Unwanted Sacrifices (Russkaya Mafiya Book 3) (14 page)

“A center? I wasn’t expecting it to be so well organized! So will I get to visit her then and see her progress?”

“No, I apologize, but I’ve found that it’s best if they are kept away during the entire process until I can assure they have made the transition effectively.”

“Understandable. And the security of this establishment? I won’t have to worry of her safety, such as break-ins or if she will throw a tantrum and take off?”

“No, sir. We are very secure; in fact, no one has escaped or been bothered.”

“Fantastic!” Tate exclaims as we approach the jet. I’m glad we were able to get a little more information willingly, but if no one’s escaped then they could still be holding Sabrina hostage.

“Before she notices, here’s the syringe.” Chek offers.

“Okay, and I use this whole thing on her? She’s really quite small; it won’t kill her?”

“If she’s under one fifteen then use half; if she’s over, then use all of it. That syringe will work up to around two hundred pounds. The effects will just vary from being completely knocked out to being tired and dizzy, depending on her size.”

“I see. This could be quite useful; I may need to get more of this.”

“I’m always available to help out in that department as well.”

“Good to know.”

The SUV comes to a stop, the driver hops out to let Chek out first, then makes his way around the vehicle to open the door for Tate. I stay sitting in the vehicle, watching him let everyone out. To save face the driver’s forced to open my door as well once he figures out that I haven’t budged.

It’s all part of my plan, because if Tate decides to shove that syringe into Chek like I’m expecting, I need an easy way to incapacitate dumb-dumb here. My gaze remains locked between the guy and Tate, waiting for him to give me some sort of a signal.

Lev descends the plane’s stairs wearing a friendly smile. “Welcome back, Mr. Masterson. Will we be having company for the flight home?” He gestures to Chek like he’s excited.

Due to Lev’s overly friendly demeanor, it hits me that Tate had actually called him and not Emily earlier. Lev is normally a huge prick to everyone but Viktor; I’m quite shocked he knows how to even pretend to be nice.

“No, Lev, perhaps a drink though.” He turns to Chek, “If you’d be inclined, that is?”

“A drink sounds wonderful.” He smiles and turns to the driver still standing beside me. “Bruno, stay with the vehicle. I’ll be back shortly to have you help with the loading.”

“Okay, Mr. Chek,” Bruno grunts out and turns to me, clearly wanting me to go to the plane so he can sit back down in the BMW.
Lazy slug.

“I’ll keep you company,” I grumble to Bruno.

“Want a fag?” He holds out a crumpled pack of cigarettes that has clearly been stuffed into his pockets for too long.

“Thanks.” Grabbing one, I bring it to my lips and lightly hold it with the side of my mouth.

Tate and Chek head into the jet. Once I see Lev stand at the door with his back blocking the entrance I make my move. “Lighter?”

“Yep.” Bruno replies automatically in his British accent and concentrates on digging it back out of his pocket.

With his head tilted and him distracted, I fumble through my jacket pocket until my fingers slide against the cool metal. The brass knuckles fit my fingers snuggly, making my hands even more deadly, and I expel a breath of relief.
I love having my knuckles on.

As he pulls the red lighter free and starts to look up, my fist connects close to his temple, the brass knuckles driving in to do their share of the damage. It’s enough impact to make him a little wobbly. Jumping behind him, I lock my arms around his throat. I can’t risk him making any noise and Chek getting spooked before Tate’s ready. I’ll never be able to repay Gizya for all the different methods of training he put me through. The lessons were imperative and brutal, but at times like these, it’s extremely helpful.

Bruno squirms and struggles, his hands clawing at me to get free. It’s no use. I’m way too strong for him. I outweigh him by at least fifty pounds and could eat guys like him for dinner if needed.

Concentrating, I inhale and exhale a few calming breaths, counting as I do to keep focused on my timing and not let up too quickly. It doesn’t matter to me whether he dies this way or not. I plan to leave a mark that will ensure his death regardless.

He gurgles a few times with his head eventually twitching randomly as his oxygen depletes.

Once he’s dead weight, I toss him to the ground and step back a few feet in case I misjudged and he lashes out. He lays like a lump on the asphalt, unmoving and I do what any experienced criminal would. They leave their signature.

Bending down next to him, I tug his shirt up, exposing his side and take my blade out. Bruno’s still alive so I have to make this quick if I don’t want him to come too and squeal like a pig. He’s not fat, so this one should be easy.

Lining my knife up directly where it needs to be, I hold it still, and then use one hand to press down and heave my weight on top. The finely sharpened blade slides in slowly, almost as if I’m cutting a thick, under cooked steak.

Yummm steak. That sounds really good right now.

Adjusting the angle, I reposition and slide the knife towards the ground. Once there’s a large enough slit to fit my hands in, I peel the skin away and reach in until I locate his kidney. Tate’s father had me do this many times during my years of training. He always told me that any respectable Mafiya man should know how to remove a man’s organs.

I work quickly sawing out the man’s kidney. I don’t need it, but it’s going to leave one hell of a calling card for the UK police to discover. He’ll bleed out effortlessly and it’ll keep his lips closed to the authorities or any of Chek’s buddies.

Once that’s finished I leave Bruno where he is since we’ll be leaving shortly anyhow and climb up the steep stairs, bloody and all to discover an entirely different situation taking place. Chek is passed out, lying in the middle of the walkway between the seats, while Tate and Lev sit, having a glass of chilled vodka. I’m a bloody mess and these two are having a damn drink without me.

“You couldn’t wait ten minutes?” I grumble.

“With the way you were hacking at the driver out there, I wasn’t sure if it would be a few minutes or if you were planning to cut all his limbs off as well.” Tate counters and Lev chuckles.

“Okay, good point.” I agree but shoot a glare at Lev.

He shuts up quickly, and I make my way to the back bathroom to wash up. As the blood mixes with the water, discoloring the sink, I stare at it in a trance. I wonder if I just killed someone who hurt Sabrina or who helped kidnap her? If he was involved, I should have made it slower, more painful. God I wish she were here right now so I could pull her body to mine. There’s nothing like fucking after killing someone, only I wouldn’t fuck her. Sure I’d slam myself deeply into her, but then I would take it slow, rocking in and out of her gently so she could feel every piece of me.

I’m interrupted by banging on the lavatory door.

“Niko! I’m sorry we didn’t wait. Are you okay, man?”

“I am fine, Tatkiv.” I mumble. My feelings are hurt a little, but fuck, I’m on an emotional roller coaster right now. Sometimes I feel like he’s my little brother and he’s meant to torment me.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Nyet.”

“Okay then,” he answers and leaves me be. My stiff dick’s gone now with him talking to me, so that’s one good thing.

Damn it. When did my dick being limp become a good thing?

Leisurely I dry my hands and head back out to the main area, ditching my bloody jacket on the way in the onboard bedroom. Chek is still knocked out on the floor. Lev uses some zip ties to secure Chek’s hands and legs in case he wakes up.

Once we touch down back at home, we can take him to the club and have my sister look at him to be certain. I had Emily bring Vishna to live at our house until Tate and I can figure out future living arrangements for all of us. When Sabrina is found we’ll discuss what she wants as well.

“Any news on Kolya yet?” I question as I take a seat across from Tate, my body singing in happiness from the comfortable seats.

“No. I called Viktor while we were waiting on you, and he hasn’t heard a thing about Kolya’s whereabouts from anyone. It’s like he’s just up and disappeared, which is really hard to do with the nature of business he’s in. Disappearing from the FEDS is understandable, but vanishing from other criminals as well, is strange.”

“Do you think something happened to him?”

“I’m honestly not sure, but it is a possibility.”

“Shit fuck! Has anyone spoken to the family?”

“Viktor said that they’ve had eyes on the brother and a maid inside the house, but not anyone else.”

This is such dumb bullshit! I’ll go to the house when we return if I must. How has no one knocked on the front door and just asked or left a message yet? I understand it’s not customary to just drop in unannounced, especially with people in our type of lifestyle, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

My mother used to always tell me ‘A wolf’s legs feed him.’ In other words, effort is necessary. It looks like I may have to do everything myself, in order for stuff to get done.

I’m awoken by warm
water hitting my skin. Not freezing cold and I’m no longer burning up either. My back still feels like I’ve been carved up for a Halloween special though. God, I hope Chek falls in a gutter and gets eaten by an alligator somewhere.
Bastard.

“Pssst!”

I’m sprayed again—the wet droplets feeling refreshing against my tender, chapped skin, instead of miserable like sharp pricks stabbing me all over, per the usual.

“Pssst!” The sound comes again. I don’t think I’m hallucinating. It’s pretty dark and considering how sick I’ve been, I could be hearing a rat next to me for all I know.

“Hey!” It’s whispered louder now and my eyes flicker around the room until they land on a shadowed figure. The surprise of warm water was enough of a distraction that I didn’t even notice him.

“Mmmm.” I moan out. I can’t speak. My mouth is still parched and my throat feels like it’s filled with shards of glass.

“Drink.” The raspy voice quietly orders and water gets sprayed close enough to my face for me to bend into it without drowning myself like Chek would do.

I try to take a plentiful gulp, but it doesn’t happen. In fact, nothing happens. The water’s there—available for the taking—but nothing gets in my mouth.

My fingers shoot to my face. The movement sends shocks strong enough that would normally cause me to gasp…if I were able to gasp. But the sparks of pain are nowhere near as bad as being thirsty and unable to drink.

My fingertips flutter over my chin until I find my lips, but not my tongue. My mouth isn’t even open. Why the fuck is my mouth not opening? I want to scream, but I can’t. I want to cry tears of frustration but… I. Can’t. Fucking. Cry.

I’m like a prisoner trapped inside my own mind. Not only am I stuck in this horrifying place with a man who enjoys causing me discomfort, but now I can’t even use the one thing I’ve worked so hard in my life to find—my voice.

“Mmmmm!” I moan out again as loud as possible and wave my hand for him to come near me.

The water comes to a stop with a quick flick of his wrist and I want to wail in protest of the missing warmth, of the fact that I may have fucked up my one chance at finally having a decent drink. I don’t only want that water; I fucking need that water to survive.

The figure shuffles towards me, crouching down until he can see my face and I can tell in the outline of the light that he’s a medium-sized man.

“What?” He mumbles and instead of answering, I tap my mouth.

He turns the spray on lightly and puts it in front of my mouth. I do nothing but lean towards it and tap my mouth, trying to show him my lips are stuck.

“Holy fuck!” he says with more meaning behind it.

He’s definitely American, that much I can tell and his hands are covered in Russian tattoos. Odd, considering he has no accent, but nothing should surprise me anymore. My eyes trail up further but I can’t see anything else with his long sleeves covering his arms. If you know what to look for, you can learn a Russian man’s story just by reading his tattoos; they hold such great meaning when they’re criminals and they’ve done time. In this instance, it would be a relief to know if he’s simply a burglar or a convicted rapist. I don’t see anything on his palms, so probably not a seasoned thief.

“I’ll be back.”

“Mmmm!” I moan out in objection.
I want that damn water, please!

“Look, I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.” He stares down intently at me with deep hazel eyes that hold some familiarity and I give a small nod. At that, he jumps up and quickly leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

What have I just done?
He could have been my only chance at a sip of water, and now he’s gone. Although he did seem genuine about helping me, I’m still skeptical of any man in this place. I don’t know why he doesn’t throw up the usual red flags for me; perhaps I’m so desperate and depleted that I’ll make an admission for anyone now.