3. Katerina
CHAPTER 3
Katerina
“I’m… we’re…” JC stammers. He’s paled like he’s about to spit up the contents of his stomach. “We’re the cleaning crew. Mind if we vacuum?”
The most uncomfortable silence of my life follows.
The moment becomes a game of chicken as the three of us stand where we are and size each other up. JC from inside the elusive Roman Volkova’s office and the hulking man who says that’s who he is in the doorway. I’m halfway in between them, feeling like the situation could go either way.
Either this job’s a botched fucking disaster or we’re still good.
The moment passes and the stretch of silence ends.
But not in the way we’d hoped—Roman snaps into motion. One second he’s eerily still in the doorway, glaring at the two of us with open suspicion. The next second he’s lunging forward, shoving me to the ground and swinging on JC.
I crash down like I’ve been knocked over by the force of a tornado blowing through. I don’t stand a chance of staying on my feet.
His fist connects with JC's jaw, sending the glasses flying off his face.
JC doesn’t fare much better than I do coming into contact with a man the size of Roman Volkova. He flops to the ground like a crash test dummy.
Roman’s on top of him the instant he lands. His iron-like fists rain down on JC one after another.
Blood sprays and the bone in his nose crunches.
“Get the hell off him!” I shout, jumping to my feet. “You’ll kill him if you keep punching him!”
I run at the Russian barbarian only for him to half-turn around and shove me back all over again.
For a second time, I’m knocked several paces back. Almost off my feet, though I catch myself before the fall.
Roman returns his fist to JC's face.
Punch after punch after punch.
My eyes widen in horror watching the blows smash down into JC.
I act on impulse, my heart pounding away inside my chest. I dart toward the cleaning cart and scramble for the black pouch JC had carried with him. The pouch he’d said the tranquilizer was in. Filling up the syringe, I do the only thing that makes sense.
I leap toward the Russian Hercules and jam the needle into the side of his neck.
It’s a move that’ll either save us or guarantee I’m next on the receiving end of his steel fists.
The effects are immediate.
Roman pulls back his fist to throw yet another punch, then slows down like someone’s pressed the pause button. He shakes his head, fighting off the sudden wooziness, swaying from where he’s kneeling over JC.
But even he’s no match for what really is a bear tranquilizer.
He falls face forward into the ground, out like he’s been KO’d.
For several seconds to come, nobody moves.
I’m too shocked to do so, listening to my racing heartbeat. JC's barely conscious, his face a bloodied, swelling mess.
And the Russian Bear—he’s off in la la land.
Once my shock fades, I pad over toward the wreckage. First I check on Roman, nudging him with my foot to see if he’s really out and not playing pretend.
The shallow breaths he draws tells me he is. The tranquilizer worked.
I crouch next to JC. “Shit, JC. That went fucking left fast.”
He groans, barely able to lift his head. He can’t open his eyes. They’re too swollen. When he tries to piece together a few words, two broken teeth tumble past his lips.
“He… he saw us…” he mumbles.
“You said he was an old man! You said he was feeble! We have two very different definitions of old and feeble ’cuz…”
He coughs up blood as I ease him up into a sitting position.
“He is old… feeble. The real Volkova…”
“Then who’s this?”
“Who cares?” JC wipes at his face with the sleeve of his shirt, leaving a smear of gruesome blood on the fabric. “Call Fozzil. Get him to come up and help us.”
“Help us… do what?”
“The body. Take him down. He’s bigger than we thought.”
I shake my head side to side. “Nope. No way am I kidnapping this guy. Are you crazy?”
“We can’t turn back now,” JC says. “He saw our faces. He knows we came. The ransom has to continue.”
I’m not sure what we’re doing anymore as I concede JC's point and call Fozzil up.
Sixteen painstaking minutes later, the three of us are huffing and puffing as we cart the Russian imposter downstairs in a shredder bin we’ve found in the copy room.
I hurry ahead to slide open the van so JC and Fozzil can roll the two hundred pound plus man onto the floor of the back of the van. We’ve zip-tied his wrists and ankles and duct-taped his mouth.
“This is a disaster,” I mutter.
“Get in,” Fozzil says, shaking his shaggy hunk of hair out of his face. He’s been in a sour mood ever since I called him up to help. He was looking forward to being getaway driver and nothing else.
Finding out that we botched the kidnapping was the worst news he could receive.
JC limps toward the front passenger seat. “I need the ER.”
“We’ll drop the captive off at the safe house then run you by the ER. He wrecked you, dude.”
“Tell me about it,” JC mumbles, his words garbled from his swollen lips.
We drive across the city ’til we’re reaching the Heinsberg Park area, one of the poorest neighborhoods in Northam.
Fozzil parks outside an apartment building that looks like it should be condemned.
It probably is.
Getting Roman Volkova upstairs to the second floor is about as challenging as getting him downstairs in the Crowne Tower.
Once we’re done, dropping him down onto a sunken couch in the otherwise barren living room, it feels like an accomplishment. We wipe sweat from our brows and let out relieved breaths.
Fozzil pins me with a sour look. “I’m taking this one to the ER. Hang out here with him.”
“You’re kidding right? Me, hang out with him?!”
“I’ve already done more than my part,” Fozzil snaps. “I was driver. You and JC were supposed to do the capture. But you fucked it all up. This isn’t even the guy Finch mentioned.”
“Tell JC that!” I say, hot and irritated myself. “He’s the one that wanted to continue.”
JC's dripping blood as he counters me. “We came that far! We had to!”
“Keep watch over him, Kat,” Fozzil says. “I’m taking JC to the fucking ER. Got it?”
“The fuck I do! This isn’t what I signed up for—get back here, you assholes!”
But it’s too late.
JC's limped into the hall and Fozzil’s followed after him, slamming the door shut.
I scream in frustration and kick at the first thing within reach—which just so happens to be a stack of boxes. They tumble to the ground in a cascade of drug paraphernalia and other random items like brass knuckles and buck knives.
What the hell am I going to do now? Why did I have to stay behind and watch over him?
What am I supposed to do if he wakes up?!
These are just some of the questions turning over inside my head as I glance at the hulking, unconscious man on the sofa. He’s still out cold, but he’s going to wake up eventually.
And then what?
It’ll be just me and him locked inside this apartment together. Knowing his strength, he could bust right out of his zip ties…
I sigh and run a hand over my lavender curls. “This is such a damn mess.”