Chapter 42
Chapter
Forty-Two
Katya
The door creaks open, revealing a much smaller space than I expected. One beam of fluorescent light hums above the man in the chair. The room smells like plastic, and one step in, it hits me—the whole room is covered in it.
Fuck. It’s a murder room.
I can’t imagine the terror this man must feel: being caught, tied up, and left in a room he knows he will die in. Maybe I can convince Alana to let him go if he’ll turn over state’s evidence. Dead men can’t be witnesses. And he’s one step away from The Deviant.
The plastic wrinkles as I step forward and the man raises his head. His beard hides most of his face, and his hair falls over his forehead, but I recognize him. “Mikhail?”
Rage and wrath, with a healthy mix of irrational anger, consumes my body as my fist contacts his chin. My knuckles explode with pain, but it’s well worth it to see the confusion on his face. This human hemorrhoid betrayed Dimitri and killed Ian’s family, and now he was part of the group who abducted a bunch of kids and Uri. He ruins lives without a second thought. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate him.
He blinks and spits blood. “Who—” His eyes grow wide as the recognition hits him. “Katya? What are you doing here?”
“My fucking job. Punching you is a bonus.”
He sees my badge. “You’re working with Declan?”
In my gut, something freezes. How does he know Declan? I don’t answer and instead punch him in the ear. He yelps and whimpers. Ear shots fucking hurt.
Once he recovers, he calls out, “Wait, no, you don’t understand.”
But Waverly steps forward. “Don’t care.” She lifts a phone screen to his face. “Push the button.”
“Fuck you, I’m not pushing anything.” He pulls on his arms, which are tied to the chair. “I can’t.”
This tiny woman smirks like she’s in a Stanley Kubrick movie and grabs his hair, lifting his head and pressing the screen to his nose. He yelps again as his cartilage slams into the glass. The phone beeps three times, and she pulls back, grinning and taking a few steps toward the door.
The door flings open, and there’s a blur followed by another grunt. A heaving body looms over Mikhail. “Why?” The word echoes around the room as Dimitri hulks over the broken man in the chair. “You betrayed us, sold your people to the Smirnovs and they were slaughtered. You killed Ian’s mother. Why? I want a fucking answer.”
Blood bubbles between his lips as he laughs. “You were dinosaurs clinging to a dying world. Majesty is the future.”
The plastic crunches behind me as more people enter the room. In a whisper, Alana deadpans, “No, stop, you’re going to hurt him.” Absolutely zero affectation in her voice. It’s creepy. And entirely badass.
“You hurt my son,” Demitri seethes as another punch lands. “You’re a coward,” punch to the jaw, “a traitor,” punch to the throat.
Mickhail gasps as more blood foams out of his mouth.
All I can do is watch as Dimitri lays waste to the man he thought was his friend, his brother-in-arms, only to be betrayed. It’s too much. Dimitri has been through too much. I want to save him from all this, rescue him like I did in Russia. But each time his fist breaks another bone in Mikhail’s face, I know it’s useless. Once the adrenaline subsides, the revenge will feel hollow, and it won’t raise his family from the dead.
Alana places her hand on his shoulder, and Dimitri turns, his fist still flying through the air. She dodges the swing without any effort and steps closer to The Spider. “That’s enough. I thought I told you to be a dad.”
Dimitri’s chest rises and falls. “Ian asked for an uncle for a few minutes.”
Declan stands next to me, his eyes blazing. “This is The Spider?” he asks.
Mikhail is hurt—well, not just because his face has been mashed up. His shoulders sink as he struggles to breathe.
Dimitri steps away from his former friend turned enemy. He walks toward the door but stops behind Declan. Is he going to introduce himself? Say, “Thanks for being a great boss to my spy girlfriend.”
Instead, he takes a deep breath and mumbles, “You smell like my ex-fiancée.”
Alana slams her hands on Mikhail’s shoulder, slithering behind him, and addresses the room. Her eyes are locked on the agents. I can smell Declan’s cheap cologne, which is impressive since the whole room reeks of plastic. Declan grunts behind me. Ohhh I feel a monologue coming on.
Alana squeezes Mikhail’s shoulder and he winces. “He’s The Deviant’s right-hand man for the East Coast. Well, the OG Deviant. The name was passed down to his son, and I don’t give a fuck about the son at the moment. No, I’m only concerned about The Spider.”
Something about this isn’t right. There’s no way Mikhail could be The Spider and The Deviant. He’s too careless and stupid. There’s definitely more, and my brain is working overtime trying to sift through all of it.
Cell phones start buzzing as notifications go off. Mine, then Waverly’s and Declan’s. Alana’s lips curl. Is she smiling? “The Spider jumped ship from the Bratva and went running to The Deviant as soon as he saw his opportunity. Can’t fault a guy for being a go-getter. Loyal to a new master now, racing his way up the ranks. Too bad a better offer came in, didn’t it?” She ruffles his hair and he pulls away but winces in pain.
Mikhail coughs. “Huh?”
“Sure, the U.S. government. Right?”
Mikhail shakes his head. “No.” His eyes flash back to me, then to Declan. “Um, yeah.”
Something’s wrong.
More notifications buzz. One more deep breath—blood, plastic, Declan’s woody oud scent with a mix of fallen trees and decay on a forest floor.
Alana continues, “Obviously. Why else would you destroy the rest of the Majesty stock?”
Marshall digs his phone out of his pocket and whispers, “Holy shit, there are purple smoke plumes all over the world.”
The room is silent as the news hits us. Majesty is gone. Annihilated the planet over. Alana just did what it took me years to not even come close to accomplishing. “How much did the U.S. government pay you to push the button?” Alana asks, tilting her head to the side, twirling his hair in her fingers. “Was it worth betraying The Deviant too?”
“No! Please. I didn’t.” But Mikhail isn’t looking at me. He’s focused on Declan.
Alana’s voice lowers. “The worst part is you think he’s going to save you.”
It’s Declan’s cologne—an old nostalgic odor. I’ve smelled it before. On Sveti at the party where Ian was cut. She was sleeping with a “creepy silver fox.” The Deviant.
Fuck! Declan is The Deviant. He was the mole who killed my team. The reason Dimitri doesn’t have a family. And the fucking reason I missed the last two years of my life, sleeping alone when I could have been with the man I love.
Two guns rattle off within seconds of each other, followed by a scream.
The room remains still until the body in the chair slumps over. And seconds later, Declan falls forward onto his face—or what’s left of his face anyway.
The gun is warm in my hands.
It takes my brain a second to register what it’s seeing. Alana’s once super cute dress is now soaked in blood. And bits of skull are stuck in her cleavage. And there’s definitely brain matter on her face. Oh, and her mouth is open.
“There are brains in my MOUTH ,” Alana says, but it doesn’t really sound that clear because she’s afraid to close her lips.
Dimitri says, “That’s the reason I never open my mouth very wide when I talk.”
“That’s the reason?” Waverly snaps at Dimitri. “On the off chance a guy’s head might get blown off in front of you?” She turns her attention back to Alana. “You should go throw up in the corner. No one will think less of you.” Waverly steps around the two bodies on the floor, sliding a little in the blood, but stabilizing herself before she wipes out. “I’ll hold back your hair.”
Wow, the mark of a true friend.
Before I can say anything, Marshall raises his gun at me. “What the fuck just happened?”
“Declan was The Deviant. That’s why this whole rescue mission went tits up from the beginning. He shot The Spider because he thought The Spider betrayed him. Or he was pissed that Majesty is gone. And I shot him. Because, you know, he’s fucking evil.” Do I really have to explain everything?
“Jesus fucking Christ, do you have proof of any of this?” Marshall’s rage is lessened by the hopes of a promotion and the promise that this is going to be the biggest collar of his career.
Alana heaves in the corner of the room, her vomit splashing against the plastic. The hem of her dress, which for the most part had remained blood-free, now also has body fluid on it. Yikes. Biohazard much?
With one hand holding back Alana’s hair, Waverly reaches her other hand into her back pocket and waves a USB stick behind her. “Proof. We’ve had it for a little while. We had a different plan. Less collateral damage. We were going to move on it next week. But The Deviant decided to steal the kids, so fuck that guy.”
Once the last of her stomach contents are splattered on the floor, Alana stands and wipes the side of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Do you want to wash your face?” Waverly asks.
“I’m not done yet.” She steps over The Deviant’s arm and heads out of the room, leaving all the destruction. “Come on,” she says to Marshall as she stands in the doorway.