Chapter 14
?
Maksim
Today, I leave for a mission in Dublin, and the thought of leaving Julia in this madhouse settles uneasily in my chest.
Akim knows he has to keep an eye on her—I’ve even instructed one of my soldiers to stay alert in case something happens—but still...I don’t like it.
Things have been unusually quiet since Julia arrived. The other children were quickly moved to other locations, likely “distributed” where they’re needed, but that only means Ivan and Aleksandr will grow restless.
Then there’s the boy found suffocated near the woods. They probably don’t want to risk losing another one. "Lost money," Ivan would mutter without a flicker of remorse.
I watch Julia as she tries to hit a target. She’s not perfect yet, but there’s something in her, a natural instinct.
She feels the target, her stance is steadier now, her aim more focused. The bullet doesn’t land precisely where I want it to, but in theory, she’d at least make someone bleed.
"Will you be gone long?" There’s a slight tremor in her voice.
After last night, I’ve been trying to avoid interacting with her. When she cupped my face with her hands, a shiver ran through me, and to my surprise, it wasn’t disgust.
It was desire.
Desire for someone I’m determined to help leave my life at the first opportunity.
I’ve already lost someone I loved. I’ll be damned if I let myself get attached again just to feel this useless organ in my chest bleed all over again.
"I don’t know. But if you need anything, you have Akim’s number. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t provoke anyone. Leave the room only if he’s with you."
I see the frustration flicker across her face at all the rules, but she nods. At least she understands that this isn’t a hotel—it’s a house full of predators.
One of my soldiers, Vasili, told me about the rumors circulating among the others. They’re all curious about the dark-haired girl who’s caught my attention because, of course, she’s caught theirs too.
"I’m serious, Julia."
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
I spot Akim and Zoya approaching, and even though I still have a few hours before I need to leave, putting some distance between Julia and me doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
"Zoya, this is Julia," I say, watching Zoya’s eyes carefully examine my new roommate.
Julia offers her hand and, with a shy smile, says, "Nice to meet you, Zoya. I really like your dress."
My gaze drifts to the yellow-checkered dress with blue patterns as Zoya’s cheeks flush.
"Thank you," she murmurs softly, retreating toward the kitchen, where she’ll start preparing something to eat.
Watching her disappear, I can’t help but think about how she’s only sixteen, raised in a world surrounded by violence. I want to grab Akim and shake him, demand that he take her far away from this place, but I know staying close is the best way for him to protect her.
Besides, Zoya would never leave without him.
Her greatest insecurity became her shield. When she was diagnosed with lichen planus, despite the heaps of money spent on treatments that have nearly erased the imperfections, no one wanted to touch her.
It’s meant a lot of loneliness for her, though it’s also been the most effective protection she could have—though she doesn’t see it that way.
"Akim, take Julia to my room. Tomorrow, at the same time, I want you to start her self-defense training."
The order is acknowledged by my right-hand man, and I turn to leave. I sense footsteps behind me and don’t need to look to know it’s her.
"What do you want, Julia?"
The sound of her steps halts, and I close my eyes. It’s better for her to think I’m heartless.
It's better not to get attached to someone who's always been easy to leave behind, Julia.
"Take care," she says, her voice fading as she walks away.
How long has it been since someone cared whether I made it back in one piece?
?
The drive to Dublin is spent poring over camera feeds and intel. The client wants a rival to disappear, and it has to happen right after a contract is signed.
The convoy of cars is on the scheduled route, and I set my little toy into motion.
It’s a military drone, modified for jobs like this. When I need to ensure my face doesn’t show up anywhere, when the target has to go up in flames in mere seconds, it’s the perfect solution.
But when the convoy is just two miles from the destination, my terminal crashes.
Damn it. Not now. NOT NOW!
I’ve got exactly thirty seconds to fix this, or I’ll miss the window completely.
Breathe, Maksim. You built this server. Where the hell is this error coming from?
Fifteen seconds to collect myself, five to delete the faulty line of code, and two seconds to restart the server. The sound of the explosion reaches me just in time.
I lean my head against the edge of the car door.
Too close. That was way too close.
This contract is worth five million dollars. Using the advance for this job, I’ve already hired more people to extract victims from Russian ports and transport them to America.
Technically, I could have continued without it, but what I’ve managed to scrape together is nothing compared to Ivan’s billions and his influence.
I send the client a message and wait for confirmation of the transfer.
My code name for missions, Smert, has started to gain traction in the right circles. Why “death” in Russian? Because it’s the only constant in my life. The only freedom where no demon can chase you. The destination of everyone who becomes my target.
When I reach the private jet, the pilot greets me.
"Back to Moscow, Mr. Rastovski?"
I hate my surname, but it’s not like I can use my family’s name—Borisov.
Ivan doesn’t know that I’ve uncovered my origins, and it’s better this way. If he knew, he’d twist it into something that would gain him extra influence in the States. Thank God, his power across the ocean is still limited.
I close my eyes, and suddenly, the image of black, slightly wavy hair and a trembling voice pop into my mind. A voice telling me she feels the touch of a monster.
"Actually, I need you to take me to Puerto Vallarta," I tell the pilot.
"That’s quite the detour, Mr. Rastovski."
"It is, and that’s exactly why you’ll get twice the payment."
He nods without hesitation, and I settle into my seat. A few hours of sleep. A few hours to think about how many ways I can carve up a man without killing him too quickly. How many ways I can make him scream until his vocal cords bleed.
I know I fell asleep because the flight attendant wakes me, informing me we’re twenty minutes from landing.
I wish I had my motorcycle now, but since this trip wasn’t planned, I’ll have to settle for a rental car.
I’ve investigated everything I could about this Martin, and I already know where he’ll be.
Luckily, this club is overcrowded, and its location is perfect. It’s in a notoriously rough part of the city, with few cameras around. By the time anyone realizes he’s gone, his bones will be rotting at the bottom of the ocean.
But not before he screams.
I park the car behind the building and check my gear. Everything I need is within reach.
A syringe filled with a sedative, two knives, and the pistol tucked securely at my back. I’ve got my kit of other tools ready too, just in case creativity strikes.
Luckily for me, my face isn’t well-known in these circles. If someone remembers seeing me here, they’ll have no way to track me.
The club reeks of smoke, dense enough to make finding my target a physical effort. He’s over thirty-five, not an imposing man on his own, but next to Julia, he’s a giant.
Images of her torment invade my mind, the way they always do when my own nightmares crawl out from the shadows. Her screams from that night echo through me, raw and unrelenting.
When I see him heading toward the bathroom, I move. He barely has time to shut the door before I grab his neck and plunge the syringe into his skin.
There’s no time for protest. By the time I haul him out, two men enter, but they probably think I’m just a buddy dragging his drunk friend home.
I use the back exit, not the front, and the salty air slams into me. This is her home. This is the place she grew up. I take a deep inhale, as if hoping to catch traces of the scent she leaves on our pillows.
Martin mumbles incoherently, but I don’t care to decipher his words. I load him into the back of the SUV.
Fifteen minutes—that’s how long it’ll take me to reach his house. The place where he’ll die. The place where he became Julia’s nightmare. The place where I’ll make sure to take a piece of him back for her .
When I pull up in front of what passes for a house—something resembling a shipping container—I make sure I don’t appear on any cameras within a three-mile radius.
I entered the country using a different name. No one will suspect me, and I won’t let Ivan catch wind of this.
As I drag Martin out of the car, his head smacks against the doorframe, and a groan of agony escapes him.
"You’ll make plenty more sounds like that," I mutter.
The living room reeks of mildew and rot, and I grab a chair, securing him with tight knots. When I’m certain he can’t move, I sit back and wait for him to wake up.
The sedative works fast because it’s meant to weaken him, not put him to sleep. Within minutes, his head begins to stir and he groans in pain.
Perhaps I hit him harder than I thought.
"?Qué cono?!" he spits, voice ragged and confused.
When his eyes land on me, all I catch is disbelief. I’m not as massive as some of Ivan’s soldiers, but I train daily, and at over six feet tall, I’m far from invisible.
"I’ll tell you why you’re here, just so you’ll know, every second you bleed, exactly why you’re doing it: JULIA."
I see it in his eyes: panic, then anger. Good. Let’s see how long it takes to turn into resignation.
"Julia? Who’s Julia?" His accent is heavy, and for a moment, he genuinely seems confused. That annoys me even more.
To him, Julia was just another face in the crowd, another girl he destroyed.
It takes him a few seconds, but recognition flickers. Then he laughs.
"The dark-haired girl? Oh, don’t tell me she was your little sweetheart. You didn’t miss much, you know. In fact, I did you a favor."
I raise an eyebrow, refusing to show how much I’m boiling inside. Soon, my knives will make my feelings clear.
"I won’t deny it—I liked how she fought back. It’s always more exciting when they resist. But you have to admit, I broke her in well."
When his words don’t provoke me, he swallows hard and continues.
"And she bled like hell! Pretty sure she cried afterward, too, while I let her clean up."
I know what he’s doing. From the moment he saw me, he knew he wouldn’t leave here alive. He’s trying to push me into killing him quickly.
Just then, a message lights up my phone. It’s from Akim.
?
Damn it. I wanted more time. I guess I’ll have to get creative.
Gripping my knife, I stand. As expected, Martin starts thrashing against the chair, his panic palpable.
Without hesitation, I force his mouth open and slice his tongue out.
His scream tears through the room, sharp and guttural, and I feel it soothe something dark inside me.
"Much better now. Your voice was grating on my nerves. Screaming suits you far better."
For a moment, I consider filming this for Julia, but I know she wouldn’t appreciate such a graphic reminder.
"I can’t avenge every girl you’ve ruined, but I can make you feel a fraction of what they did."
His eyes are bloodshot from crying, and his once-piercing screams have dissolved into broken sobs.
"You know what scum like you never understand? That for every stolen dream, for every shred of innocence you’ve ripped away, there’s a counter. And your bill is due."
He shakes his head weakly, sputtering as fluids drip from his nose and mouth. Blood streams down his chin and neck, and before he can choke on it, I shove a rag into his mouth. That should slow the bleeding down, at least for now.
I grab my knife, and with two swift cuts, I sever his Achilles tendons. The muffled scream that escapes him is so raw, it feels as though his vocal cords might physically rip apart. The rag silences most of it, dulling some of my satisfaction, but it’s enough.
His gaze starts to lose focus, his pain dragging him toward the edge of unconsciousness. But I need him lucid for what comes next.
"This one’s for Julia," I whisper and pull the trigger.
His eyes widen instantly as the realization hits him that his manhood is gone, obliterated. There’s not an inch of him that isn’t covered in blood now, a crimson layer painting his skin. And something inside me smiles at the sight.
Before I get rid of him and ensure his body becomes food for the creatures in the water, I remember something Julia mentioned. I grab a pair of pliers from my kit.
The weak whimper that crawls out of him isn’t loud, but it’s there.
So much blood, yet somehow, it still doesn’t feel like enough.