20. Nikolai
20
NIKOLAI
“ N ikolai…”
“What?” I reply, my mind drifting from the past to the present.
With my birthday rapidly approaching, my thoughts often stray to memories I’d prefer to forget. Although that day nearly thirteen years ago changed me in a way I’ll never forget, I’m not ashamed of the man I have become. I did what I needed to survive. If I hadn’t teetered on the brink of insanity, I would have been buried beneath a pile of dirt years ago.
Usually, the prospect of death wouldn’t bother me, but I’ve got someone I want to live for now. Justine’s been through enough. She doesn’t need more pain added to the weight she’s carrying on her shoulders. Furthermore, there’s nothing spineless about living. It is the men who give up without trying who are cowards.
Rico waits for me to scrub my hand over my tired eyes before repeating, “Still nothing?”
My chest expands when I suck in a large gulp of air before shaking my head. I’ve called Roman’s cell phone nonstop for the past twenty minutes.
He has yet to answer.
I want to pretend his lack of reply is virtuous, but a weird feeling twisting in my stomach stops me from believing that. I left Justine and Roman at the airport a little over an hour ago, but their flight wasn’t scheduled to depart until ten minutes ago.
Although Roman is cautious of personal security, that doesn’t extend to airport protocol. Usually, the flight attendants have to pry his cell out of his hands before takeoff on any flights we’ve shared, so for him to turn it off before boarding is out of the ordinary.
“Take West Tropicana,” I advise my driver when I spot the exit coming up. “It’s faster than I15. When tourists invade the Vegas sign, traffic can be held up for miles.”
The driver’s dark eyes stray to mine in the rearview mirror. “I checked the reports. Traffic is clear.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Take West Tropicana,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
The driver swallows harshly before doing as requested. Frustrated by his delay in following my direct order, I rub my hands together, fighting to keep them away from my knife. The driver may be new, but that doesn’t mean his insolence can be forgiven. If panic wasn’t clutching my throat, my blade would be pressed against his jugular.
As my SUV glides down West Tropicana, I continue rubbing my hands together, shocked by how frozen they feel. Anyone would swear I am in the middle of the Antarctic, not a desert. It isn’t cold today.
Vegas has been hitting record temperatures all week. Even the world’s most advanced HVAC systems have had a hard time keeping the conditions below sweltering. The unease suffocating the air of oxygen is responsible for my icy cold response.
The air has the same rigidity it held the night I organized Blaire’s attack. It is so dense it feels like it is asphyxiating me one lung-clogging breath at a time.
After loosening the collar of my shirt with a quick tug, I ask, “Did you know?”
When he peers at me unaware, as if confused by my question, I clarify, “Did you know Blaire was going to be attacked before it happened? Did you have a weird sensation in your gut you couldn’t shake?”
I’m not a feelings type of guy, much less talkative, so Rico isn’t the only one shocked by my question. I am as confused as him.
Rico tries to shut it down, but I spot the quickest flare of emotion pass through his eyes before he answers, “Yeah.” He licks his dry lips before adding on, “I don’t know what led me to the servants’ quarters that night. Maybe it was intuition, or I just sensed Kitten’s closeness. Whatever it was, if I hadn’t had that sick, churning feeling in my stomach, she would have been dead by the time I found her.” He scrubs his hand over his jaw, hiding the manic tic making the taut muscle spasm before explaining, “Matvei barricaded the door with a mattress. I didn’t hear Blaire’s screams until after I kicked it down.” The honesty in his eyes hits me square in the gut. “I wouldn’t have broken the door if I hadn’t had a feeling something was amiss, so if your gut is telling you something is wrong, Eli, you need to listen to it.”
My jaw clenches as I nod. I don’t know what my stomach is trying to tell me, but I’ve got a horrible feeling I won’t like its warning once it’s been unearthed. If I could just get ahold of Roman, the twisted knot in my stomach would calm down.
The unease I’m experiencing is more about Justine than my quest to dethrone Vladimir. I don’t know if it is based on our argument in the minutes leading to her departure, or something more sinister.
From the way bile scorched my throat during my last suggestion, I’d say it is the latter.
I return my eyes to Rico. “Do you still have contact with that hacker you worked with during Callie’s sale?”
The tightness in his jaw firms, memories of the day his sister was sold sullying his thoughts. Callie’s mother double-crossed Vladimir, but instead of seeking retribution for her treachery directly on her, Vladimir sold their daughter on the black market before ultimately killing Anya.
Although Vladimir didn’t pull the trigger on the gun that killed Anya, just like my mother, he is responsible for her death. He taunted her for weeks, revealing in sickening detail what happens to children sold on the black market.
Incapable of seeing past the smoke and mirrors Vladimir placed in front of her, Anya believed every word he spoke, unaware that Rico had arranged for Callie to be bought by his sister’s fiancé. I was aware, but since it was a family matter, I didn’t intervene. Was that the right decision for me to make? No, probably not. But at the time, it felt right.
For years, I only looked out for myself. It is amazing how much has changed in a week. I will maim for Justine. I will kill for her. I will even slit the throat of the man who raised me to ensure she is safe. Nothing is above me when it comes to protecting her. Not a single fucking thing.
“Yes. Why?” Rico eventually answers, his snappish tone matching the anger burning in his eyes.
“Justine and Roman’s flight was scheduled to depart ten minutes ago. Can he check if they are actually on the flight?” I try to keep the hope out of my voice. I miserably fail.
Although we are already en route to the airport, I’ll do anything to ease the commotion in my stomach. I’ve never felt this way before. I am fearless, but what I told Justine this morning is true. Nothing scares me… except the thought of losing her.
That fucking petrifies me.
Nodding, Rico yanks a sleek black cell phone out of his pocket. “Give me their flight details.”
After jotting down their names and flight number onto a scrap of paper, Rico raises his cell to his ear. “It’s Enrique,” he says not even two rings later. “I need you to check the in-flight manifest of a departure that left McCarran Airport approximately ten minutes ago.” He recites the information I gave him to the man on the other end.
After what feels like a lifetime, he lifts his eyes to me. The blackness filling them thickens the lump in my throat.
“All right. No, that’s all… You don’t need to tell him… Because this isn’t about Izzy, so it’s no concern of his,” Rico snaps, his voice stern enough to startle the driver. “All right, bye.”
He slides his phone into the breast pocket of his business jacket before connecting his eyes with mine. “They boarded their flight.”
I sigh heavily, relieved as fuck. Although I hate that Justine has to be away from me for even a second, she will be safer in Hopeton. Vladimir won’t go down without a fight. He’ll defend his throne with the same iron fist he has ruled his empire with for the past fifty-plus years, so the more distance I have between them, the better.
My relief doesn’t last long when Rico says, “But… their flight never left the tarmac. Authorities were called in thirty minutes ago for a disturbance onboard. Roman is en route to the hospital with life-threatening injuries?—”
“And Justine?” I interrupt, hurrying him along.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m concerned for Roman, but Justine will always be my priority . Roman is well aware of the hazards of his job. Justine is innocent, so her safety must come first.
Rico’s throat works hard to swallow before he discloses, “She hasn’t been seen since her boarding pass was scanned forty minutes ago.”
Fuck!
Roaring like an animal, I throw fists into the chair in front of me, adding to the bruises scattered across my knuckles. The headrest video monitor is no match for my force. It crumbles more with every hit I inflict, shattering into millions of tiny pieces.
Why did I wait so long to question the knot in my stomach? Forty minutes may not seem long in a traditional industry, but in my field, forty minutes is a torturously long time. The things you can do to a person in forty minutes…
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I swing my fists harder, battering them as severely as my heart is smashing into my ribs. I should have waited for her plane to taxi to the runway before I left the airport. I should have taken her to Hopeton myself, but more than anything, I should have kept my promise. I promised to keep Justine safe. I didn’t keep my fucking promise.
Rico waits for me to finish my outburst before scooting to the edge of his chair, narrowing the small bridge between us. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. His forthright eyes relay the entire picture. His thoughts are as desolate as mine.
“He’s got her, doesn’t he?”
I already know the answer to my question. I just want Rico to spell it out for me. The pit in my chest grows when Rico nods, not attempting to hide the worry clouding his wild eyes.
“What do I do now? This changes everything. I can’t risk her, Rico. I won’t risk her.”
I hate relying on anyone, but with my mind spiraling, I’m moments away from going on a murderous rampage. That won’t help anyone—especially not Justine. If I want to get her out of this situation alive, I don’t just need to act quickly. I also need to act smart.
I glare at him, my stare so volatile it could melt ice when he answers, “We wait.”
My jaw muscle quivers. “Wait? We can’t fucking wait! She’ll be dead if we wait!”
He connects his eyes with mine, ensuring I can see the truth in them, before saying, “We don’t know where he has her or what he is planning to do with her, so we’ve got no other choice but to wait. He needs to make the first move.” He grips my tense shoulder and squeezes it. “The instant he shows his hand, we’ll have him because we’ve got him at an advantage. There are no two better men for this job, Nikolai, even more so since he’s only prepared for one of us.”
It kills me to admit it, but every word he speaks is gospel. This is a game to Vladimir—nothing more. If we don’t strategize our next move, Justine will be dead before I get within sniffing distance of her.
I won’t let that happen, not on my watch, so as much as I want to storm in and rain my wrath down on Vladimir, I can’t. Not yet. Not until Justine is safe.
Noticing my brooding temperature is being set aside for scheming, Rico slumps into his chair before asking, “What now?” Although his tone is as commanding as always, it acknowledges who leads our fight.
Justine is my woman, so she is my responsibility.
Pretending I can’t feel my knee bobbing up and down, I reply, “First, we need to get to Roman. He could have seen something that will be invaluable. Vladimir may only have his men working with him, but my gut warns me that isn’t the case. I will treat everyone as rivals until I rule out all my enemies.”
Rico nods, agreeing with my suggestion.
“I’ll call in some of my men to run decoy?—”
“Do you trust them?” he interrupts, his tone wary.
I take a moment to consider his question before nodding. I can only hope Justine’s assurance that respect earned the old-fashioned way exceeds respect acquired by fear. If that is true, I trust my men because they were amassed the traditional way—with dedication and hard work.
Although the Popov entity has been running since the 1700s, its rules were long overdue for an overhaul. The value and principles of its founder, Altony Popov, are invaluable but clearly show he started as a cloak-and-dagger business. I had to move the Popov entity into the twenty-first century to keep it ahead of our competitors. It was an uphill battle, but that is precisely what I’ve done for the past three years.
Ever since Rico’s “death,” my crew’s perspective altered. With sex trafficking, prostitution, and lower-range drug trades decreasing in value over the past five years, I directed my focus to weapon distribution and foreign trade.
Although it doesn’t have the same cloak-and-dagger feel, the Popov entity has been fueled by the past three hundred years. The capital amassed over the past two years far exceeds the combined total of the previous ten.
Sex trafficking, prostitution, and drugs will always have a place in my industry, but until my latest money pit dries up, my focus will remain on distribution and foreign trade. I’ll stay one step ahead of the game by staying where the money is . I hope.
“All right, then let’s do this,” Rico suggests, returning my attention to the present. He snags a duffle bag filled with weapons from the floor before his eyes drift to me.“What do you need?” he asks, gesturing his head to the pile of weapons that would give most men a heart attack from the mass surge of adrenaline pumping through their veins.
Unfortunately for all involved, I’m not an ordinary man.
“I’ve got everything I need right here,” I reply, tapping my hand on the back pocket of my jeans. “Vladimir was spared by my knife thirteen years ago. He won’t be so lucky this time around.”