Last Hit (Hitman #1)(37)
Author: Jessica Clare

Daniel sees me gaping at the C-4. "Right. I had to keep moving that crap so your shittily aimed bullets wouldn’t hit it and blow us all to pieces."

I shrug, "You should have been more specific about your goals at the start. But, enough of this. What is the plan?"

DAISY

I hide in the bathroom until I am so exhausted that I curl up and fall asleep, not caring that I’m resting on dirty, broken tile. I will take germs over Yury any day. Hours pass, maybe a day. I’ve lost track of time. I sleep, but my dreams are full of Nick and guns. Nick, shooting my mother. Nick, holding Galina’s hand down as he saws her finger off.

They’re not restful dreams. When I am awake, though, I am cold, hungry, sore, and Yury is there. So I sleep the hours away, waiting for death or for Nick.

I am not sure which one I hope for.

I wake up, shivering, when a boot nudges me. I look up, squinting, and I see the big blond giant that had been guarding the door to the warehouse. "Come."

I get up, every bone in my body aching. I’m dizzy when I stand, and I weave a little. The giant’s hand grabs me by the arm to steady me, and he drags me out of the bathroom. Yury is there by the card table. There is no sign of Galina, though there is a dark, rusty splash in the center of the table that I can’t stop staring at.

I wonder if they sent the finger to Nick. I wonder at his reaction. Would Nick regard it with the same cold, emotionless expression I see on the face of the man holding me upright? Or would it be the sad-eyed, lonely Nick that I fell in love with? Will he be unhappy to receive what he thinks is my finger?

Or will he even care? Do I even know the real Nick at all?

That is the thing that scares me the most, I realize. It’s not that Nick is a killer and has an awful past life that has caught up with him. It’s that I don’t know if the man I’ve fallen in love with is real or not. It’s that I don’t know if I know the real Nick at all.

Because I still love him and I still want him, but I don’t know if I know him.

"Come," Yury says, interrupting my thoughts. He holds out a zip tie, and I realize my hands are going to be bound again. His grin is vile. "I will enjoy it if you fight."

I don’t fight. I cross my wrists and hold them out, waiting. My numb movements remind me of Galina, and I flinch in realization.

Yury seems disappointed that the fight has gone out of me. He ties my wrists tightly in front of me and then gives me another shove, pushing me away from him. He barks something at the blond giant, and a moment later, the hood is tossed back over my head.

"Where are we going?" My voice sounds overloud in the stifling hood.

"You are lucky," Yury says. "The sale has gone through. We will take you to airport and fly you to meet your new owner." He laughs. "Maybe after he is tired of you, he lets me have a round, eh?"

I shudder and hunch my shoulders, as if I can somehow shrink away from these awful men.

Vasily says something, and Yury replies in a nasty tone. Then, the blond nudges my arm.

And I am led out to a car once more.

Vasily’s giant hands are strong, but they are kinder than Yury’s. He doesn’t shove me into the car as much as he prods me into the right direction. I am led to the backseat and the door is locked again. I hear the men get into the front seat, and then we drive.

And drive.

And drive.

I begin to doze off again. It’s hard for me to stay awake. My breath under the hood is muffled and hot, and my head aches so badly that I wonder if something is wrong with me. All I want to do is sleep. Maybe because sleep is an escape. It’s the only one I have right now.

"Stop here," a voice says, and I jerk awake.

I hear Yury say something in Russian.

Vasily responds. I catch the words "Coca-cola" mixed in with his Russian, and I feel the car pull to a halt.

Yury sighs and bites out furious words, but the car remains running. One door opens and shuts, and I hear feet crunching on gravel.

I wait in the back seat, my body tense. Are we…on a snack run? That seems insane.

"Bozhe moi," Yury says, and I perk up. I have heard that before. He honks the horn and screams something in Russian. I can’t tell if he’s mad that the other man is taking too long, or what’s going on. The hood isn’t tied down over my head, and I wiggle, moving my chin, trying to slide it off without being obvious. I’m desperate to see what’s going on.

A moment later, the car door opens, and then it slams shut again. I hear Yury’s feet crunching on the gravel as he spits Russian out at someone. He sounds furious. Now that I’m the only one in the car, it’s safe for me to reach up and snatch the hood off of my head, and I do so, blinking my eyes and looking around.

I am alone in the car. We are parked outside of a gas station in what seems to be the middle of nowhere. Immediately, I try the door handle. It doesn’t respond. Damn it. Frustrated, I turn around and tear at the back seat, trying to get to the trunk. Maybe if there’s a car jack, I can put it through the window.

The sound of a fight catches my ears, and I pause, pressing my face to the heavily tinted glass in the back seat.

I can just barely make out what looks like a scuffle. Someone is fighting….Yury? Who would be fighting Yury? Hope flares in my heart. Nick? But the man in the distance is dark haired and too tall to be my love. To my surprise, the other man grabs Yury in an efficient choke hold and presses something against his neck. Yury flails for a moment and then goes limp, and the man hugs his limp body. He drags him back behind the building.

I lose my breath. Oh god. Did…did someone just murder Yury?

What does that mean for me?

I drop to the back seat, hiding. My breathing becomes terrified panting. If the killer doesn’t see me, maybe the car will be abandoned and I can run away. The big blond assassin is nowhere to be seen, nor does he return to the car. Both he and Yury are possibly dead.

What do I do now?

Fear crawls through me as I hear the car door open; the warning chimes ominously. Someone slides into the front seat. I remain as still as possible, hoping against hope that he is simply searching the car for money and will leave a moment later.

But the keys go into the ignition, and the car starts.

"You okay back there, Daisy?"

It’s the American man’s voice. The assassin from the warehouse. One of the men who brought Galina to Yury.

I sit up cautiously, sliding to the far end of the back seat despite the fact that there’s a window partition separating us. I study the back of his head. "Who are you?"

He snorts. "You can call me Daniel. Nikolai sent me."

My heart slams in my throat. "Nick?" I breathe, relief rushing through me. "But…" I pinch off the words, frightened. How do I know to trust this man? He could be lying to me to try and get more information out of me. Even though it kills me, I say nothing else. I simply watch him.

"Did Yury hurt you?" Daniel asks me. "I can’t do anything about it now, but just let me know so I can anticipate Nick losing his shit and stay out of the striking zone."

"Where’s Regan?"

"Who’s Regan?" He sounds as if he could care less. As I watch, he flips on the turn signal and begins to drive away from the gas station.

"My friend. The blonde girl that was with me when…when they took us."

He shrugs. "Right. Her. She was sold onto the black market a few days ago, if I don’t miss my guess. Sorry about that, but she’s a problem for later. My problem right now is Nick, and Nick wants you, so here I am." He gives me a thin, mirthless smile in the rearview mirror. "Betraying the Bratva and bringing down the house with a crazy sonofabitch. Ain’t life fuckin’ grand."

I digest this. Does he think Nick is crazy, or is he referring to someone else? Another party I’m not aware of? There are so many things going on that I don’t understand. It makes my head—and my heart—ache. I press my hands to my forehead, but that causes a sharp stab of pain radiating from my nose. "Where are we going?"

"To a hotel in Moscow." His gaze flicks to the rearview mirror again. "Gotta reunite Romeo and Juliet."

NIKOLAI

The best weapon in battle, particularly a battle in which you are outmanned, is surprise. Deception is one of the ways to engineer surprise. Sun Tzu declared that all war is deception and that a wise warrior misdirects the reaction. Sergei is a criminal who longs for the recognition of others who possess wealth, those born to oil, minerals, or perhaps who own a technology company that rules Europe. Those men are feted in magazines and are called oligarchs.

For Sergei, whose financial resources might rival the oil barons, he will never have the respect of those he deems his peers because he is a leech. He orchestrates oil deals, but never owns any oil. The weapons he trades are stained with the blood of others. He transports dirt, the nutrient-rich soil from Ukraine, to Russia. In Ukraine, he leaves enormous holes that he fills with garbage. This is Sergei’s legacy. It is one of destruction and waste.

I suddenly realize what drove Alexsandr. For those who love the Bratva, and Alexsandr did, Sergei’s fall further into the abyss—whether it be from the sale of young girls to diseased foreigners or hooking our own on flesh-eating drugs—is ruining the Bratva. Soon it will be nothing but a hole full of garbage. He will never be able to f**k the society women or drink vodka in their special clubs. He will always be other.

I have no allegiance to the Bratva, but for Vasily, it is his life. Daniel, his allegiance is more occluded, but I am committed to trusting Daniel, no matter his loyalties and agendas. Relying on another sits uncomfortably upon my shoulders, but I have no other choice, at least not one which will see both Daisy and me alive at the end.

Because it is easier to capture one man out in public than one woman in a conclave, we bait a trap.

All of this is taking too much time, and I’m chafing at the wait. Vasily returns to the Bratva headquarters. There is no reason for him to go to the estate unless he is called there. No one I trust—and I barely trust Vasily or Daniel—is with Daisy, but they both assure me that Sergei is serious about maintaining her virginity for the purpose of the sale. The sale could take place that week.

The Magvenodov family is my bait. The Magvenodovs are what the Petrovichs aspire to be—or at least what Sergei aspires to be. The patriarch of the Magvendov family is a billionaire with homes in London, Hong Kong, and New York City. They own a British footballer team. They dine with princes and kings. Their names are whispered with jealousy and reverence, and there is no door that is closed to them.

The eldest son has a sad taste for the lads which, in Russia, is seen as worse than eating krokodil at the dining room table. Better to be eaten by drugs than admit to being a sodomite. I am sorry for Lev that I will use him in this way, but I am desperate. I cannot decide whether Daisy would want me to use every resource at my disposal to free her. The methods I use might be unsavory, but they will be effective.

I resolutely crush any stirrings of a conscience. Sitting outside his lover’s apartment, taking photographs like a low-grade shpion, demeans both of us, but if I had to eat the garbage in the holes in Ukraine to recover Daisy, I would do so.

I capture the entire evening. Lev’s father may actually be more disturbed by the intimate romantic scenes—Lev’s boyfriend cooking him dinner or Lev gifting the other man a coat—rather than the sexual scenes. Lev’s father has his own perversions, but they are more socially acceptable. Still, it is effective blackmail.