Chapter Forty-Four Tiernan
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
TIERNAN
And there he was.
The motherfucker.
The spawn of the man who’d taken my childhood, my innocence, my memories.
Alex Rasputin was a red dot slowly moving on my screen.
Each of the Bratva’s four Mercedes vans that drove from Vegas to Indian Springs had a tracker installed. Achilles and I huddled in front of the screen in our own van, watching the red dots moving toward us.
“Do we know which van Alex is in?” I asked Sam through our radio.
He was back in Switzerland, playing house with his wife.
Sam did legwork and hacking, but he no longer engaged in actual combat or exposed himself to heat.
“Too many fucking children to take care of. And I’m not selfless enough to allow my wife to remarry if I kick the bucket,” he once explained.
“Third one,” he provided from the other end of the line. “And they’re heading your way. Should be there in the next ten minutes or so.”
It was a one-lane road in the middle of the Nevada desert with nothing but golden dunes on either side of it. Our vans were parked behind a large knoll concealing a curve in the road.
On top of that knoll, Luca and three other snipers were laying low with M16s angled at the road.
Alex and his crew were headed to their weapon warehouse. Little did they know, we were going to tag along and do some shopping ourselves.
“Do you have everything you need?” Sam asked through the static humming of the encrypted radio.
Achilles peered around the mountains of semiautomatic firearms and grenades we were sitting in. “Got enough ammo to blow up the entire Strip.” He turned to me, wrinkling his nose. “Ever heard of taking a shower, Callaghan?”
“Sure have.” I pulled my balaclava down my face, shoving a loaded magazine into my AK-74. I favored it over the M16, because it was the rifle I was taught to use in the camp.
“And?”
“And I’m not washing your sister’s juices off me till I’m back in New York where she can rub them right back.”
“My sister’s…” Achilles tapered his eyes, snarling. “Now you’re just begging for me to stick a grenade launcher up your ass.”
“Since when do you care?” I double tapped the mic connected to my Bluetooth to cut the sound off for Sam. “Last I checked, you were eager to hand her off to your unfriendly neighborhood psychopath when you tracked me down.”
Achilles scratched at the tattooed side of his neck pensively. “I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That she was deaf, not mentally challenged.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “Found out when I caught her reading War and Peace when she was twelve. I came to see her and my mother in Ischia. Wanted to surprise them. When I caught her reading, I turned back and walked away.”
“Why?”
“Figured if she wanted me to know she could read, she’d have told me herself.”
I couldn’t fault the logic, but I could fault the asshole for doing jack shit about it.
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why the fuck didn’t you help her escape your mother’s claws?”
“I did.” He cracked his knuckles. “I supported your marriage. It was the perfect way out for her. She and my mother aren’t good together. Chiara projects all her trauma on Lila.”
It was the most profound shit he’d ever said to me, yet I wanted to punch all his teeth out of his mouth. He sat around and waited for Lila to suffer in order to help her. What kind of brother was he?
“Besides.” He flipped his firearm cloth open, revealing his own rifle. “Once I heard you didn’t kill her on that fountain the night I scooped your eye out, I knew she had you in her pocket. That sealed the deal for me. She’s your exception.”
“My exception?”
He nodded. “Your Achilles’ heel. Everyone has one.”
I’d ask him what his was, but I suffered from an acute case of not giving a fuck.
“Speaking of sisters.” I struck the bottom of the magazine to ensure it was locked in, giving it a tug. “Mine wants you to get off her back.”
“And I want James Dean’s face. We all want the unattainable.” He grabbed his M16, making sure that it was cocked, before pulling his balaclava down his face. “What else is new under the sun?”
“Cut the crap, Ferrante. I’ll give up Harlem if you let her go,” I said, knowing damn well I was willing to forfeit a lot more than that for my sister’s happiness. “She wants out of the game. To go away. Start fresh.”
“The underworld is not a McJob. You can’t hand in your two-week notice.” Achilles zipped his protective vest up to his neck. “Tierney knows too much about the Camorra for us to let her walk away.”
“I’ll give assur—”
“This conversation is over. She’s nonnegotiable where I’m concerned. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make sure she’s happy. Happier than anyone else could make her.”
The conversation was far from over. If push came to shove, I’d slit Achilles’s throat myself. However, now was decidedly not the time to deal with it.
The red dots on the screen shone brighter, nearer. I tapped the side of my Bluetooth to connect Sam back into the line.
“Well, boys. It’s showtime,” Sam announced into our earpieces. “Knock ’em dead, and don’t forget to bring me a souvenir.”
On cue, two bulletproof vans jam-packed with Camorra soldiers revved up their engines, flooring it from behind the dune and onto the road, blocking the path for Alex’s truck.
Our van followed last, parking behind the two trucks, as another layer of barricade the Russians couldn’t plow through.
I slid the door open, watching as four Bratva soldiers poured out of the first van, firing a round of bullets at our vehicles. Camorra snipers on the dune took them down like soda cans.
Pop, pop, pop, pop.
They jerked comically as the bullets hit them, falling to the ground.
Another set of soldiers hopped out of the Bratva’s vans. The last van on the line backed quickly, wheels screeching, but Luca put two bullets in each of its front wheels, making it sag onto the concrete road with a thump.
Springing out of the van with my firearm cocked, I jerked my head toward the third van. Achilles followed me.
Chaos erupted, with swaths of Bratva soldiers pouring out of their vans, shooting indiscriminately.
They emptied most of their clips within two, maybe three minutes.
I watched as two Camorra soldiers fell from the dune like a mouton in a guillotine.
I thought I saw Luca duck away before they got him, but I had no time to check.
The third van stood still and stayed locked. Nobody came in. Nobody went out.
Jackpot.
We both headed toward Alex’s van.
Achilles fired a round with his M16, spraying the Russian soldiers and taking a bullet that landed in his body armor.
“Vafammoc.” He spat on the ground.
“You hurt?”
“Nah, I took a bet with Enzo they wouldn’t even touch me.” He flicked gunpowder off his shoulder nonchalantly.
I put bullets in two Bratva soldiers’ heads on my way to the van when they tried to jump me from behind. The third soldier was too close for a decent aim, so I hit him with the back of my rifle, caving his skull.
When I reached the desired vehicle, I produced a prick punch from my pocket and set it between the gap of the sliding door. There was no point trying to shoot my way into the truck. It was bulletproof, windows included.
“Cover for me,” I ordered Achilles, since I had my back to the commotion.
He pressed his back to mine, shooting at everything that moved toward us while I pried the sliding door open.
It clicked, gliding just enough for me to take a grenade out of my pocket, pull the pin, toss it inside, and slam the door.
I grabbed Achilles by the collar and dragged him behind a dune on the side of the road to avoid the shrapnel.
Halfway through, he roared, “duck!” and before I had the time to process the word, grabbed the back of my head and shoved me to my stomach.
A bullet flew a millimeter from my head.
A second later, Achilles rose from beneath the dune, aimed at a Bratva sniper who had assumed his place on a dune, and shot him clean between the eyes.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “That was close.”
“Spared ya.”
“Surprisingly.”
“Nah. You make my sister happy.” He yawned. “Too happy sometimes, unfortunately.”
The grenade exploded, shaking the van behind us. Black smoke curled from the gaps in the doors and windows. The unmistakable scent of burned flesh wafted through the air.
It was weird to think of Alex as dead.
Weirder still to think that I killed him myself.
For a few moments, I just stood there, staring at the van.
The hubbub around us died, along with two dozen Bratva soldiers who were splayed on the road. A few Irish and Camorra soldiers also lay lifeless at our feet.
“Okay, lover boy. Let’s see our handiwork.” Achilles advanced toward Alex’s van. He slid the door open and popped his head inside. Ripped the balaclava from his face to inspect the massacre.
“Hmm,” he said, tone flat. I studied his back, oddly uneager to step forward and see for myself. “Interesting,” he mused.
“Don’t fuck with me,” I growled. “What’s the damage?”
He turned around, casually waltzing over to a mostly dead Bratva soldier on the road.
The wounded mobster was still groaning into the asphalt, desperately trying to stop the blood spritzing through a gush in his neck.
Achilles lit himself a cigarette, unzipping his combat pants.
He took a piss on the Russian’s face. “Why don’t you take a look while I go make sure my brother isn’t bleeding out all over the side of the road?
” Achilles asked around his cigarette, the Bratva soldier gagging and choking on his urine.
I stuck my upper body into the van. Tore the balaclava from my face, propping it against my sweaty forehead.
Carnage.
Blood everywhere.
Body parts scattered—the driver and the guy next to him took the biggest hit, with their limbs tossed about like doll parts.
Flesh melting into metal. Charred, unrecognized faces.
Blood. Internal organs. Piss. Shit.
And then there was Alex. Lying under a pile of bodies to shield him. His gun cocked and pointed at me.
Alive, well, and royally pissed.
He didn’t come out of it completely unscathed.
His brow was busted, he had some cuts on his cheeks, and his left arm was at a weird angle, suggesting he might’ve broken it.
We stared at each other, motionless, for a few moments.
He didn’t shoot.
Neither did I.
Finally, I hopped inside, pressing the sole of my boot against his windpipe.
“Well, well, well.” I smirked. “Fancy seeing you here, Lyosha.”
_______
Alex was the only one who came out of the ordeal alive from the Bratva’s side. After shoving him into one of our vans, we did a body count to assess the damage on our side. Six Camorra soldiers, two Irish. We loaded them into a different van, leaving the Bratva corpses to bake in the Nevadan heat.
“How long till we get to the warehouse?” Luca plopped down on the seat next to Alex, bandaging his arm with precision.
Alex was zip-tied, mouth taped, and staring daggers at me.
“Twenty more minutes according to Waze,” I said, ignored his ogling.
“And we’re sure we won’t find any surprises there?” Luca squinted.
“Sam said Slava and Jeremie are there, waiting for Alex.” Achilles downed an entire bottle of water. “Maybe a few soldiers manning up the entrance point, but that should be it.”
“Do we kill his brothers when we find them?” Luca turned to face me.
Alex didn’t flinch, but I knew better than to interpret that as indifference.
“Not before I say so.”
“And the sister?”
“Stayed home. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.” I had no issue killing women. Especially a Rasputin woman.
I took out Lila’s sketch when no one was watching. Well, no one but Alex. But I could withstand that embarrassment, seeing as he had about another hour before I put a bullet in his head.
The portrait was splattered in blood—probably Bratva’s—and wrinkled as shit. I still pressed it to my nose and breathed it in, relishing the fact she held it not too long ago, thinking of me as she drew me.
The rest of the journey was quiet. Luca was busy treating his broken limb, Achilles was staring out the window pensively, and I was messing with my phone, trying hard to look like my skin wasn’t crawling with Alex’s unrelenting gaze.
Something was amiss.
This felt easy.
Too easy.
The Russians were more capable than that. I knew, because I trained with them for fourteen years.
“How’s Sofia doing?” I penetrated the silence. Luca’s head snapped up. He looked dazed.
“Huh?”
“Your wife. She’s pregnant,” I reminded him. “How’s she doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
The fuck was wrong with him? I’d detected more emotions from a cum stain.
“You guess, or you know?” I pressed.
Luca shot me a cold glare. “Get off your high horse, bastard. A few months ago, I had to pay you not to rape my sister. You’re no authority when it comes to marriage.”
“That miserable, huh?”
Luca worked his jaw back and forth. “You’ve no idea, man.”
Our vans arrived at the warehouse twenty minutes later. We went through the first and second lines of guards fairly quickly, seeing as I dragged a half-butchered Alex out of the vehicle, pointing a loaded gun to his head and threatening to blow it off if they didn’t let us through.
Once inside, Camorra and Irish soldiers started unpacking and sifting through Bratva weapons to see what we could take. They raided every corner of the two floors, top to bottom, peeling the floors and stripping the walls to ensure everything was inspected.
“Find the brothers and bring them to me,” I ordered Luca and Achilles, pushing Alex up the metal stairway. “Alive.”
They went to hunt for Jeremie and Slava while I led Alex to his second-story office. He cooperated, cool and composed even as his broken arm began swelling and the gash in his forehead reopened.
I sat him in a chair, tied him to it, and ripped the tape from his mouth.
“Happy to see me?” I used the tip of my gun to tilt his chin up so our gazes locked.
He smiled a genuine smile, teeth bloodied, face busted.
“Always, Koshchei.”