35. Nikolai
35
NIKOLAI
T he body count of our battle is high. Thankfully, Alexei’s men bore most of the brunt of our exchange.
It didn’t have to come to this.
I reached out to him this morning regarding Tristan’s death. I respectfully offered my condolences and expressed remorse for his loss.
I had hoped we could work through our differences like men, but Alexei has never been merciful. He sent his men here to exact revenge.
They left with a legacy.
“Get word to Dimitri. With Alexei’s attempt at dethroning me unsuccessful, he may seek another outlet for his anger.”
Although the Popovs will never work side by side with the Petrettis, Alexei’s crew’s knowledge of yesterday’s events was too informed to ignore. They weren’t aware of solely Vladimir’s death. They knew the people involved in his downfall.
“And Rico?” my third-in-charge, Mikhail, questions.
I freeze for the quickest second, still not accustomed to Rico’s name being freely used by my men. Within weeks of his death, Vladimir ordered for Rico’s name to be struck from any conversations held. He never spoke of his son or the circumstances that resulted in his death. He acted as if Rico had never existed.
I guess that’s why my men haven’t mentioned Vladimir’s name today. He set the benchmark on how we mourn vital members of our family, and my crew is following it to a T.
“Leave Rico out of this. Alexei isn’t aware of his involvement, and I want it to stay that way.”
If Rico catches wind of my altercation with Alexei’s crew today, he will return to Vegas.
I don’t want that.
If I want to succeed Vladimir’s reign, I must do it on my own accord.
Besides, our fearless battle with Alexei’s men proves how strong my sanction is, so I don’t see us being re-challenged anytime soon.
When Mikhail nods, advising he heard my reply, I throw my leg over my ATV and shoot out of the Popov compound.
My hands shake as I merge from one battle to another just as fierce.
The look on Justine’s face when I left her at Clarks hours ago will forever haunt me. Although I hated leaving her, I had no choice. I promised to protect her, and that’s what I did tonight.
I not only protected her from a man who bid on her, but I also sheltered her from a man threatening to take her honor away.
Alexei didn’t send his men here solely for Trey’s blood. They came for Justine. Alexei paid his dues to Vladimir, so he wanted his men to collect his prize.
His crew learned the hard way that Justine was never up for negotiation.
When the brightness of the Clarks compound breaks over the horizon, I switch off the headlights of my ATV and lower my revs. If I know Justine like I think I know her, she will come out either fists swinging or shedding tears.
I really fucking hope she comes out guns blazing.
I’d rather her slap me again than see tears in her eyes. I hate seeing her cry, especially if I’m the reason for her tears.
In all honesty, not all my panic is from wondering what Justine’s reaction will be upon my return. It is from trying to decipher if the three little words I heard whispered through the warm night air when I left was just my mind playing tricks on me or if Justine said what I thought she did.
Does she love me?
Surely I’m mistaken. Nobody loves me. I’m the byproduct of a woman pushed to the brink by the man she worshipped. I wasn’t born to be loved. I was born to be feared. Not even the woman who gave birth to me loved me, so why would someone as beautiful and perfect as Justine want to?
At the edge of the compound, I shut down my ATV and then dismount. My steps into the serenely quiet space are heavy, weighed down by the confusion muddling my brain.
Mafia takeovers, bloodbaths, and slaying men like they’re flies is nothing out of the ordinary, but dealing with emotions I never knew I wanted but suddenly crave is way out of left field. I’m out of my fucking depth, even more so since I’d give anything to hear Justine tell me she loves me again.
Fuck, I hope it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me.
My long strides into the central area of the Popov compound halt when I spot a pool of red on the deck surrounding the hot tub. Following the sticky red drops oozing down the wooden shell of the hot tub, my eyes lock on the haunted and bleak eyes of one of my crew’s whores. Her slumped form can’t hide the bullet wound between her eyes.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
As my hand slips into the back of my jeans to remove my gun, my eyes assess the scene. Numerous wet footprints are racing from the hot tub’s edge to the compound’s side entrance.
Considering the puddles of water are void of any red coloring, it appears as if one woman was sacrificed to scare away the rest.
Although grateful I’m not arriving at a scene that mimics the one I just left, anger thickens my blood.
Where is Justine?
I want to believe she escaped with the other dozen or so women who call Clarks their home, but the weird, twisting knot in my stomach isn’t letting me believe that, much less the fact I can sense her presence. I know she’s here, waiting for me. I just need to find her.
Hoping my body’s awareness of Justine’s closeness doesn’t lead me astray, I move through the compound, my steps as quiet as the Grim Reaper. I hold my gun up high as I make my way through the corridor the sleeping quarters break off from. My heart is smashing into my ribs, but my resolve remains strong.
My Ангел is counting on me.
I will not let her down.
As I creep past the dorms housing the women we saved from Vladimir’s wrath, a bright-blue eye gains my attention. It is peering out of the keyhole of a locked door, staring straight at me.
“Where is she? I ask, unsure of the hushed words she is whispering to me.
I don’t understand Czech, but even if I did, I still wouldn’t be able to understand her. She’s crying too hard to articulate clear speech.
Dragging my hand along the doorframe, I pray Trey’s knack for leaving keys in plain sight remains true. Thankfully, it is.
Upon spotting the key, the blue eye disappears from the lock. My hands noticeably shake when I stab the freshly cut key into the lock and twist.
When I swing open the door, I’m not surprised to discover the remaining sixteen women housed in this room are huddled in the corner of the vast space. Their arms are wrapped around their legs, and their heads are burrowed between their knees.
The only one brave enough to face me head-on is a petite blonde with bright-blue eyes—the same blonde who held a shard of glass to her neck earlier today.
Although her eyes are wide with panic, they also reveal she knows I’m not going to hurt her. She saw me defend her sister. That issued me her trust.
Do you know where Justine is ? I silently mouth, bringing my hand to my chest. My Ангел. Do you know where they took her ?
The blonde nods eagerly.
Can you show me ?
When she nods again, I press my finger to my lips, demanding her to remain quiet. Catching my enemies unaware is my only chance to get Justine out of here alive.
Although I’m sure there are watchers on the main roads surrounding this compound, I’m confident they are unaware of my arrival through the desert-like conditions separating the Popov property from Clarks. That’s why I purchased this property—for its multiple access points.
After gesturing to the women at the side of the room to remain quiet, the Czech woman returns her attention to me. She waves her hand in front of her badly malnourished body, signaling for me to follow her. Her steps down the dark corridor are as weightless as mine—her buoyancy compliments of her famished frame.
A few paces down from her dorm, she stops. Peering into my eyes to express their urgency, she points to a door three feet down.
“Justine is in there?” I question, my words not even a whisper.
Her throat works hard to swallow before she nods.
The fighting glint in her eyes brightens when I mouth. Thank you .
I gesture to the room we just left before pointing it to the back entrance of the compound. Her head slings in the direction I’m pointing before she nods again, understanding my request to relocate the women in her dorm into the darkness of the night.
They will be safer there .
Before she can reply, a roared, “What do you mean? You were told to keep him there until I gave word I had finished here,” bellows up the hall, startling both the blonde and the women trapped three doors down.
The sound of flesh connecting with flesh booms into my ears, closely followed by a gargled groan.
“Go,” I instruct the blonde before heading to the door she gestured to.
“This is why I don’t send you to do anything… If I want something done right, I have to do it my fucking self… I don’t want to hear your excuses, Clancy,” the male voice shouts.
If I didn’t already have my suspicions about who entered my property without an invitation, mentioning his number-two sergeant tells me everything I need to know.
Alexei is not only a stupid man.
He’s a dead one as well.
Tilting my head to the side, I glance inside the room Alexei’s voice is booming from. Trey is sitting bound and gagged in a chair left of Alexei, who is talking on his cell. Every inch of Trey’s body is covered with cuts, welts, and bruises. His head is hanging low, showcasing the numerous cracks in his skull. If I couldn’t see the faint flutter of his breath fanning the blood dripping from his mouth, I would assume he was dead.
“How long do I have before he arrives…? Don’t give me an assumption. Give me facts…”
While Alexei waits for his number two to update him on my expected arrival time, I continue scanning the room, seeking Justine.
“Fuck!” Alexei swings his eyes to Trey’s half-dead form. He’s so motionless that I’m not sure if he’s still breathing. “I’ll head out now… No, I don’t need a bullet. He’ll bleed out long before Nikolai arrives.” The conceit on Alexei’s face triples when he shifts his focus to the side of the room. “But I’m going to take my time with her. She’s too feisty to fuck over in an hour. I’ll need at least a week or two to work her over as good as I did his second-in-charge. I’ll enjoy this even more than I did gutting his dog.”
When Alexei moves to his right to gather a pair of tin snips from a silver gurney, I spot the cause of his excitement. Justine is lying hogtied on the floor, her body as still as Trey’s.
Anger clogs my heart. If he has killed her, the punishment he’s in the process of issuing Trey will look like child’s play.
I realize Justine is alive and well when Alexei diverts his focus back to the cell phone squashed against his ear.
Confident Alexei isn’t paying her any attention, she slips a tiny shard of glass between her fingers before setting to work on cutting the tape circling her wrists and ankles. She’s been working on her escape for some time, as she’s already nearly three-quarters through the three-inch-wide tape.
Although her eyes are wide and brimming with terror, the determination on her unmarked face is as robust as ever.
That was Alexei’s first mistake. He underestimated Justine’s strength.
His second: he forgot why my crew calls me The Snake.
He has no idea of the wrath I’m about to rain down on him.
After slipping my gun into the waistband of my jeans, I remove my trusty knife from my back pocket. A mass surge of testosterone pumps through my veins when I flick open the switchblade as Justine’s eyes collide with mine across the room. Her nostrils flare when she inhales a sharp breath. She knows she is seconds away from witnessing me kill again.
I don’t want her to see me do this. I crave every sneaky glance she gives me, so I’ll do anything I can to not taint that, but she knows I don’t have a choice. Alexei came to my home turf to kill my man and take my woman. His punishment can’t be any less severe than death.
He should be grateful for how fast I will take him down.
If Justine’s wellbeing wasn’t my utmost priority, we’d spend the next several hours becoming well-acquainted.
With my desire for Justine greater than my urge to maim, I silently mouth, Close your eyes .
When Justine does as requested without hesitation, my killer instincts kick into overdrive. The air in Alexei’s lungs vacates in a rush when I yank his head back by his hair and then familiarize his jugular with my knife. I’ve snuck up on him so stealthily the tangy scent of urine loiters into my nostrils when he pisses his pants at my abrupt arrival.
“Nikolai, please?—”
“Say hello to Vladimir for me,” I interrupt before dragging my knife sideways.