Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Alex sat in a corner table at Sasha’s Place, Yuri’s favorite hangout club.
He rolled his coffee cup between his hands as he and the rest of Yuri’s and Nikki’s crews—including Mike’s CI—watched Yuri slug down his fifth whiskey.
Alex hated being there, but if this was what it took to pound the last nail on Yuri’s coffin, he’d swallow a gallon of coffee and wait all night.
Yuri had arrived an hour earlier by taxi from the airport and started pounding shots the second he’d blown through the door.
The club’s phone rang and the owner, Sasha, answered it, spoke briefly, and hung up. “Hey Yuri,” he shouted. “That was Viktoria. She’s been waiting for you at the airport for over an hour.”
Yuri flicked his finger for Sasha to top off his glass. “She can’t even pick me up at the airport on time. When we get home, I’m gonna knock the shit out of her.” His speech had been slurring more by the minute.
Alex gripped the coffee cup tighter, his mood darkening as Yuri got drunker and drunker, inhaling whiskey as if it were water.
Thirty minutes later, Viktoria walked in, oblivious to Yuri’s condition. She spotted him at the bar and hurried over. “Yuri, I waited for you at the Delta terminal for over an hour, then I called here, and Sasha told me you took a taxi.”
“That’s right,” he snarled. “I waited for you at the American Airlines terminal. You never showed.”
“You told me Delta Airlines, and that’s where I was. I’m sorry. I really was there on time.” The worry etched on her face put every muscle in Alex’s body on high alert. Whatever came next wouldn’t be good.
“Suka blyat.” Yuri stood and wound back his arm.
“Yuri, no!” Alex launched from his chair but was too far away to prevent Yuri from hitting Viktoria squarely in the face. The blow sent her crashing to the floor. Alex found his arms restrained by four men. Something cold pressed against the back of his head.
A gun.
“Leave it be,” growled one of Nikki’s men—Ivan Asimov.
Ignoring the Glock jammed against his skull, he struggled to get free, dragging the men with him across the floor. The closer he got to his quarry, the more men restrained him. His heart was in his throat as Yuri started kicking Viktoria in the ribs.
“Alex, no,” the CI warned, lowering his voice. “You don’t interfere in a man’s marriage. No matter how bad. Your position will be compromised.” To the others within earshot, they would assume the CI meant his position in Yuri’s crew and Novkov’s operation. Not as an undercover FBI agent.
He watched helplessly, straining against a dozen arms while Yuri kicked Viktoria again and again in the ribs and the head. He had to get to her. There was only so much she could take before he killed her.
Alex tapped into hidden pockets of adrenaline, loosing first one arm then the other. Using a simple disarming move, he twisted the gun from Asimov’s hand and threw it across the room. By sheer strength and will, he broke free and took four men down, each with a bloodied nose. The others backed off.
He plowed into Yuri with his shoulder, knocking him to the floor. Yuri struggled to rise on one knee when Alex sent what he hoped was a skull-smashing blow to the side of Yuri’s head. He crumpled to the floor like a bag of garbage.
Alex whipped around in time to see two men advance on him, then think better of it. Hot, molten fury coursed through his veins. Breathing heavily, he warned in a low, deadly voice, “I’m taking her out of here. If any one of you tries to stop me, I’ll kill you.” Wisely, no one confronted him.
He assessed Viktoria’s physical condition, his heart pounding with fear that he’d lose her. It occurred to him that she wasn’t his to lose. That didn’t suppress the undeniable, possessive feeling wrapping its tentacles around his heart.
She was still breathing, but her face was covered in blood, and she was unconscious. Gently, he slipped one arm behind her neck, cradling her head as he swung her up to his chest. He glared at every face in the room, reiterating his deadly promise before kicking open the hinged door.
Once he’d gotten her in his car, he jumped into the driver’s side. Distant pops sounded as he sped from the parking lot. Asimov must have found his gun. Good thing the guy couldn’t shoot for shit.
He sped down local roads, taking every shortcut he knew. Her head rested against his shoulder while she moaned, drifting in and out of consciousness. His arm around her was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Honey, it’s all right. It’s Alex, and I’m taking you to the hospital.
Hang in there with me.” He worried when she didn’t respond.
She probably had a severe concussion, if not a skull fracture.
There was blood everywhere. His shirt was soaked with it.
Somehow, he should have gotten her out of there sooner.
“Viktoria! Stay with me. We’re almost there.
” He kissed the top of her head, trying to remain calm, but his insides had turned to a panicked pile of mush.
“Talk to me. Try to stay awake. It’s important you stay awake. ”
“Can’t,” she moaned. “Just want to…sleep.”
“You have to try. Is there someone I can call? Your mother?”
“No. She can’t help me.” Her voice had grown weaker. “Nobody can.”
“I can. He’ll never hurt you again. I promise.
” Regret ignited a new fury in him, the likes of which he’d never known.
He should have done something sooner. He’d seen the signs, but the job came first and foremost. He’d kept telling himself it was for the greater good, but right now he didn’t believe a word of his own bullshit.
She lost consciousness, and her head lolled forward. He came to a screeching stop at the emergency room, motioning and yelling to a nurse on a cigarette break. The nurse took one look at his bloody shirt, threw down her cigarette, and ran for a gurney.
Cradling her head, he lifted Viktoria from the car and placed her on the gurney.
The nurse ordered him to wait outside the examination room.
He didn’t want to leave her, but the hospital would need basic information, and he didn’t want her admitted under her real name.
He’d have to cover for her until she was stable, then get her out of there fast. For that, he needed help.
It took a while to convince the hospital staff he wasn’t the bastard who’d hurt her. He answered the nurse’s questions, then made a phone call.
“I’m out!” he snapped when his boss answered. “Petrov nearly killed his wife. I drove her to a hospital. I’m certain the Bratva won’t welcome me back with open arms. How soon can you take this down?”
“In that case, a couple of days.”
“Good. You can add aggravated assault and battery—maybe even attempted murder—to the charges against Petrov.” For now, that would have to suffice.
Charging him for the kidnapping- murders would have to wait. One day, he’d find that evidence. No matter what it took.
“It would be my pleasure,” Mike said.
“Actually, the pleasure was all mine when I decked him. I don’t think he’ll wake up until you get there.”
“We’ll be sure and bring him an aspirin.”
“Mike, there’s one more thing I need.”
“Anything, kid. You know that.”
“I need a phone number.”
After Alex made the second call, a nurse told him Viktoria had been transferred to the intensive care unit with a skull fracture, a broken arm and ribs, and they were monitoring for signs of internal bleeding.
He paced restlessly back and forth across the hallway. The only reason he hadn’t barged into the intensive care unit was because he was waiting for someone. Someone who would be very important in Viktoria’s life.
“Mr. Tarankov?” a female voice asked from behind him.
“Yes?”
“I’m Marissa Bennett. We spoke over the phone. Let’s sit down over here.” She motioned to an isolated sofa.
Alex told Marissa all that he knew, save his real name. “I’d like to see her one more time before I go.”
“That would be fine. Let’s go find a nurse, and you can introduce me.”
Viktoria lay on a bed in one of the ER units.
Her head was swathed in bandages, her face already exhibiting intense swelling.
Her left arm was engulfed in a cast, and Alex assumed her rib cage was tightly wrapped as well.
She had a sickly pallor and still seemed unconscious.
The all-consuming anger he’d felt earlier was nearly enough to drive him back to the club to finish Yuri off.
He kept telling himself Yuri’s time would come. Literally and very soon.
“I’ll wait over here,” Marissa said, remaining by the door to give him some privacy.
He went to the bed, watching Viktoria’s chest rise and fall evenly. During the drive to the hospital, there’d been more than a few times he thought he’d be too late. That she would be dead before they got there.
What could have happened if he hadn’t been in Sasha’s when she’d walked in, tore at his soul. For one infinitesimal moment, it occurred to him that if Yuri were indeed sentenced to hard time, Viktoria could be free of him. She could be with someone else.
Like me.
He curled his fingers around the stainless steel bedrail and shut his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to forget it, the past would always haunt him.
What he’d just set in motion was better for her. If he stayed, he’d only hurt her. She deserved better than that. Better than him.
He gently touched his fingers to Viktoria’s cheek. She didn’t move. There was nothing more he could say or do to help her. Where she was going, he would never be told. And where he was going, she would never know. That was the way it worked.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her forehead, holding them there a moment before whispering in her ear, “Another place, another time.”
Then FBI Special Agent Kyle Gates walked past Marissa Bennett without another word, out the hospital doors, and out of Viktoria Vladimirovna Petrova’s life.