Chapter 25 Xander
XANDER
After finishing the warehouse job and eliminating all but a few last Sokolov scum I don't waste any time procrastinating.
My update to the boss comes first, and then I rest.
Besides, it's the best way to keep my mind from straying toward things I don't want to try to process right now, like the fact that this is the first job I've ever sent Nadya to alone.
She'll do fine, and I trust her work now, but it feels wrong.
Markov is standing at the windows of his high-rise office, watching traffic below out the window when I enter.
His assistant has long gone for the night, and the two of us are alone, which means no one to hear me scream if he doesn’t like my news.
But I'm so close to deadline and so ready to end this entire thing.
My zeal alone will show him that I'll finish by his deadline.
"Job done, boss," I tell him as I approach where he stands.
"Just a few men left and Sokolov himself…" I stand with my hands clasped in front of my body, chest puffed out slightly.
If he asks about Nadya I'm not sure what to tell him.
For now I think I just have to play along with her being the cleaner, but I know with how she's feeling it won't last.
Markov will see through it, end things the way he made me with the previous cleaner, or he'll do it himself.
Leonid nods and lifts his glass of vodka and drains it in one swallow.
But his stern expression rarely changes.
His eyes search the horizon now, resting bitch face permanently engraved in his features.
He's a hard man to please and I never know when he's happy or even content with what I've done.
"You've done well, Xander."
His tone carries approval, a rare gift.
"I doubted you would deliver this fast. I was wrong."
I say nothing.
There is no pride in what I've done.
The bodies pile up behind me, faceless and forgotten, and all I feel is the hollow ache that's lived in my chest since the last time I heard her voice.
"The Sokolov Brotherhood is finished," Leonid continues.
He turns to me briefly and peeks his eyebrows, then returns to scowling at the glass.
"A few rats remain, but rats are easy to kill. You've proven your loyalty. Your position is secure."
I should feel relief or satisfaction.
The deadline that has ruled my life for weeks is nearly met and the threat of death is past.
With so few men left to track down I can say I've won this round with the Devil.
But victory tastes bitter.
What man could give his very soul in exchange for his life?
But that's what I've done.
My heart beats her fucking name whether I want it to or not, and I'm a coward for not just saying that to her.
Now I risk losing the only thing in this life that's ever made me feel something—really feel.
My hand presses against my jacket pocket where my phone rests.
I tried calling her before I came up here, but it went to voicemail.
She's ignoring me, probably pissed that I'm not there watching her.
But how could I force myself to be so close to her knowing she wants to run away from me?
"You're quiet," Leonid observes.
He turns to face me fully and scrutinizes my expression.
"Is there a problem?"
I meet his eyes. "No, sir."
He studies me for a long moment.
His expression reveals nothing, but I know he sees more than I want him to.
Leonid did not become the boss by missing details.
He notices the tension in my shoulders, the way my jaw tightens.
"You've been distracted," he says.
It is not a question either, because he's seen the distraction first hand.
It doesn't mean I can't perform—for now—but it's a sign that my effectiveness may be compromised in the future.
"I am focused on finishing the job," I reply.
"Good."
He returns to his desk and sits.
"The Sokolov filth still breathing must die before New Year's Eve. I want their blood on the snow before the clock strikes midnight. Can you deliver that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then go. Rest. You've earned it."
I nod once and leave the office, taking the elevator downward until I'm thrust outside where the cold air bites my face.
The sky is a dark winter gray, heavy with the promise of more snow before dawn.
Wind cuts through the streets, carrying the smell of exhaust and roasting chestnuts from a vendor on the corner.
People hurry past, bundled in coats and scarves, their faces hidden.
All of this is normal life, and yet it feels foreign to me now.
Since Nadya shook me from my angry violent haze I'm too aware.
Too awake.
I'm a killer, a monster of a man that someone like her will never love, never want.
She won't tarnish her perfect life to sidle up to me and be mine willingly, and she's too precious and fragile for me to consider forcing it.
But I know what happens if she walks away, and it, for the first time in my life, scares the living shit out of me.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial her number again.
It rings once, twice, three times.
Then it goes to voicemail.
Her soft voice plays in my ear, "This is Nadya. Leave a message."
I end the call.
My hands are steady, but my chest feels tight.
I tell myself there's a reasonable explanation.
Her phone died.
She lost it.
She's busy cleaning up my mess.
But I know she's pissed.
It's the only thing that's logical.
I get into my car and sit behind the wheel.
The engine idles, heat pouring from the vents, but I don't move.
I stare at the phone in my hand.
I could go to her, interrupt her cleaning to have it out and tell her I won't allow her to walk away from me.
But what sort of man will that make me in her eyes?
And why the fuck do I suddenly care that she will look at me differently?
I used to pride myself in the fact that women saw me as a butcher.
Now one woman's opinion threatens to crush my entire life.
I drive across the city.
The streets are slick with ice, the sidewalks crowded with people preparing for the holidays.
Flashing lights blink in windows, cheerful and bright.
Shop displays overflow with wrapped gifts and tinsel.
Families walk together, children laughing, parents carrying bags full of presents.
None of it touches me.
Her apartment building is gray and crumbling, the kind of place where pipes freeze in winter and the heat never works.
I picture the yolka, lit up with gifts piled under it.
I wonder if they've opened any, if she sees the warm sweaters I bought for her.
But I can't bring myself to go knock just in case she's home.
I park across the street and stare up at the fourth floor.
Her windows are dark.
She's got to be cleaning still, and I'm a fool who didn't even send a car for her this time.
She'll have to call a cab, ride with a stranger back across town before dawn.
I could go to her, offer her a ride, but my pride freezes me in my seat staring at her bedroom window, or what I imagine is her bedroom.
What would I say to her if I did show up?
That I'm furious that she refuses to be my partner in this life?
But did I ever take the time to do anything more than "claim" her and tell her I own her?
What did I even offer to her besides what appears to be captivity?
And why would she want to be possessed for the rest of her life as if she were nothing more than an object?
So I stare at the phone in my hand believing I've fucked up my only chance and Nadya is going to walk right into a trap set for her by my boss.
And I know I can't let that happen.
I dial her number again.
It rings once… Twice…
On the third ring, someone answers.
My pulse spikes.
I press the phone to my ear, every muscle in my body coiled tight.
"Nadya?"
A low chuckle fills the line, but it's not the light tinkling of a woman's tone.
It's low and rough, and most certainly male.
"Not quite," the voice says.
I recognize it immediately.
Arkady Sokolov.
The man I've been hunting for weeks.
The man whose organization I've torn apart piece by piece.
The man I swore I would kill before midnight on New Year's Eve.
"Where is she?"
My voice is flat and rigidly ice cold.
Rage and terror wash through my veins like fire and ice in the same breath.
I'm instantly coiled to strike.
"Safe," Arkady replies.
"For now."
I grip the phone so hard the plastic creaks.
"If you hurt her—"
"You will what?" Arkady interrupts.
His tone is mocking, amused.
"Kill me? You've already killed my men. You've burned my businesses. You've taken everything from me—even my own son. What more can you do?"
I say nothing.
My mind races, calculating, analyzing.
He has her.
He knows who she is.
He knows what she means to me.
And that can only mean he intends to harm her if he hasn’t already.
"I thought you were smarter than this, Morin," Arkady continues.
"A man in your position, keeping a woman close. It makes you weak. It makes you predictable."
"Where is she?" I repeat.
"You want her back?"
Arkady laughs bitterly.
"Then come and get her. Trade yourself for her. Your life for hers. That's the deal."
My jaw tightens.
"Where?"
I’m not stupid enough to believe he'll uphold that bargain but I have to try.
"I'll send you the location. Come alone. No weapons. No backup. If I see anyone else, I will put a bullet in her head before you reach the door."
The line goes dead and I sit in the car, staring at the phone.
My hand is shaking.
My breathing is choppy.
And inside of me, something is tearing apart.
I knew this was coming.
They sent their message and I didn't heed it.
This is the trap I thought I prepared for.
The one I told myself I could avoid if I stayed focused, if I kept my head down and did my job quickly.
Now she's gone, and the Brotherhood has her.
I start the car and pull into traffic and the rage that courses through me feels like a supercharger on full blast.
My guess is that she's close to where I sent her to do the clean up, so I head that way.
And when my phone buzzes with a text message, I glance at the screen and see I’m right.
Unknown Number: 11:00 PM: Warehouse on Prospekt Mira. Come alone or she dies.
And of course, I'm right.
It's less than a quarter mile from the place we decimated tonight.
They had to have been lying in wait.
As soon as we pulled out their secondary forces moved in to see the damage and they took her.
Sokolov is going to pay because I'm a man with nothing to lose, and his death is already on my to do list.
He doesn't realize he's made it that much easier for me to kill him.