Lash (Club Sin #7)

6. Vengeance Deferred

vengeance deferred

Tatiana

I t's a simple plan, but Lash claims simple plans tend to be the best.

Scarlett leaves the rest of us where we are and goes to do some recon, as Solomon calls it. She returns a few minutes later.

"They've got every entrance and exit covered, unsurprisingly, and obviously we have to assume it'll be the same at the train stations and airports—in Croatia, at least." She shrugs. "There're three or four at each exit. I think we go right up to the front door. Let them see us, recognize us, and then make our move."

The men agree, and we march right up to the four policemen at the main entrance of the bus station.

"Identification," one of them says in a bored voice.

His companion elbows him. "I think it's them," he says.

The first officer glances at his phone, and then at our faces. His hand moves for his radio clipped to his shoulder, but Solomon is faster. Lorenzo, Lash, and Scarlett all act at the same time, drawing their weapons while Solomon pins the first officer's hand and wrestles it away from his radio.

"We will not kill you if you cooperate," Lash says. "Now. Come."

This is all happening right out in the open, brazen as you please. A train roars past with a rapid clack of wheels over wooden ties, and down by the water, a ferry blasts its horn. Bus engines idle with a diesel rattle, spewing clouds of blue exhaust. It is early in the morning, so there are only a handful of people waiting for buses to arrive. Others pass in and out of the shops and cafes occupying the long, low line of buildings that make up the train, bus, and ferry stations.

The men and Scarlett have their weapons drawn but held close to their bodies so it's not immediately apparent to a casual observer what is going on.

"I don't know what you hope to accomplish," says the first officer to Lash, "But you are a fool if you think you will get away with this."

Lash only grins. "I don't want to get away with it." He gestures at the door of a fast-food restaurant. "In there. Go."

We file into the restaurant, which has just opened for the day. A middle-aged woman is behind the counter, wearing one of those silly paper hats, leaning on the counter looking bored.

She murmurs a half-hearted greeting in Croatian, but her eyes flicker to the officers, and the weapons held in plain sight.

"Sit." Lash points at a booth. "Sit, sit." He glances at Lorenzo. "Get us food. We are all hungry. No sense in wasting an opportunity.”

“I’ll do it," I say,

I go to the counter and order a meal for each of us, which feels like an odd thing to do while holding police officers hostage.

"Now," I hear Lash say. "Where did your orders come from?"

The first officer, who seems in charge, answers. "The captain."

"Call him," Lash says. "Directly. Only say what I tell you to say."

"I don't know what you hope to accomplish—" the officer starts.

"You don't need to know," Lash cuts in. "Call your captain right now or I'll shoot out your knees. I told you, I have no intention of hurting or killing you, but I will if I must. Look at me and ask yourself if I am bluffing."

The officer seems to arrive at the correct conclusion, produces his phone, finds the correct entry, and places the call.

It rings twice. "Sergeant," answers a throaty, bullfrog voice. "What it is? Why are you calling my personal number?"

The officer looks at Lash for guidance. Lash takes the phone from the officer. "Captain, I am Lash. I believe you have instructions to apprehend me and my companions."

A pause. "I have not heard of Lash. My instructions were to apprehend Nicolae Dragos."

“That is me. Who gave you these orders?"

Another pause. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because you care about the lives of your officers."

A gruff snort. "I suppose I do. It came from the mayor."

"Get him on the line, now."

"It is not so easy, Dragos."

“My name is Lash. Dragos is dead." Lash's voice is hard and cold. "I do not care if it is easy or hard. Do it or your men will suffer. I do not wish to do that. Do not make me."

"Very well. Give me a moment."

“You have two minutes. Keep this line connected."

A minute or two later, the line clicks. "This is Mayor Puljik. You are the man known as Nicolae Dragos?"

"Yes," Lash says.

"What is it you want, Mr. Dragos?"

"Who gave you my name?"

A pause. "A file was delivered to my office—a folder with information on you. Later, I received a call. The man did not identify himself, but he knew who I was, he knew my family, my address, everything about me. He said you were a terrorist, and he had information that you would be entering my city, and that you should be apprehended."

"And you believed him?" Lash asks.

“Whether or not I believed him seemed irrelevant," Puljik says. "He did not make any overt threats, but it was very clearly implied that I had no choice."

“He has something on you, I assume," Lash says. “Extortion and blackmail are his favorite tactics when he doesn't think bribery will work."

An uncomfortable pause. "Yes, if you must know. I was…indiscreet, and he has photographs. It would ruin me."

"What were your instructions once you had apprehended me?"

"There is a number I was to call."

"And say what?"

"That I had you in custody."

"Give me the number."

"I do not know who you are or who he is. This has nothing to do with me," Puljik says. "But I am not crossing him."

“You are smart. You shouldn't cross a man like Pugli—take it from me. But you aren't crossing him. I want to speak to him." Lash has the phone on speaker so we can all hear.

"Text the number. Captain, withdraw your men."

"I'm not sure I believe you, Mr. Dragos," says the police captain.

Lash gestures at the officer with the gun. “Convince him."

The officer leans over the phone on the table. "Captain, it's me. Please, do as he says. I believe him. Please. Just…just call the men back."

A sigh. “Very well. But if you hurt any of my men—"

Lash snaps over him. "There will be nothing you can do, Captain. I am no better an enemy than Roberto Pugli."

"Just do it, Zoran," the mayor says. “This has nothing to do with any of us. Better we let those involved deal with each other."

A moment later, the radio squawks with a staticky order for the units stationed at the bus station to return to the precinct. Another few minutes later, the phone buzzes with an incoming message.

Lash flips a hand at the officers. "Leave."

Three of them tear out of the restaurant as if they were on fire. The officer at the table with Lash hesitates, however. “My phone?"

Lash arches an eyebrow at him. "I will keep it for now. Tell me the code."

"Six-one-six-seven-seven."

Lash nods. "Be gone. My time is short."

The officer hesitates, and then decides his cell is not worth the trouble—devices are replaceable—kneecaps not so much.

Lash dials the number, and we all sit silently, waiting as it rings.

"Mayor Puljik," comes a smooth male voice, his Croatian passable but heavily accented. "You have Dragos?"

"Roberto Pugli." Lash's voice is dark, heavy, and cold; he speaks in English. "I think it is time you and I put the past to rest."

A tense pause. "Dragos. Is it you?" Pugli answers in English.

"Indeed it is. Did you really think it would be so easy? A few police officers at a bus station? After all these years, you think I have forgotten? You think I have forgiven?"

Pugli doesn't answer right away. "Did you enjoy your little vacation in Las Vegas?"

Lash doesn't seem surprised that Pugli knew where he'd been. "I suppose."

"How do you think this will go, Dragos? I have only grown more powerful since you knew me."

"And no less a sniveling coward who pays others to do his dirty work." Lash's face twists into a rictus of hate. "A pathetic cockroach who murders innocent women and little babies."

Pugli just laughs. "I am a monster, it is true. But a monster you cannot touch. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Dragos. I was a fool to let you live. I shall rectify that soon."

It's Lash's turn to laugh. “You think so?"

"We could make a deal, you know. All I want is you. Your friend? Inez? The man who has her makes me look like…what is it the Americans like to say? A boy scout? I have contacts in the Brazilian Embassy. I can have her free in a matter of hours."

"A tempting thought, but I do not believe you. I am sure you have contacts in Brazil, but they will not cross Mercado, not even for you. Besides, I am not worried about Inez. Mercado does not know who he has captured."

"My sources say he knows quite well who she is."

"You misunderstand me, Pugli. Yes, he knows who she is." Lash shakes his head, snorting. “Regardless, no. We both know how this ends.”

Pugli laughs again. "I suppose you have dreamed of revenge. Come to Lyon, then, Dragos. You and me, we can have an old-fashioned duel. Ten paces, turn and fire. Hmm?"

Lash snorts. "I think not." He ends the call with a stab of his finger.

I look at him. "That didn't go well."

He looks at me, the rage and hate on his face fading. He shrugs. "It went exactly as I expected. He’s not easily baited. I only wanted him to know his attempt to catch me was unsuccessful."

Solomon sweeps a hand through his messy blond hair. "So now what?"

Lash shrugs. "Now I go to Lyon."

I frown. "Why?"

"That is where he lives. That is where his family lives. I'll need leverage if I'm going to get close to him."

Scarlett grunts a negative. "I won't harm innocent people, and I won't be part of it."

Lash glares at her. "You do not know me, Scarlett, so you can be forgiven for thinking I would harm his family. But Pugli , however, doesn't know that I wouldn't. He will assume I am like him—willing to murder in cold blood. I will make him think I will, but no one innocent will be harmed, only held against their will temporarily."

"While you kill him in front of them?" I can't help asking.

"Not in front of them, no." He eyes me. "What would you have me do? It is impossible to get into the Interpol headquarters, at least on such short notice. With several months of prep time, I could accomplish such a thing. But we do not have that time. I know Inez can handle herself, but I also know what kind of person Mercado is."

"Won't he be watching all routes in and out of Lyon?" asks Lorenzo. "Won't he post extra security on his family for just such an eventuality?"

Lash shrugs. "Certainly. We will just have to be smart."

"And do you have a smart idea for how to accomplish this?" Solomon asks.

Lash looks at me. "I do."

I frown at him, puzzled. "Why look at me?"

"Does your father still have that small plane he uses for smuggling?"

I shrug. "How should I know? I stay out of his illegal business." I think for a moment. "I think he might, though. He goes on occasional business trips to places around Europe, and I know he doesn't take public transportation. He is too paranoid for that."

"I will need to borrow it, then," Lash says.

I can't help but laugh. "Then why did we leave Zagreb? If he has such an airplane, it will be back in Zagreb.”

He shrugs. "We had to get out of Zagreb before Pugli's men closed in. And your father's."

"Why does my father hate you?" I ask.

Lash shrugs again. "He doesn't hate me. He just…he feels I betrayed and abandoned him after he did quite a lot for me. And that is true, to a degree. He saved my life—gave me work when I was starving and had no future. He taught me many things that I still use to this day. But he began asking me to do things that I simply could not do. He is a complicated man, your father. In some ways, he is good, and kind, and compassionate. He loves you greatly. He is very loyal and generous to those who work for him. But…he is the head of a criminal organization, and he can be incredibly ruthless."

"What did he want you to do?" I ask, fearing I know.

He sighs, finally beginning to eat the food I brought over while he was talking to Pugli; he devours the cheeseburger in a few bites and then answers me. "A certain businessman owed him money. This man wasn’t paying what he owed, which was a lot of money—hundreds of thousands of Kuna. Your father wanted me to send a message—the same message Pugli made for me. He wanted me to hold this man's young daughter hostage and take fingers until he paid. I…" Lash shakes his head. "I could not do it. I refused. If there is a fight against armed opponents, I will fight as viciously and mercilessly as anyone, but I could never bring myself to harm a ten-year-old girl, not under any circumstances.”

I feel my heart clench, twist. "My father—Tata wanted you to do that ?”

He nods. "I am sorry, Tatiana, but yes, he did."

“You didn't do it?"

He shakes his head. "Of course not. And that is why your father is angry with me. I left his employ."

I frown. "So? You quit rather than do something awful to an innocent girl."

He nods, but then shrugs and shakes his head. "Yes, that is true. You do not simply quit a job like that. I knew many important details about his business and how he operates. I could have gone to the authorities and turned him in to save myself." Another shake of his head. "No, you do not simply walk away."

"So…what? He would have killed you?"

He nods. "Yes, of course. Not he himself, probably, but yes, he would have had me killed.”

I push the tray away, my appetite gone. "I knew my father was not always…good. I know the things he does are illegal. Drugs kill people. Guns kill people. I know this. But I guess I never really considered that he would do things like that ."

"I wish I could protect you from that reality, but I cannot. It is the truth." He looks at me with compassion. "Your father is not evil, but nor is he good. He has done bad things, and that is the reality."

I shake my head. "But…cutting off the fingers of a young girl? He knows that fear! He has had to rescue me from exactly that! How could he do that to another father? So what if he owed him money? Hurt him, not an innocent child."

"I agree with you. I would have not balked at intimidating, threatening, or even hurting the man who owed your father money. He knew the kind of man your father was when accepted the loan. He knew what would happen if he did not pay it back. But the child was innocent."

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying like hell to hold back tears. "It just makes me wonder if I ever knew him at all."

Lash looks at me with sadness and compassion. "Humans are infinitely complicated, Tatiana. We can hold within ourselves an endless array of conflicting feelings and beliefs. Your father loves you. With you, he is gentle and kind. He works hard to take care of you and only ever wanted to give you the best life possible. That is true and not faked. He also can be vicious and ruthless to those who cross him. That too is true, and the two do not cancel each other out. His goodness does not erase the bad he has done, and the bad he has done does not invalidate his goodness."

"That is very hard for me to wrap my head around." I rub at my face with both hands and then use the heels of my palms to wipe away traitorous tears. "I understand being morally gray. But giving the order to chop off the fingers of an innocent girl who could be your daughter because her father owes you money…I do not know if I can forgive that."

Lash shrugs. "I do not say that you should. Why do you think I walked away from him? I could not be part of such a thing. I could not look the other way. And I was unwilling to die for his business and his practices. I have struggled with that since the moment I heard the order. I can comprehend your father, but I cannot and do not justify the things he has done."

"What about yourself?” I ask.

Lash polishes off the last French fry and gathers everyone’s trays. "I cannot justify or forgive the things I have done either. That is how I can comprehend your father. I have never intentionally harmed an innocent person, but I have still taken many lives. I am guilty of being ruthless, vicious, and cold-blooded. I have looked a man in the eyes as he dies with my blade in his heart. What does that make me?"

"Fucked up," Solomon answers. "Just like the rest of us. When you've got blood on your hands like guys—" he glances at Scarlett, “and girls like us do, you're gonna be fucked up. No one is truly and thoroughly good . But as an operator, you have to look at your motivations. That's the only way I’ve ever been able to come to terms with my conscience."

I have a vivid sensory memory of plunging the knife into that man's belly, the soft spring of fat greeting my knuckles, the hot flood of blood over my hand, his quiet grunt of surprise as the blade cuts through flesh, fat, and muscle and into organs.

Nausea rifles through me, bile burning my throat and boiling behind my teeth. I lurch out of my seat and bolt for the bathroom, crashing into the stall just in time to spew out everything I just ate. I hear the door creak open and footsteps on the tile, and a soft touch pulls my hair back as another wave slices through me.

"The first one is the hardest." Scarlett's voice is soft and understanding. "You never forget. Especially when it's self-defense in a situation like that. And no matter how empathetic a man might be, he'll never understand."

Another flash of sensory memory hits—his weight on me as he dies, and he's trying to grab me, grope me, kill me, and I have to yank the knife free and stab him and stab him because he won’t fucking die .

I retch again, but only bile emerges.

"I kept stabbing him," I whisper. "But he wouldn't—he wouldn't stop. He—he wouldn't die."

"Most people don't understand how hard it can be to kill a human being. TV gets it wrong. People can survive a hell of a lot, especially with modern medicine. And even if you don't survive it, most stab wounds won't kill you right away. Unless you hit them in the heart or sever a major artery like the femoral or the jugular, it can take a lot of stabbing to kill someone with a knife." She rubs my back. "You did what you had to do to stay alive, Tatiana. But I know all too well that that doesn't do shit for the guilt. It doesn't take away the memory."

"I keep feeling it," I whisper.

"I know."

"When will it stop?"

"It takes time. You'll think about it once in a while forever. I still remember the first man I killed like it was yesterday. It's not as painful now, but the memory doesn't go away. You just learn to live with it. Remind yourself that you had to do it. Remind yourself what would have happened if you hadn't done it. You gotta argue with yourself a little bit."

"Like arguing with yourself when you try a bikini on for the first time after the winter," I say.

Scarlett snorts. "I guess. I usually have the opposite reaction."

I frown at her. "What do you mean?"

“Being as fit as I am comes with certain downsides in terms of traditional views on femininity. In order to stay at the elite level of fitness my job requires, my body fat stays very low. That means my tits are non-existent. Tiny tits, tiny ass, hard hips. Irregular or non-existent periods. Hormone issues." She shrugs. "So when I try on a bathing suit, I often have a hard time seeing myself as…" she pauses, swallows. "As feminine. I'm not a girly girl. I'm lean, hard, and mean. It means I'm damn good at my job, but it’s hard to feel like a woman, sometimes. I have to argue with myself about it. My femininity isn't defined by my shape any more than someone who struggles with too much weight. As women, we all have image issues. All of us. Mine is just a little non-standard."

I look at her. "I never thought about that."

"Of course not," she says. "Why would you? It’s not your experience.”

“Thank you," I say.

"Hey, us girls gotta stick together, right?"

"Yes, we do." I rise from the floor and go to the sink, rinse my mouth out. I look at her as I wash my hands. "Can I ask you something?”

"Of course," she says.

"How do I convince Lash that he's allowed to want me? That he's allowed to feel things for me."

Scarlett laughs. "Oh, man. You're asking the wrong bitch, Tatiana. Sol and I are still working that one out. We both struggle with emotional vulnerability. It's tough. I think you just have to be patient and keep repeating the message. Keep showing him it’s safe to show you that stuff. Especially after what he told us about what he went through, on top of killer's guilt? He's gonna have a hard time. You just gotta give him a safe space to figure out how to get in touch with his heart again."

"He is very resistant."

"Wouldn't you be?"

I nod. “Yes, I suppose I would."

She ducks her head. "I'm still learning how to be the softness Sol needs. It goes against everything my entire life has taught me I need to be."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "The softness he needs?"

She tips her head from side to side. "I don't give a fuck about gender roles or any of that shit. I'm just talking about Sol and me. But what Sol needs is for me to be a woman—his woman. He wants to give me himself—and Sol is all man, right? Big, tough, hard as nails, scary as fuck. He's a killer. He's a fighter. A warrior. But that's not all he is, right? Same for me. I'm not big, but I am tough and I’m strong. I’m hard, I'm a killer every bit as much as Sol. That's been my life. But with Sol, I can be more. I can be a girl. I can put away Scarlett the operator, the badass boss bitch who can put a bullet in your fucking skull while eating lunch and not lose my appetite. I can be soft. I don't mean physically, but that too—I can be affectionate, tender, all that shit. He wants that. He needs it. And it took a lot of courage for a man like Sol to even admit that he wants and needs that."

"I suppose I do not understand what you mean when you say softness."

"Let's get out of here," she says. "We'll keep talking, though. We've been in one place for too long."

Since they're the professionals, I let them decide our next move—we need to get to Lyon, according to Lash's plan. But as I listen to them debating our next move and how to get to Lyon and then to Brazil where Sol's and Lash's friend and boss is being held, and I can't help but speak my mind.

"Lash?" I say, cutting through cross-talk as we stand on the sidewalk near the idling busses.

He looks at me. "Yes, lovely One?"

“I’m sorry, but I must ask."

He frowns. "Ask me what?"

"Are you putting your need to avenge your family ahead of your need to rescue your friend?" I rest my hand on his forearm. "This Pugli man. He is awful, and evil. I do not question your need to bring him to justice. But Inez is alive and she is in danger. I suppose what I am asking is if perhaps we should not focus on getting to Brazil and helping her instead of going after Pugli. I know he is evil and needs to be brought down. But Inez is your friend and she needs you."

His face contorts with anger, and he whirls on a heel, stalks away a few paces. His shoulders round with tension, and his head hangs, chin on his chest. "He burned my wife and infant children alive." I can barely hear him, even when I move up behind him, inches away.

"I know, Lash. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

He shakes his head. “No. No." He tugs on his beard. "You are right. I am being selfish. I am only thinking about myself."

Solomon cuts in. "He's still a problem, though. He wants you dead, and us by association. Killing him gets him out of the way, if nothing else."

Lash sighs. "But Tatiana is right. I have been focused on the wrong thing. We can just as easily find our way to Brazil as to Lyon. The problem is the same—enemies who want us dead, and will try to stop us and apprehend us. But Inez is alive. Pugli isn't going anywhere, but every minute that goes by is a minute in which Mercado could decide to simply kill her."

"Lash, I—"

He brushes a gentle thumb over my lips, silencing me. “Thank you, Tatiana. I lost sight of what truly matters."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know. I will always mourn my family. And Pugli must come to justice. Perhaps it will be me who does so, perhaps not. But right now, the priority has to be Inez. I owe her my life. We all do." He frames my face in his big hard hands. "I am indebted to you for reminding me what my priorities should be."

My eyes burn again—and god, I'm sick of feeling so damned weepy. "I don't want to take away your revenge, Lash."

He smiles. "But you should. Revenge does not satisfy the soul. It only perpetuates violence. That does not mean he does not deserve a slow, horrific death and given a chance, I will give it to him. But revenge will not bring my wife back. It will not bring Leonora and Leander back. It will not soothe the sorrow I shall always feel. But if something were to happen to Inez because I was chasing my revenge, I would never forgive myself."

Lorenzo claps him on the back. "Speaking selfishly, I am relieved. I am in love with Sophia. Every moment I am stuck on the wrong side of the ocean is agony, because I know far too well what Rafael will do to her."

Lash lets out a growling sigh. "I know, too. I know firsthand. I investigated the disappearance of a German national in Brazil—he was former MAD on holiday in Rio, and he vanished. He was one of ours, so my superior tasked me with finding him."

"And did you?" Lorenzo asks.

Lash nods. "What was left of him, yes. He witnessed Mercado's men abducting a woman. He stopped them. Mercado had him dismembered while alive."

Lorenzo nods. “Sounds about right."

Solomon clears his throat. "So. How do we get to Brazil? Hop a flight and see what happens?"

“Under normal circumstances, this is where we would call Inez and she would use her resources to procure transportation," Lash says. "But that is obviously not an option. We are on our own. Stjepan's small airplane is of no use to us in this situation, as it cannot make it across the ocean. I do not like the idea of simply entering an airport. Pugli's influence is a problem."

Something snaps past my ear, a hot sharp buzz like an angry bee dive-bombing me. I duck at the same time that I hear a CRACK .

Lash's arm smacks into my shoulders and drives me to the ground, knocking the breath out of me. His body covers mine, hot and hard and heavy.

I taste grit. I can see nothing but a narrow slice of sidewalk. I feel him move, and then I hear his gun going off, a deafening bark that leaves my ear ringing.

I hear a pained grunt on my left, hear Solomon shouting, and then Lash's arm scoops me airborne and we're moving.

Lorenzo is covered in blood, his T-shirt is soaked, and his left arm is bathed red, but he's jogging behind us on his own power, a fist pressed to his chest.

Scarlett and Sol bring up the rear, side by side, jogging a few feet, stopping, pivoting, and firing, and then jogging again.

Lash jumps, and we land heavily—his shoulder slams into my gut and knocks the breath out of me all over again, and I hear gunfire, and screams, and feet pounding.

We've leaped onto a ferry. Lash effortlessly sprints up a steep set of stairs that's more ladder than anything, as if my weight on his shoulder is nothing.

"Get moving," I hear him snap in Croatian. "All possible speed, now."

"But the passengers—" A deep male voice says.

"Will have to wait. Pilot the boat or I'll throw you overboard."

"Put me down," I gasp, wiggling.

He sets me down on my feet, and I bend at the knees and suck oxygen while the ferry pilot pulls away from the pier. The engines roar and the boat rocks as the pilot brings the rear end out.

A few moments later, I feel the boat assume forward momentum.

Something smashes into the glass, shattering it—-someone screams. Not me.

A door slams open, and I see Solomon carry Lorenzo into the cockpit. He’s pale and grimacing, fist digging into his shoulder—it looks like the bullet missed anything vital, but he is losing a lot of blood very quickly.

His eyes met mine and he grimaces, probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. It went through. Had worse."

And then he passes out.