Chapter 9
GEORGIY
The night is warm, making my suit unbearable. I hate sweating, despise feeling dirty. And yet, I’ve managed to attract a Bane in my life. Someone so unkempt, so wild…so filthy. He always has blood on him, or dirt, or a combination of the two.
“Stop here and wait for me to return,” I tell my driver, who just scoffs at me.
“This is a rideshare, man. I’m not paid to wait.”
I stare at the unruly pizda in the front seat. No one does as they’re told anymore. It irritates me, makes me want to restrain him on a surgeon’s table and slice him apart. Slowly. Methodically. Just like I used to do when I practiced. Until it was taken from me.
You will never work again. I’ll make sure of that.
I glance around, looking for a place to sit to do a casual stakeout of the motel.
Sven said they—singular they—are here, the person I’m looking for. He didn’t give me the room number, but he says he’s confident this is where they’re at. And he’s never been wrong in the two years I’ve been working with him.
I peer across the street from the seedy motel and see a rundown diner. Blyat. Sticky tables and the smell of acrid coffee will surely meet me as soon as I step inside. It makes me shudder. The way it will cling to my clothes, my skin.
I throw a wad of cash at the useless driver and step out of the car. The warm air meets me as I walk across the street. And when I enter the dank restaurant, I can feel the scent of age sticking to my skin, infiltrating my lungs.
It makes me itch. Not that I show it.
I restrain every irritating feeling as I take a seat at a table facing directly toward the motel.
“What can I get you, sir?” an older woman asks, her face aged, her teeth yellowing. She looks tired. I don’t blame her. It’s late, and I guarantee she’s been on her feet all day.
“Tea.”
She arches an eyebrow, probably annoyed that I’m not a well-paying customer.
“And some toast.”
She sighs and slaps her notebook into her apron.
“Coming right up.”
She stalks away, and I turn my gaze back to the motel, my hand grabbing a fistful of napkins and wiping up the table as best I can. A bit of it gets stuck to a blob of maple syrup, and I stare at it for far too long.
This is not going well, I think as I turn my gaze back to the motel.
It’s sleazy, most likely full of drugs and prostitutes, but then again, what did I expect?
A ritzy hotel? That would draw too much attention.
And from what I can gather, that’s not how this person operates.
Everything is hidden, done in the shadows.
So elusive that they’re almost invisible.
But then again, I always manage to find the hidden problem. It just needs a little patience.
The waitress brings a mug full of hot water and slaps a few tea bags onto the table.
“Toast,” she says, the plate clattering down in front of my hands. It’s burnt, not edible at all. Not that I was going to touch it, but then again, I don’t want to draw attention to myself.
I don’t want anyone to know I was here.
“Thank you,” I say lowly, and she scoffs, moving away from my table.
I stare down at the boiling water and then pick up the one tea bag that didn’t settle on the dirty tabletop.
It sinks into the water and I let it steep for a moment, my eyes turning back to the dilapidated sign with missing letters and a dead tree out front.
My phone rings and I glance down at it. It’s Mikhail, probably wondering where I am. Not that I’m going to tell him or Anthony what I’m doing. If I do, they’ll get reckless, and I may never get the answers I want.
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I pull the tea bag from the now-brown water. It looks as unappetizing as I assumed it would be.
I won’t drink it.
Bane would, though. He would probably gulp it down without a second thought.
My heart flutters in my chest slightly, and I force myself to breathe normally. That man eats like a heathen, crumbs and mess everywhere.
The way my palms itch to spank him.
I twine my fingers together and stare out the window once more.
My phone beeps, and I see Sven calling. Another Craigslist find.
Really, that site is severely underrated.
Without hesitating, I pick it up and hear him breathing on the other end of the line.
“You sure they’re here?”
“Yep. I’m never wrong.”
He hasn’t been yet. “And you think they know something about Henry?”
“Mhm. And his name isn’t really Henry, Boss-man.”
Yes, right. He told me this already, but I keep forgetting because Henry is the one who hurt Bane.
He hurt what’s mine.
I will make him pay for this. I will make him beg.
“He technically doesn’t have a name. Bane doesn’t either, just so you know.”
I frown at that. Sven never told me that before.
“He technically doesn’t exist. Not on record. Neither of them do.”
“I didn’t ask you for this information.”
“No, but you should know who you’re working with.”
It’s so much more than work. So much more.
“Anything else?” I bite out, and Sven is silent for a moment, his fingers clacking across a keyboard.
“I don’t know what room they’re in. I bet this place uses paper and pen to track guests. Probably so they can burn it if need be. I’m still working on getting the room number from the lady at the desk. I’ll keep you posted.”
I press my fingers to my temple, and my teeth clench.
“Just let me know how right I am when you get them. And tell them that MightyBalls says hi.”
I frown at that. I absolutely will not be saying that. I would rather watch my carcass be eaten by rats.
Hanging up, I turn my gaze toward the motel once more and then pull my briefcase open, looking down at the syringe and scalpel inside.
I plan on using both tonight. Plan on doing so much more with both of these.
My skin starts to feel too tight, itchy and unbearable.
I rub at my forearm and shift in my seat.
I can’t fucking stand it in here. It’s making everything inside me crawl. Slapping a twenty-dollar bill on the table, I stand up, the tea and toast untouched, as I grab my bag and move out of the diner.
I don’t want to wait for Sven to give me the room number. I can’t fucking wait.
I will ask the attendant myself.
Without even looking right or left, I stride across the street toward the motel lobby. The door rattles and squeaks when I pull it open, the bell hanging above me making an off-tune clang. Ominous. A warning, and yet it goes ignored.
An older woman sits behind the counter, looking tired and done with life. Her hair is half done, half missing, and a tooth hangs from between her lips.
She doesn’t even acknowledge me, just slides the paper book toward me and points toward the sign on the wall.
Cash only.
“I’m here looking for someone,” I say, not touching the pen sitting in the crack of the ledger. The amount of germs that would be on that. I shudder to even think of it.
“Not allowed to give information. We have the highest security.”
I look around and realize that I could take her out and no one would even blink an eye. No one would even be around to care. And from what Sven told me, this place doesn’t have any cameras, so I know I won’t be filmed. Her murder would go totally unnoticed.
But I don’t go there. Not yet. I pull out an envelope full of cash and slide it toward her.
Her beady eyes move toward it, and her wrinkled hand pulls it toward her. Her front tooth wobbles precariously and then falls out.
She doesn’t even look down at it.
The tooth just sits on the counter, untouched.
The woman, instead, peers inside the envelope, her fingers flipping along the bills, and then her watery gaze meets my own.
“Who you lookin’ for?”
“They just checked in earlier today.”
“Had several of those. Anything else you can give me?”
“About mid-twenties, black hair, has an East Coast accent.”
“Yeah, I know that one. Real rude. A bitch, honestly. Room twenty-one.”
She tucks the envelope under the desk, and I don’t even pretend to care.
I just turn around and walk outside. Part of me thinks I should tell Anthony about this small development, a crack in the case, but I don’t want them involved.
This is bigger than they think. And if they find Henry—or whatever his real name is—and kill him, we won’t know who is behind all of this.
We won’t find out who the shadow is that’s lurking and wreaking havoc.
It’s absurd, and yet still, it bothers me.
Who is the one behind it all?
My feet stop in front of room twenty-one, and I pull out a few tools to let me inside. With a flick of my wrist, the door opens, and I push it wider.
The lights are off, almost as if no one is here. But I can see a small knapsack on the chair and a phone on the bedstand.
Someone is hiding.
My favorite fucking game.
I set my bag on the floor, the syringe in my hand, the scalpel in the other, as I step forward. I hear nothing. Silence. Not the sound of the TV or the shower in the dim space. As if I’m completely alone.
Sven better not be wrong about this.
If I sat in that diner and now have to smell like waffles for nothing…
Suddenly, something hits my ankle, and I grunt as pain radiates up my shin. Another knock to my foot has me jumping backward.
A form scurries out from beneath the bed, and my heart jumps in my chest.
Blyat, this is creepy. Like a little Russian doll come to life. I always hated that tale growing up.
I fling my arm out in an attempt to immobilize them, but they’re too fast. They dart right and then left, and something knocks into my lower back. I curse in Russian, trying to gain the upper hand. I will not be taken down by a person half my size.
A loud screech has me flinging my arm out, catching them in the throat.
A gag and a gasp meet my ears; a figure hunched over in the corner as I approach with long black hair hangs over their shoulders as they turn to stare at me.
Dark, glittering eyes, spittle forming at the corners of their mouth.
They use the back of their hand to wipe it away.
I cock my head, eyeing the large metal pole in their hand. They don’t drop it. Only seem to hold onto it tighter.
“You’re going to die tonight,” I tell this person, but they don’t seem afraid. They just sneer at me.
I hold up the syringe, and they glance at it, sneering, “Not unless I murder you first.”
I scoff, and they swing at me, knocking me in the hip. I swing my hand out and get them in the neck, the syringe piercing skin and sinking in. But I can’t compress it completely, and it just hangs there.
This creature scoffs and jolts away. But it’s enough. I can see them start to falter and it gives me enough time to step forward and wrench the bar from their hand and compress the rest of the serum into their system.
They curse at me and claw at my chest, but it’s done—the first step in finding the man who hurt Bane and ultimately the person behind it all.
And if this person can help me do it, so be it.
I rub at my hip, at the feel of a bruise making an appearance.
I’m going to make them pay for this.
One way or another.