactly, but rather, we were at the same place at the same time.” He paused and looked long and hard at me, as if willing me to remember. “It was the night my father forced me to fight for my life, like a dog in a pit.”

I drew in another sharp breath, Greg’s words a reminder of the most horrid day of my life. I’d been kidnapped by Dmitri Chernov’s man and delivered to his client, Mr. Sergeyev, the monster who’d purchased me as his sex-slave, who raped and degraded me then paraded me around, half-naked and beaten, in front of a crowd of hundreds of frantic gamblers as they made life-and-death wagers against the fighters in the arena below.

I’d been forced to watch those barbaric contests, held firmly in place by my new master, his hand secure around the leather collar bound about my neck. Tyler’s younger brother, Nick, had fought and lost his life that night. Ty himself had waged his own battle.

But, earlier that evening, before Ty had turned against the crowd and killed Alexi and so many of Dmitri’s men in a war to save both his own life as well as mine, there had been one other bout. I remembered because the opponents had seemed so unfairly matched, one player a man in his physical prime, late twenties and easily two hundred pounds of lean, well-conditioned muscle that coiled and surged beneath colorful tattoos.

The other looked hardly more than a teenager, tall but thin, and frightened as he watched the animal opposite him pace in pent-up anticipation. I recalled fearing for that boy, knowing I was about to witness his violent death at the hands of a much stronger, more seasoned competitor. But I’d been wrong. While the kid’s adversary had gotten in the first punches, the boy had struck back and repelled the man, then attacked like the well-trained martial artist he quickly revealed himself to be. It was a brief contest, and the boy had come out the surprising victor, with his antagonist a seemingly lifeless, bloody mess on the floor as the boy circled him with his arms held high in victory.

I closed my eyes and recalled that young face held high to the roaring crowd above him, the utter relief mixed with a strange loathing as he whooped and pointed at the ringleader and master of ceremonies—Dmitri Chernov.

My eyes flew open, and I gasped.

“Ah, you remember, do you not, Mrs. Karras? Like I remember you, standing up along that rail.” He chuckled softly.

“That was you?” I asked. “You were that boy?”

He nodded once. “Yes, that was me, a lifetime ago. I nearly killed that worthless piece of shit. But that’s not how it was supposed to happen, Mrs. Karras. I was there to kill someone, yes, but not him. I was there to take down my greatest adversary, the bloke who, years earlier, had assumed my place at my father’s side. But in the end, my father saw that opportunity stolen from me.”

He sauntered up and stood before me, staring me in the eye with a half-smile pulling at his lips. “I was there, Mrs. Karras, to take down your husband’s brother. I was there to kill Nick.”

It was all too much to comprehend. All this time, Conner’s boss, Greg, was none other than the son of Dmitri Chernov, the very man who had tried to destroy Tyler, who’d seen me sold into sexual slavery. And as if that weren’t enough, now Greg had dropped a bomb of staggering implications.

Not only had Greg been there the night of the cage fights—as a fighter no less—but he’d been there to kill Tyler’s brother, Nick. He said Nick had been his greatest adversary, that he’d assumed Greg’s rightful place at his father’s side.

What the hell!

Nick might have been forced to join ranks with the Russians in order to protect Ty—at least that’s what the FBI had implied and convinced Ty of—but it made no sense that he would have consented to serve as Dmitri’s right-hand man. Unless there was something more between them, something Ty wasn’t aware of.

I stared at Greg, slack-jawed. His admission had stunned me into complete silence.

Greg, however, was grinning from ear to ear.

“Ah,” he said, wagging his finger at me. “I see you’re shocked, and rightfully so. Nick was
not
the two-bit player he portrayed himself to be to his loving brother. He started off that way, mind you, like the rest of us, even me. We held similar jobs back in the day, even though my father was careful to always keep us separate, on two different crews. But Nick, he thought he was so clever—special somehow. Better. And my father, well, he admired the git for some reason, and he didn’t care that I knew it either. He purposely kept us apart, Nick and me.

“The boys told me once that Nick had requested I never serve on his crew, even though we’d never met and only knew each other by reputation. He must’ve felt threatened by me, knew it was just a matter of time before my father tossed him aside for his own flesh and blood. I just had to prove myself first, and do what Nick had failed to do. Then, I thought, my father would finally be proud of me.”

“What could you do that Nick couldn’t?”

“Not
couldn’t
,” he replied. “Wouldn’t. There’s a difference.”

My heart ticked up tenfold and suddenly felt lodged in my throat. “What was Nick
supposed
to do?”

Greg’s mouth turned up at one corner, as did one brow. “Why, deliver his brother, of course, on a fucking silver platter.”

“No!” I cried and shook my head. “He would never have agreed to do that. Never!”

“Mm, I don’t believe you knew your late brother-in-law well enough to judge, Mrs. Karras.”

“I know because of Tyler, because he believed in Nick, because his brother sacrificed
everything
to save him.”

“Only because he grew a conscience, but that wasn’t until the very end. You see, Nick and my father made a deal early on, long before your husband ever knew of Nick’s involvement—one sibling for the other, Nick’s brother in exchange for his sister.
That
was the deal and what my father wanted all along. Dmitri knew Nick would sacrifice his brother if he believed my father was targeting his sister. It was a test, a way to get at your husband, that whole lesser-of-two-evils thing,” he explained with a wave.

Then he rolled his eyes. “But my father—still angry and resentful—proved impatient and overzealous, and Nick, unreliable. I think that’s what they call a clusterfuck, Mrs. Karras.” As if exhausted, Greg plopped down into the matching chair next to the sofa, and, closing his eyes, let his head fall back with a sigh.

“You know, your husband was supposed to be the one to drive to the airport that day his parents and sister died, not Nick. We saw to it that Nick was suitably inebriated just hours before. But your husband,” he said, his head shaking in tired disgust, “being the omniscient
prick
he is, insisted his wayward brother live up to his obligations.” He opened his eyes and glared at me. “Funny how
that
turned out, wouldn’t you agree?” He snorted a chuckle and tapped his fingers along the upholstered arms.

“My father was none too pleased, mind you. Wasn’t supposed to go down quite like that apparently. Afterwards, Nick got all spooked, refused to cooperate until my father struck a new deal, a deal that did not include his brother, though he waffled a bit for personal reasons. I wasn’t privy to it, but…seemed like Nick had some sway over the old man, a bargaining chip of some sort. He made Nick
Avtorityet
,” Greg said in perfect Russian, “Captain—over me,
before
me,” he stressed. “Seems Nick was being groomed for
Obshchak
.”

With what looked to be a tear in his eye, Greg waved his hand, unwilling to elaborate the significance of that, but I got the impression it was important, and that it hurt Greg that his own father would position Nick over him.

“They became close, my father and Nick, sharing secrets and…
bonding
or whatever. But it didn’t last. No way it could, really. My father wouldn’t—or couldn’t rather—let go of Tyler, the idea of bending him to his will, then breaking him. For whatever reason, he didn’t seem to want to hurt Nick in the process, but finally, my father found a way.

“Unfortunately, Nick caught on. Turns out he wasn’t as stupid as we thought.” Greg pursed his lips. “If it weren’t for the first Mrs. Karras meeting her unfortunate end, he might not have become so suspicious of my father. But, turns out, Nick had a thing for his brother’s wife.” He shrugged. “Who knew?”

I stared at Greg, stunned, unable to fully grasp what he was implying. I stood slowly and closed the gap between us, taking a shaky stance in front of him, my hands fisted together in front of me.

“W-what are you saying? That…that your father was responsible for…for everything? Their parents and sister? Ty’s wife and child?
Everything?
”

Greg didn’t answer. He didn’t speak or nod or shake his head or anything. He just sat there, staring back, his eyes hooded with bored disinterest.

I reached for the arm of the sofa to steady myself. The room felt as if was spinning. Certain I would puke, I pressed my hand to my mouth and collapsed back onto the couch.

“Nick knew?” I whispered. “But…that makes no sense.”

“It does if Nick blamed his brother for everything—the loss of his freedom, his family, the woman he loved yet couldn’t have, whom he felt Ty had let down. It was reason enough. Nick was bitter. Bringing down the favored son felt right. But then Golden Boy cracked, and you, my dear, were the hammer.

“After that, Nick vacillated again. Seems he was a tad conflicted. But, as you know, in the end, he chose his brother. So my father made sure he paid for his defiance. Still, the one person he wanted all along got away. Your husband. And I paid the price for that.”

“How do you figure that?” I demanded.

“Because that was the beginning of the end. The indictment and trial created a vacuum, a power struggle. With my father in jail and Alexi dead, my life was on the line, in jeopardy from those left behind. So my father sent me away, back to London.

“I lost
everything
I’d been working so hard for—
for years!
” he screamed. “All because of Nick and Tyler Karras. And then your husband…” Greg seethed through gritted teeth, “he actually had the gall to take the stand and lie to the feds with his testimony against my father. He killed him, you know. Dmitri is dead because of him!”

Greg grew very quiet then. His eyes filled with tears as his chin quivered like a young child’s. And he scowled at me with more contempt than I’d ever seen in any man’s eyes. But then he stood and straightened his clothes, smoothing over his pain and rage before he turned for the double doors. He grabbed both handles, but stopped and looked over his shoulder at me with his brow raised.

“Tyler Karras will pay, as will you. That’s why we’re here,” he declared then pulled the doors wide and swept through.

I felt my blood run cold in his wake.