17. Ciro
17
CIRO
G ood quality flooring, these Moroccan basements.
No give. No bounce.
A-plus masonry.
My face continues to explore the texture of the dust in the grooves of the tiles as I regain consciousness. Vanya’s voice says something like, “How do you know who I am?”
And here I thought I got recognized.
“Come on, fellas, we can work something out. Payment in blood?” I mumble, trying to sit up. Instead, a garble of bullshit and just a little spit and blood comes out.
Gets their attention, though.
Someone drags me to my knees, pulling my head back by my hair. That’s so hot.
“You were clever to find your way here, but foolish to use the ring to gain entry.”
“The ring was given to us, a gift,” Vanya bluffs.
“Even if that were true, the giver would suffer a gruesome death for betraying our organization. Which means they must already be dead.”
“Along with dozens more of your soldiers,” Vanya snaps, shifting gears on a dime. The statement raises the temperature in the room a few degrees. Them’s fighting words.
Gotta diffuse this.
“Look, Mr. Kingsley, I’m sure we can work something out…I love your movies, by the way. Not so much the superhero one, but still.” This time I make words come out. Probably not for the best, though.
The fist across my jaw is expected, but shockingly painful.
Not his, of course. One of the four toughs holding us hostage.
“Impudent prick. I should have known you were American.” The auctioneer leers down at me over his prominent nose. He preens in front of his men, puffing out his chest a bit. His gaze sweeping over me.
This is going south quickly.
Need to turn things around.
But Vanya’s all over it. “Please, forgive my outburst. And him, in general. You clearly know who I am. And you are very aware of why I am here.”
“I do. But you can hardly expect to bargain from your position.”
So he does have Pyotr! I almost blurt it out.
He continues, raising his nose condescendingly. “The items we have that might have belonged to the Volk were purchased at fair market value. If you want your possessions back, you simply must buy them.”
Wait…what is he talking about?
“I came here for information , nothing more.” This time, Vanya’s bluff is solid, natural. “And to see what this fuss was all about.”
“This…fuss?”
“I do not care about heirlooms. I approved those sales myself. Your establishment intrigued me.”
“I see,” he mutters. Now it’s his turn to wonder what the hell she’s talking about. And mine. Still mine. I have no clue. “So you came to…vacation? What of the recent…events on your shores?”
Rumors spread fast. Let’s see how fast and how accurate.
“Clearly not your concern or your department. Unless any of our citizens made their way into your possession? This would be grounds for…retaliation.”
The man’s eyes widen slightly, somewhere between outrage and fear.
“You would threaten me, in my own club? In my own country? You are alone. Helpless.”
“Perhaps. But Pyotr Sokolov knows precisely where I am. And he is always eager for a fight. His kin going missing or being harmed would be…inconvenient for you.” Here’s the real roll of the dice.
“He wouldn’t dare.” Fear. Real fear. Which means…
“You know how far his reach is. And his close relationship with the Lyras.” Anyone who knows anything about the Greek assassins knows to fear them.
The auctioneer swallows hard, glancing back and forth between us.
So, he doesn’t know a thing about Pyotr. The invasion. Only that he’s come into some old trophies as a result. Well played, my love.
Only that kinda leaves us back at square one.
“We seem to be at an impasse. I cannot just allow you to leave.” He glowers down at me.
Vanya gambled. Now it’s my turn.
“You’re a purveyor of chance, and a good one. So let’s play a game,” I interject before the threats and tension can escalate into something unfortunate for us.
“What do you propose?” His eyes narrow.
Ha! Got him.
“A bet, a game. Anything you want.”
“The stakes?”
“If you win, you keep all of my winnings, my deposit, and I’ll even throw in a little extra .” I wink, nodding to Vanya. I pray she goes along with this for now. Her nostrils flare, but she stays silent. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
His eyes sparkle, his mouth twitches in a sick smile. “You would trade Pyotr Sokolov’s daughter for your freedom? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Fuck, I meant like a night with her, you wacko.” Choose my cards, place my bet. Now I wait to see if he folds.
The regal man’s head tips back, a pompous laugh echoing in the room. “Such an indecent proposal. You Americans have gall, I will give you that.”
The guards laugh along with him, elbowing each other and eyeing Vanya.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. Even a man such as yourself must get lonely .” I raise my eyebrows suggestively, biting my lip.
The four guards behind me can’t see my expression.
The auctioneer shakes his head slowly, but I catch it, the slightest flinch of his eyes down my half-unbuttoned shirt.
“Leave us,” he announces, waving his hand. The guards hesitate for a moment, then file out. As soon as they’re gone, I stand, smiling at our host.
“What do you say? Shall we play?” I step closer, putting on my most sultry stare. “Can you really pass up those stakes?”
“You are lovely . And devious.” The man scoffs, his mouth curling. “As tempting as seeing you lose all of that money is and…other things, what makes you think I would share any information with you? What keeps me from just taking your winnings? I will not simply cave because you figured out my secret.”
“How often does a man of your tastes get an opportunity like this?” Vanya huffs, indulging my gambit.
“You know I cannot.”
“Then I guess we have you by the balls,” she drolls.
“Perhaps. But I too have a card unplayed. Isn’t that right, Mr . Diamante ?”
Well, shit.
But I’m not done yet.
“You really do have a full house. But I’ve got a royal flush. How do you think your clients would feel if they found out a member of the Diamante family walked right into your casino and took you for one hundred million dollars and the contents of your safe. Last I heard, you were holding onto some pretty pricey items for the sheikh of Dubai…” Now that is how you gamble.
With your fucking life.
This time his eyes bug out of his head.
“You lie.”
“You wish.” I toss him a small object. The auctioneer pales.
“Where did you?—”
“From your office desk last night. When I broke into your safe.”
“You…There’s a reason we banned you bastards from our country.”
“I am that reason.” I chuckle, holding my fingers around my eyes like glasses.
“I should kill you where you stand…” he squeaks, rage shaking through him.
“But you won’t,” Vanya snaps, crossing her arms. Her expression indicates that this little charade is over.
“No. I won’t,” he grits out.
“Except you kinda will. And you even get to save face with your men. They’re going to think you are a badass after tonight. Vanya, if you would do the honors…” I brace myself.
She clips the edge of my forehead with a sharp blow, spraying blood across my face. Grunting in agony, I fall against the door.
The next several seconds pass in self-imposed violence as the auctioneer stands there aghast.
“Now…” Vanya growls, wiping blood from her lip. “Tell me what you know about a man in a black mask. Mocro symbol on the forehead.”
If he was shaken up by our behavior before, at this question he blanches.
“They…they are…” He shudders, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. “All I know is that they are demons. Spirits of death. Indentured to the head of the Mocro. His servants.”
He glances around as if expecting one to appear.
It’s all he’s going to give us.
Storming to the door, he jerks it open, signaling to his men. Two of them guide us out, looking rather pleased with our roughed-up state.
He walks with us through the maze of underground tunnels, leading to an ancient, wrought iron gate. A guard throws it open, shoving us out.
The auctioneer waves for them to wait as he steps out into the dark alley. “Let this be a lesson. Never show your faces here again, am I clear?”
“Y-you bastard,” Vanya snarls, holding her arms to her sides. The guards inside sneer, nodding amongst themselves. She almost looks like someone had their way with her in a back room.
Oh. Wait. I did.
I spit at his feet, looking far worse than Vanya, my white shirt and jacket torn and dyed red in my blood. “You’re sick!”
Some of our demeanor must have rubbed off on the guy, because he backhands me in perfect form, sending me to the ground. I really need people to pull some punches today.
Leaning over me threateningly, he whispers, “What about the contents of my safe?”
“They’ll be there when you go to check,” I mumble mysteriously, staggering to my feet and clutching Vanya as we hurry down the alley.
“You son of a bitch!” I hear him yell as soon as we are around the corner, this time in all seriousness.
“I can’t believe he actually thought I broke into his safe.”
“I can’t believe we found the same cat statue in the market after I took those photos through his office window,” Vanya snickers, wincing at the bruise on her cheek. “Or that you figured out his…preferences. I almost lost my shit when you offered him that.”
“See?! Isn’t gambling a rush?” I cackle, reveling in the night air. “Wait, you’re not jealous, are you?”
“I knew he would not try. Too risky in his culture. I can relate to some of this.”
“Man, organized crime needs to get with the times.”
Vanya rolls her eyes, leaning in to kiss me beneath a streetlamp. At this time of night, in this part of town, we would normally be targets. Except we look like we already got mugged.
Or we just killed somebody.
Just as our lips brush, instincts kick in. I drop to the ground, Vanya matching my movements as two knives lodge into the wall where we were just standing.
We’re on our feet in a flash, sprinting the opposite way.
The dark of the slum streets is a double-edged sword. While it keeps us relatively hidden, it makes it almost impossible to see where we are going and where our attacker is.
“Left,” Vanya hisses, ducking behind an old shack.
“We should have brought a car.”
“Good idea…that one. Pretend to break into it.”
“Deal. Wait, am I bait?”
“Yes! Go!”
I’m dashing across the street before I can chicken out or flip her off. Four or five bullets hit the pavement behind me, sending me diving behind the car. This guy is either not that good, or he’s fucking with us.
Another shot rings out, this time from Vanya’s position.
Where the hell did she…
But she’s running toward me, waving me on. Her cover fire only buys us a few seconds, enough to make the end of the street. Just in time for me to hear the rumble of a motorcycle.
“How do you say sorry in Arabic?” I stick out my arm.
“I do not think ‘sorry’ is enough…” She crouches.
I wince as the biker hits my clothesline, at a reasonable speed, launching back and onto the ground. Vanya is already in the air, leaping onto the bike and getting it under control.
“Go!” I hop on behind her.
Zipping through the streets on a motorcycle, we weave through what little traffic is out this late. In no time, I feel like we’ve lost any sight of our assailant. Vanya really did her homework. Cutting through side streets and doubling back on our route has us both sighing in relief.
Until we hit the side of town our little shithole apartment is on and I spot a tail.
“Dammit, how did they find us?”
“Does it matter? We cannot go back to the safe house,” Vanya barks.
She guns it around a bend.
Then everything goes ass up.
A gunshot echoes out, followed by a pop. The back tire goes out, sending us into a slide. I throw Vanya clear, shoving off the other way. We roll, tumble. The bike takes another battery of bullets.
“Dead end.” She checks the gun. Two rounds left.
“Not for us.” Because nothing can stop us when we are together.
But we are a little taken aback when a motorcycle skids to a halt several feet from us. The man in the black mask, decked out in black leather, steps off the bike. And the balls on this guy.
He doesn’t even appear to have a gun.
Other than the rifle I see strapped to the bike.
His stance is calm, balanced. Somehow, it’s still threatening as hell.
So I rush him, banking on the element of surprise.
A knife appears from nowhere, almost catching my face, my shoulder, my ribs, my arm. He’s insanely fast. Fortunately, so am I.
Parrying the first few blows, I pinch a nerve, dropping the knife into my hand.
Just as quickly, another one glitters in his other hand, meeting my strike and blocking me in a flurry of perfect slashes.
He drives me back a step, then another.
But I’ve got backup.
Vanya lunges in from his blind spot, sweeping his leg. Somehow he’s already in the air, hopping over the kick and driving the heel of his boot into her face.
A glancing blow.
Then he’s charging and it’s everything I can do to brace myself as he careens into me, tackling me to the ground. I scoop my knees under him in the tumble, kicking him into the air above me, right over my head. Like a goddamn circus performer.
Gloved hands hit the ground first, handspringing back to his feet.
The utter audacity of this motherf?—
Three knives gleam and I’m spinning, Vanya’s leaping. His throws are dangerously close. It gives us a moment to close, teaming up on him. He uses the wall, bouncing back on us with every kick, punch, and slash; matching us in speed, strength.
He’s a fucking ninja.
And add to the fact that we kicked our own asses tonight and Vanya is not dressed for action…
The killer has us on the ropes, driving us back, inch by inch.
Despite our best efforts he drives a wedge between us, pushing us apart. With a fraction of an opening, he feigns toward Van’s head and I reach out involuntarily. A stupid move.
Blood sprays from my hand, a fist following to smash my nose.
Then I’m soaring through the air.
Pavement cushions my fall. We’re old friends.
Off a ways, past my front-row view of my feet, I hear a sharp impact, a scuffle. Then a piercing yelp of pain. Trying to sit up, I catch him swinging her around, twisting her arm behind her and driving her to her knees.
“Vanya!”
Adrenaline floods into my numb extremities and I’m fucking fish-eyed, first-person-shooter vision and charging like a linebacker. In slow motion, I watch him swivel to the side, hooking an arm around mine, lurching me out of his path and away, stumbling in my own momentum.
He’s right there when I turn, his knee catching me in the sternum, blasting the breath out of me. Black dims the edges of my vision as I collapse.
And he scoops up Vanya before she can recover, pressing a blade to her neck.
“Enough. Move and she dies.”
“C-c-c,” I stutter, attempting to do anything but kneel and almost puke before I manage to choke out, “Cliché bullshit .”
For a second he pauses, tilting his head.
“Shakal…” Vanya meets my gaze, her eyes unwavering. “Go. Save yourself.”
“What did I just…say!” I rise again, way too slowly. “Enough cliché.”
But I crack my neck to the side anyway for good measure and to make a point. Hopefully it’s enough of a distraction to keep him from seeing the dagger in my hand.
“ Utka ,” I clip out in Russian. Vanya’s brow furrows for a split second, then she hammers her elbow into the masked man’s ribs, slicing her rigid hand up to deflect the blade.
And I am surging forward behind my thrown dagger.
In my adrenaline and pain addled state, I feel like I might actually beat the knife there for a second. Definitely delirious. Probably concussed.
He straightens from her blow in time to turn his head, the edge of the metal screeching along the metal of his mask. My fingers graze the lip of the mask as he realizes what I’m aiming for.
His foot flicks out, lightning fast taking me in the knee. I stagger.
Vanya stabs to gut him from the side. Somehow, he bends, throwing his weight into the movement and dodging into a headlong dash straight at the wall next to us.
Two steps.
Backflip. A fucking backflip.
And he takes each of us in the throat with a blow that leaves us choking.
Through the haze of my constricted airway, I see red spatter, droplets on the concrete. He’s wounded. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t finished us off.
But he surprises me again when he trots away, around the corner.
“We cannot…” Vanya grumbles, rising.
“Yeah. I go high?”
“ Da . I go low.”
I muscle my way through the agony in my throat, my chest, my back. Dammit, my whole body is jacked up to shit.
She’s on the bike, speeding off after him as I take off, gaining speed.
I take the pallet at a jog, the dumpster at a run, clear the wall and leap to a rooftop, following the sound of her bike. Our ploy works. Vanya drives him right to me. A black-clad figure pops up ahead of me on the next roof, running at full tilt.
The opposite direction.
So I follow, whistling periodically to signal my location. The rev of a motor lets me know she’s keeping pace below.
He leaps. I leap.
I’m gaining and he knows it.
Down onto a lower level, he catches the edge of the next rise and I catch his ankle. Jerking him back down, he lands hard, rolling back into a crouch, lashing out at me with both hands. I catch both of his wrists, kicking him in the sternum. It feels damn good to connect a solid, devastating blow.
But the bastard won’t quit.
As I rush in, he bounces back out of his roll, planting both feet in my chest and blasting me backward. Reeling, my heels clip the lip of the building.
Looney Tunes saves my life with a wild flap of my arms. Regaining my balance, I’m after him again, rage fueling me up the wall, over the skylight of the apartment beneath us, and right after him as he soars across a much wider gap.
He lands a split second before me, turning to take my tackle and fling me right off the roof.
Falling through open air, I have a few seconds to watch as he jumps off after me.
Trash breaks my fall.
Right before he lands on top of me. Disoriented and winded, we grapple, the whole bin tipping over and spilling us like so much refuse all over the street.
At the feet of about a dozen Mocro soldiers.
The masked man rises, cracking his neck as if to mock me. Because they’ve already got Vanya, lying unconscious near the wheel of a black van. And of course, he led us right into a trap.