Текст книги "Transparent"
Автор книги: Erin Noelle
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
I DROP MADDEN OFF AT the same McDonald’s I picked him up at yesterday, and for the first time in a long fucking time, I feel good about something I’ve done. But the feeling is short-lived.
As I drive back to the cabin, the alarm on my phone dings, alerting me that it’s time for my daily call in to headquarters. Immediately, I know something is awry when the Pakhan himself answers instead of Aleksandr, who is both my uncle and second-in-command.
“Dedushka.” Startled at the sound of his voice, I acknowledge him with the Russian word for grandfather instead of his proper title. Then, remembering my manners, I follow up in our native language with, “For what do I owe this honor, Pakhan?”
He is short and to the point as he lays out the plans for the job. A job that will forever change the future of my family. A job that I am solely responsible for executing.
The orders are simple: Collect the money from Ricci in exchange for the girl. Confirm Ricci’s death. Leave no witnesses.
The time for retribution is here. In less than a week, the man I’ve dreamed of brutally persecuting for the better part of two years will be standing before me. The mere thought of how sweet it will taste to finally get revenge on the man who ordered Darya’s murder makes my mouth water.
But there’s only one problem. Leave no witnesses means leave no witnesses.
Including her.
I ALLOW MYSELF EXACTLY ONE minute to be sad after the truck pulls away. Only sixty seconds to stare out the tiny window, watching until the red taillights disappear into the early-morning fog surrounding the trees, to feel wrecked and ruined over the thought that last night and this morning could be the last time I ever see Madden Decker.
Then, when that minute is up, all the disparaging thoughts and negative energy are tucked away, and I leap off the couch with an encouraging smile on my face. My situation may not be ideal, but things are starting to look up. Madden knowing the truth about my past and still loving me despite it all is the ultimate reason I need to do whatever it is that’s required of me here, and then return to my life with him. Even if it means murdering a man in cold-blood. I’ve done it before to save my life, and it’s exactly what I plan to do again.
Grabbing the bucket of disinfectants and wood polish, I clean the cabin from top to bottom, just like I did yesterday while Raze was gone. I’m desperate for something to keep my mind occupied until he returns. I can’t wait to tell him thank you for what he did, and even more than that, I’m eager to find out if he has more information on Vincent and Anatoli’s discussions. I’m ready to get this shit over with.
By early afternoon, there’s not a speck of dust in the entire place and the toilet is more sanitary than most people’s kitchen table. But still no Raze.
I briefly consider taking a shower, but I’m not ready to wash Madden’s scent off my skin just yet, so I opt for reading on the couch, randomly selecting one of the books Raze had brought for me. Unfortunately, I don’t make it past the second page before the lack of sleep from last night catches up with me, and I pass out cold.
I’m not sure if it’s the cabin door slamming shut or Raze’s boots stomping across the floor that jolts me from my slumber, but whichever it is, it’s clear by his brusque movements and lack of words he’s pissed about something. As he makes a beeline for the safe in the corner of the bedroom, I prop myself up with my elbow on the armrest of the couch, which provides me an unobstructed view to what he’s doing.
Hurriedly, he enters some numbers on the keypad then presses his thumb against a small rectangular scanner, and the door releases with a loud click. Pulling the laptop out first, he sets it to the side before digging through a stack of file folders, his jaw clenching tight when he finds the one he’s looking for. Something Russian is muttered under his breath as he opens it and scans the first couple of pages, and then he tosses it back inside with the others and snags the computer.
“Is everything okay?” I ask meekly when he stalks back out into the main room and throws himself into a kitchen chair.
Ignoring my question, he plugs in the device and glowers at the screen while it boots up. He doesn’t look in my direction once, like I’m not even here.
Clearing my throat, I repeat my question louder. “Is everything okay?”
Again, no response. Just angry fingers vehemently punching away on the keyboard, stopping every few seconds to jot down a note on a piece of paper.
“Raze, damn it, I know you can hear me,” I snap, jackknifing up to a ninety-degree angle as worry about Madden’s wellbeing seeps in. “Tell me what happened. I know something’s wrong with you.”
He growls, cutting his intimidating stare in my direction. “You know nothing about me, girl. Go back to sleep.”
Incensed at the sudden cold-shoulder act, I toss the throw blanket aside and scramble to my feet. “You’re wrong,” I seethe, crossing my arms over my chest. “You think I’ve learned nothing about you while we’ve basically been living together over the last couple of weeks? Like I can’t tell when something’s happened that’s clearly upset you? ”
Fisting his hands, he pounds them on the table as he shoots up to standing. His nostrils flare and I swear I see foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. “This is your last warning. Shut your fucking mouth or I will gag you and shut it for you.”
I don’t.
“No! You fly in here after being gone all day, don’t even bother with a hello, and frantically search for shit in your safe. Then, when I ask you if you’re okay, you flat out ignore me until I throw a fit. And all of this is coming from the person who just went through the trouble of sneaking in a man to see me so I could get a chance to tell him I love him . . . it doesn’t make any sense, Raze. Now tell me what’s going on!”
Slumping back in the hard wooden chair, he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he shakes his head, muttering something I can’t understand. Suddenly, I’m no longer irritated with him, but filled with worry instead. The only other time I’ve seen him look so vulnerable was when he mentioned his late-wife. And despite the fact he towers over most everyone, is built like the Rock of Gibraltar, can kill a man with his bare hands, and has a vicious scar marring his face that would intimidate Tony Montana himself, right now he looks like a helpless, lost soul. Struggling to find answers.
My feet move on their accord across the dingy carpet, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m on his lap, wrapping my thin arms around his neck, and pulling him into my embrace. I half expect him to resist, to jerk out of my hold, and the fact that he doesn’t speaks volumes. Whatever happened while he was gone today must’ve really hit him hard, and rather than asking about it again, I shut my mouth and allow him to deal with it however he needs to.
“I was supposed to go to Chicago that day. It should’ve been me that died, not her. It should’ve been m-me.” His voice cracks as he nuzzles his face into my neck.
Offering solace the only way I know how, I squeeze Raze even tighter to me and soothingly thread my fingers through the short blonde hair at his nape. I don’t push. I don’t ask questions. My actions let him know I’m here if he wants to continue to talk. And even though I desperately wish I knew what happened, I know all too well that everyone has to face their demons on their own time, at their own pace. Some of mine I still leave locked away in the dark recesses of my mind.
“I still remember the first day I saw her,” he says after several minutes of silence. I relax my arms to allow him to lean back in the chair, our gazes locking. “It was right after we moved here, and my grandfather hosted a big party to welcome his youngest son—my dad—and the rest of our family to the States. I walked into that house full of people, and it was like I could only see her. Her beauty commanded my full attention. I knew I’d marry her before we ever said a word to each other.”
I smile at the thought of Raze as a love-struck teenager. I bet he was a great husband to his wife. “Hold that thought,” I blurt out as I jump off of his lap and head into the kitchen. Reaching up on my tiptoes, I grab the bottle of vodka from the top shelf in the cabinet, along with two small glasses. After I pour the potent liquor in each, I return to the table—opting for the chair next to him this time—and slide the glass with more to him. “Okay, now we’re ready. Tell me what happened after you saw her.”
Lifting the drink up in the air, he swirls the clear liquid around. His shoulders relax and the anguish slowly evaporates from his face. “Well, the first thing I did was ask my cousin and best friend, Alexei, whose daughter she was and if she had a boyfriend. If there’s two things you don’t do in my family, it’s fall in love with a rival’s daughter or another man’s woman. Both will get you dead pretty quickly.”
“So I take it she was single and of good bloodlines?”
“Yeah, she was definitely single,” he replies with a soft chuckle. “Her dad is the most feared man in the Bratva. We call him Palach, the Executioner. No sane male would get within fifty feet of her, fearing they’d have to answer to him first.”
He stops to take a swig of vodka and I mimic the motion. “But you weren’t scared of him?”
“Hell yeah, I was. How do you think I got this fucking terrible thing on my face?” he jests, pointing at his gnarly scar.
I blink hard and take another drink, smaller this time, as I wait for him to explain.
“I was a stupid, arrogant kid who thought with my dick first, heart second, and brain third. That night, I got her to sneak off with me into an empty room, and I kissed her and told her she was mine forever,” he continues with a faraway look in his eye, like he remembers every single thing about that moment. “She laughed at me, but the next week when I snuck in her room and claimed her properly, she knew she was too. We saw each other secretly for almost a year before her dad caught us together. Of course, it had to happen when I was butt-naked and pinning her against her bedroom wall with my cock, leaving me completely unarmed.”
“Oh, my God!” My hands fly to cover my open mouth. “What did you do? What did she do?”
Raze downs the rest of his drink then gets up to refill it before resuming the story. “The question you should ask is what did he do, because neither she nor I were in the position to do much of anything. You think you had a crazy father-in-law,” he shakes his head as he lowers himself into the seat, “but you have no idea what that word really means.”
“Okay.” I take the bait. “What did he do?”
“He jerked me away from her by my hair, splitting my scalp with the force he used, and put a knife to my throat. Then, in the calmest voice you can imagine, he asked Darya if she loved me and wanted to marry me. She answered yes, but before she could even finish the word, he moved the blade up to my temple and dug into the skin, dragging it down an inch or so. Then he asked her again if she still loved me and wanted to marry me. And again, she said yes, this time as she watched blood trickle down my cheek. So he carved a little bit more and asked a third time. Then a fourth and a fifth.” I’m not even sure he realizes it, but as he relives the story, he traces his fingertip over the red, jagged mark.
“To her credit, she didn’t flinch, cry, or beg even once while he did it. Instead, each time she answered, her voice grew more confident, more assertive, until she was practically screaming ‘Yes!’ Once he was convinced of her sincerity, he stopped and released me then kissed my cheeks—open wound and all—and welcomed me to the family. Six months later, we were married, and for anyone who ever asks me if it was worth it, I tell them all the exact same thing. I’d do it again a hundred out of a hundred times. She was worth every fucking second of it. I was a lucky son-of-a-bitch to be loved by a woman as incredible as Darya Stoliyaski.”
Now it’s my turn to take a gulp of the strong stuff, not sure if there’s even a proper response to a story like that. I’m not sure whether I’m more horrified at what he had to endure or impressed by the intensity of his love for her.
“That’s how he feels about you, ya know?” He tilts his head to the side and reaches out to place his large hand over my small one. The gesture is warm and heartfelt. “Though your boy, Madden, may be reckless and foolish, he does it because he loves you fiercely. He’ll take his chances marching up on Vincent Ricci’s home turf and allowing a crazy-looking fucker like me to blindfold and drive him to the middle of nowhere, knowing damn well he could be tortured or killed. But he’d rather die than be without you.”
“Is that how you feel? Would you rather be dead, now that you’re without her?” The questions tumble off the tip of my tongue before I think about what I’m asking, but instead of seeing grief or sorrow darken his striking blue eyes, I see a spark of something. Hope? An idea of some sort? I’m not sure what exactly, but it’s definitely something that brightens his thoughts and puts him in motion.
After briefly glancing down at the laptop pushed off to the side, he stands up and grabs both of our glasses, taking them to the sink. “It’s late, kotyonok, and you didn’t sleep much last night with your guest here. You need to get some rest. We’ve got busy days ahead of us.”
I don’t mention the fact he completely ignored my last question, seeing as how I basically asked if he had suicidal thoughts, but my ears perk up at his comment about busy days, reminding me of what he’d mentioned yesterday morning before he left to get Madden.
“Oh?” I question, following him into the kitchen. “Is there more news on the talks between Vincent and Anatoli?”
He turns to me with a tight-lipped smile. “Things are going as hoped. It should be soon, which is why it’s important for you to rest well. You take the bed. I’ve got some work to do out here.”
Nodding, I spin around on my heel and shuffle off, but right before I disappear into the bedroom, I twist and look at him over my shoulder. “For the record, Raze, I think she was the lucky one to be loved by a man as incredible as you.”
“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE HE took you to see her. I don’t get it. What was his motive?” Jae narrows her suspicious eyes across the booth at me as she picks up the steaming cup of coffee and brings it to her a mouth, taking a long sip. I’ve just finished recapping the past thirty-six hours to her, from the moment she dropped me off at LAX yesterday morning until now, late Saturday night, at a local ma-and-pa-type diner, and honestly, I’m still somewhat in disbelief myself.
Shrugging, I glance out the window to my right, quickly perusing the cars in the parking lot, then look down at my watch, wondering where the hell Easton is. He was supposed to be at my house, pretending to be me until I returned, so my federally-appointed shadow, Lance, would think I’m spending the weekend holed up at home, nursing my injuries. Instead, when we pulled up in my driveway a little over a half hour ago, Easton, my car, and the annoying FBI agent were all gone, and inside there was a two-word note left on the refrigerator. Be back.
That’s all it said, with absolutely no explanation on what in the fuck could be so important that he would need to leave the house and put all of us at risk of getting caught in this scheme we put together. I’m irritated. I’m exhausted. And I’m nervous about going back to my house now in case he comes driving up with Lance in tow, blowing all of our covers. Despite my assistant Caroline’s claims that my brother has suddenly become Mr. Responsible and Dependable at the office in my absence, it’s clear he’s still the same old Easton I’ve always known. A liability and a selfish prick.
“I don’t know,” I finally respond. “I don’t get it either, but Blake seems to trust him, and obviously with good reason. He’s not mistreating her. She’s got plenty of food to eat, a shower to bathe in, and a bed to sleep in. She didn’t have any bruises or contusions—self-inflicted or otherwise—and she seemed to think he brought me there on his own doing, without any of his people knowing about it. But I’m not sure how she’d know that or not, since she had no idea I was coming.”
“Do you think he’s gonna k-kill her, and he was giving her a chance to say goodbye?” She visibly shudders when she says the word kill, and I can tell she’s struggling to keep her composure at the thought of Blake dead.
Sadly, that exact thought has crossed my mind no less than a thousand times since Raze dropped me off under the fast food icon this morning—the exact place he’d picked me up less than twenty-four hours before. As a matter of fact, since I stepped foot off the flight from Reno this evening, it’s been the only thing I can figure that makes sense. But still . . . why do that for someone you’re holding captive?
My shifty gaze scans the restaurant, looking for people overly interested in our conversation. I’m already pretty sure either the FBI, the Italians, or the Russians—and quite possibly a combination of all three—have bugged my place of residence and office, so it’s no longer a safe place to discuss important matters. But I wouldn’t put it past any of them to have someone eavesdropping on me out in public either. Or maybe I’m becoming a paranoid freak.
Bending forward, I lower my voice to a hushed whisper. “That’s what I’m afraid of, but if that’s the case, I’m not sure what our next step should be. If I get the feds involved, I take the chance of pissing the Russians off and forcing their hand to act prematurely and hastily. And if by some chance killing her isn’t their end game, that they truly are planning on letting her go after she takes care of Vincent, then I’ve put her, me, all of us in unnecessary danger. Plus, it’s not like I know exactly where she is, other than some remote, heavily wooded place a couple hours from Truckee.”
“I’m sure with the technology the FBI has they could use some kind of thermal lenses or something to search the area,” she contends, obviously choosing the route of me telling the authorities what I know.
“Maybe . . . probably . . . I’m not sure what the fuck to do.” I check my phone again. Still nothing. Growling, I drag my tense fingers through my overgrown hair. “Right now, though, my biggest concern revolves around where Easton is and why he hasn’t texted or called back. What in the hell was that note? He knew how important it was for him to stay at my house. You told him you were on your way to pick me up at the airport, right?”
Jae nods as she slumps back on the vinyl-covered bench. “I texted him with the code word we’d discussed, so yeah; as long as he had his phone on him, he should’ve known.”
I blow out a frustrated sigh and tap my fingers on the tabletop, feeling like a caged animal inside. The woman I love more than life itself is being held hostage by one mafia family, while preparing herself to murder the leader of another. My brother is MIA, probably getting himself involved in shit that will lead to problems for all of us. And other than the friend sitting across from me now, and possibly my housekeeper and personal assistant, I trust no one. I have no clue what I should do next, but I have to do something.
“I guess I’m going to get you to take me back home,” I say after the two of us sit in silence for several minutes. “If we get caught, we get caught. I can’t spend the night in this diner, and I know you need to get home too. I’m going to pull up the satellite view of Google maps around Truckee and see if I can narrow down her location. At least it’s something—”
“Don’t use your computer,” she cuts me off, holding her hand up in the air. “Not unless you want them to know what you’re searching. We can stop by my place and you can use mine. Plus, that buys us a little more time to try to locate Easton too.”
I knew I liked this woman. “Good point and good plan.” Digging my wallet out of my back pocket, I toss a twenty on the table, which should be more than enough to cover the two coffees and a tip. “Let’s go.”
We make our way out of the restaurant and across the pavement to her SUV, and just as I open the passenger-side door to climb in, a very familiar bright red sports car zooms wildly into the parking lot with a blacked-out Tahoe right on its tail. Not even bothering to park in an actual spot, Easton jumps out of his car and rushes over to us, frantic and frazzled.
“What? What happened? Where were you?” I demand as Jae and Lance join us. My heart is thudding uncontrollably in my chest, because I know by the wretched look in his eyes whatever he’s about to say is going to bad.
Struggling to find his voice, he attempts to speak a couple of times before the words finally spill out. “I-I swear I wouldn’t have left, but . . . but I got a call from the Listers. It . . . it . . . it’s Emerson. She’s dead.”
