39. Pasha
39
“Sofiya, if you apologize one more time, I’m going to throw you out of this car.”
My sister slumps in the passenger seat. “I feel sick.”
“I need your focus, not your self-loathing.” My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “I need you to be my second. You can be my sister later.”
With a miserable sigh, she nods. “I can be both.”
A call starts ringing through the car’s speaker system. I’m ready to send it to voicemail when I see who it is and answer instead. “Mak. Talk to me.”
“They’ve got her sedated for the pain and they’re examining her now.” My brother keeps his voice low, but I can practically feel his rage rolling through the phone. “Lev is filing his report with the cops. I’ve got Sergei and his boys turning over every inch of the gym cameras to see if they have anything.”
“Do they?”
“Nothing so far. Once you’re back, I’m going to hit the pavement and personally pay off every business in a ten-block radius for their camera feeds.”
“When are Mel and Jameson arriving?”
He hisses a few choice words under his breath. “I forgot to call them.”
“I’ll take care of it. Keep going on your end, and get the helipad ready for their chopper.”
“You got it.”
I program in Melanie’s number the second I hang up. I’m not looking forward to this.
“Pasha?” she answers uncertainly. “What happened?”
At least she spares me the indignity of trying to break this news gently. With a grimace, I dive right in. “Daphne was attacked. She’s in the hospital right now. It doesn’t?—”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Okay.” She sucks in a deep breath. “Which hospital? I’m grabbing my purse?—”
“That’s why I’m calling. I’m sending over a helicopter to pick you and Jameson up. We can get a sitter, too, if you want to bring the kids.”
“Yes! Yes, that sounds—Yeah, she’s in the hospital.” Her voice fades a bit; Jameson must have just entered the room. “She’s been attacked. I don’t know. I don’t know. Babe?—”
Muffled sounds fill the speakers. Then his voice. “What do you need me to do, Pasha?”
“A chopper’s on its way?—”
“I mean about the in-laws. You and I both know they had something to do with this.”
“Jameson!” Melanie’s voice pitches in the distance. “They’re horrible people, but they would never?—”
“Stewart was definitely involved.” My knuckles go white as I grip the wheel even harder. In my mind’s eye, it’s his neck I’m wringing.
“Fucking knew it.” Jameson doesn’t sound surprised. “What’s the plan?”
“To be determined. We’re tracing his movements right now.”
“Did he do this to her?”
“He didn’t beat her up, no.” I glance at Sofi again. “That would be Brittany.”
“brITTANY CLEARY?!”
Sofi stifles a sudden, snorted laugh. Neither of us have ever heard Melanie lose her absolute shit until right now. I have to tap the volume down just to accommodate the shrieking.
“Oh! That bitch is DEAD! FUCKING! DEAD! I’m gonna skin her spray-tanned ass alive! I’m gonna?—”
Jameson’s voice cuts in dryly. “As you’ve probably guessed, we’re packing up and will be on our way. Thanks for the sitter. We’ll text you when we land.”
“Text Mak. He’ll meet you at the helipad. I will be in a meeting.”
“You’re going to a meeting right now?”
I don’t answer. I let the silence fill in the blanks for me.
To his credit, Jameson does actually catch on to what I mean. “Ah. A meeting meeting. Need any assistance?”
“We’re good. We’ll keep you posted.”
Sofi waits for me to hang up before chiming in. “We could use a lookout.”
“We have our men.” I pass a hand through my hair just to ease the tension in my fingers. “And he has his family.”
She doesn’t say anything more to that.
We get the address from Damien, who didn’t take long at all to locate Brittany and follow her back to her house. I would have thought she’d go to an emergency room somewhere.
Better she’s here than there, though. Makes it easier for me to do what I need to do.
I drive us past her house to make sure we have the correct address before going in. When I’m certain, I circle back around and park one block down.
Damien emerges from the shadows and joins us in the shadow of a tree. “She went inside. Neighbors on both sides are gone.”
I nod and check the houses across the street for signs of potential witnesses. Nothing stirs. No one moves. “She alone?”
“No other cars in the garage. I haven’t seen any other movement since she got here.”
“How long ago?”
“About ten minutes.”
Sofi tugs on a pair of leather gloves. “We’ll need just as long. Any police activity in the area?”
Damien shakes his head. “None. I’ve got Tyler on the scanner, but so far, they’re focusing on the crime scene and other shit.”
“Good. Make sure it stays that way. You know what to do.”
Sofi and I part at the gate. She takes the front door, while I test the lock to the back and find it open. Idiot woman.
I slip inside, listen for movement, and stay in the shadows of the darkened mud room.
The doorbell rings. I hear someone hiss a curse, then footsteps creak across the upstairs floor and to the stairs. Those creak and groan even louder, bearing the slumping weight of Brittany Cleary.
A part of me warms with pride. It’s very obvious Daphne not only put up a good fight—she beat the ever-loving shit out of this woman. Brittany keeps favoring her left side, bracing a hand to her ribs, and grunts in pain every time she leans on one foot.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” she snaps at the door when the doorbell rings again.
Sofi grins at her. There’s no mirth in her eyes. “Hello.”
Brittany turns on her heels and sprints for the back door. But I’m already through the kitchen and I meet her in the archway, letting her slam into my chest. She hisses another string of curse words at me—until, again, she sees who it is.
When the recognition hits, every last drop of blood drains from her face.
I don’t have time to speak my peace. Her head whips back, yanked hard by Sofi’s fist in her hair.
“C’mon, bitch! Take what you dish!”
My sister lets go of our captive’s hair only so she can backhand her in the face. On the other side, too, when Brittany tries to right herself.
“Get up!” Sofi kicks her in the side when she crumples to the floor. “Get the fuck up!”
I’m tempted to put a stop to this. We do actually need information from Brittany before we’re done.
But then I remember what Daphne looked like, blanketed on a stretcher and barely able to writhe in her own pain as they wheeled her to the ambulance.
So I fold my arms and lean against the wall to watch the show.
Brittany does try her best; it’s just not nearly good enough. She swipes at Sofi with broken fingernails and cries of rage, mewling impotently the whole time.
At some point, Sofi has enough and decides it’s time to stop playing with her food. She throws another hard backhand that knocks Brittany down, then grabs her by the back of her top and lifts her enough to slam a knee into her stomach.
Sofi prepares to beat the absolute shit out of her, closed fists and all, when I lift a hand.
“I think she’s warmed up. Let’s talk.”
It’s not that I don’t want to relish every second of Brittany’s beating. I just happen to need her to be able to form words through a semi-working mouth before it completely swells shut.
Sofi pulls out the zip-ties she stashed in her back pocket and binds the woman’s hands behind her back, then her ankles. She hoists our captive upright to sit on the coffee table, lightly slapping her face back and forth to make sure she stays conscious.
“Hey.” Sofi snaps her fingers in Brittany’s face. “Wake up. And you better fucking talk or I’m going to heat up that flat iron for everything but your hair.”
With that, Sofi disappears to go rummaging through the house for fuck knows what. I turn Brittany around with my foot against her bound legs.
“Now is the perfect time to tell me everything you know.”
Brittany tries to blink at me, tries to pretend like she’s just a victim. It’s just not as convincing when her eye is turning into an eggplant.
I shove my hands inside my jacket pockets and lean against the back of the couch. “I don’t hit women. Not even professionally. So I’m not going to hit you, or torture you, or anything like that. I’m just going to keep asking you questions until you choose to talk.”
If she feels any relief from my admission, it’s gone the second she sees Sofi skip down the stairs and over to the nearest electrical outlet.
With the flat iron she previously mentioned.
“My sister, however… well, she is a woman. She’s also crazy as hell and you pissed her the fuck off by laying hands on my wife. Unwise on your part, really.”
Sofi licks her finger and touches the iron plate. It sizzles, and she grins viciously.
“They’re close, you know. Practically sisters themselves.” I tilt my head to one side. “I’m guessing you’re an only child. Otherwise, you would’ve known better than to fuck with someone’s sister.”
This seems to permeate at least a little through Brittany’s wall. “I—I don’t… I don’t know anything.”
“Sure you do!” Sofi’s voice is chipper. It’s creepy when her expression is the exact opposite. “Let’s start with the easy question.” She slaps Brittany in the back of the head. “What the fuck is your problem?”
I glance up at Sofi. “That’s a bit vague.”
“Think so?” She scrunches her nose and shrugs. “Fair. I’ll narrow it down. What the hell is your problem with Daphne?”
Brittany sniffs through a fresh trickle of blood streaming from her nose. “You mean that spoiled little princess? Everything.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Sofi remarks to me. “Too vague.”
I cut in to get to the chase. I know my sister loves a good torture session, but I have a wife and child to get back to. “Why are you working with Stewart Hamish?”
Again, our prisoner sniffs and glares at me through her swollen eyes. “Because fuck you, that’s why.”
Sofi looks to me. I nod. She walks over to the end table, picks up the hot flat iron, and starts bringing it over to Brittany.
She’s not even halfway there before Brittany crumbles.
“Alright!” she screams. “Alright! Okay! I’ll talk!”
I can only roll my eyes in disgust. Daphne would never break this easily, and she’s supposed to be under this greedy bitch’s thumb?
“If I have to repeat myself again,” I warn, “my sister here will start finding things to iron out.”
As if on cue, Sofi taps the hot plates to Brittany’s collarbone, making the woman shriek in surprise and pain.
“Whoops! I slipped.”
“Fucking bitch!” Brittany spits at her. She recalculates her strategy when the plates clap together in front of her face. “It’s not what you think! I swear! I’ve got nothing to do with it!”
“Debatable. Go on.”
“It’s Scott Brennan, okay? You know him. That pervy senator or whatever.”
I frown. She’s got my full attention now. “What about him?”
“He’s the Hamishes’ bank account. Sugar daddy, whatever. So was that dumbass FBI agent Smithson, until you came along and messed everything up.”
Sofi glances at me. “They’re desperate.”
For once, Brittany agrees with her. “They’re incredibly desperate, and they don’t fucking care who they hurt in the process as long as they get what they want.”
“Which is…?”
She levels her glare at me. “You. Dead or alive, but they want you gone.”
“And Brennan’s in on this because…? What’s his cut?”
“He’s being investigated. Rumor has it he dipped his pen into the wrong ink, and now, the feds are working with the White House to expose him.” She spits some blood onto the floor. “Him and his whores. He’s been skimming government funds to pay for his… hobbies. Last I heard, he wanted to make sure that, when he goes down, you go down with him.”
Because of all the dirt I have on him, I’m guessing. It makes a certain kind of sense. I hate it, but I can’t argue with the logic of a madman.
Sofi waves the iron in front of Brittany’s face. “Still doesn’t explain what you have to do with it.”
“They needed me. And my access. And I needed to teach their spoiled little bitch a lesson, so we traded.” Brittany looks to me again. “You should have updated your systems after we left.”
“A mistake I will be correcting immediately,” I promise.
“Better get on it. Paris has a bone to pick with you, and she’s my backup. If anything happens to me, she’s got all the codes and backdoor procedures to give the Hamishes everything they want. You, your company, your slutty wife?—”
She’s cut off by a shrill scream when Sofi holds the side of the iron to her jaw.
I check my watch. “We better cut this quick. I need to?—”
A knock at the door has all of us silent and still.
Brittany looks hopeful.
Sofi looks ready to pounce on whoever it is about to see something they shouldn’t.
I’m ready to either smooth talk or shoot a cop if need be.
I move to the door. Grab the handle and turn it, pulling, my other hand poised over the gun stashed in my back holster. And then?—
Wait.
Melanie?
“You should gag her.” My sister-in-law calmly steps inside and locks the door behind her. “Bitch is getting loud.”
I frown. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugs her jacket off and hangs it on the coat rack, then starts rolling up her sleeves. She barely spares me a second glance. “They’ve got Daphne stabilized. Jamie and Mak are there with the kids; they’re just waiting for the sitter to pick them up. I figured I have some time to kill.”
“Melanie, this is not something you want to be a part of.”
“Oh, you’re right.” She steps around the overturned furniture to crouch in front of Brittany. “I don’t like violence. But you know what I hate the most?”
The sound of flesh meeting flesh makes even me wince.
If I thought Sofi’s backhanded slaps were brutal… shit.
Melanie just broke a record. And, potentially, a nose.
“I hate selfish bitches like you who put their hands on my sister,” she finishes.
Sofi’s brows hit her hairline. “You good there, Mels?”
“Oh, yeah.” She nods and wipes her bloodstained hand on Brittany’s jeans. “That’s just a warm-up.”
I don’t think that’s what my sister was referring to. There’s a wild, yet cold, glint in Melanie’s eyes that I’ve never seen before. In the Bratva among my men, it would be the sign of an ideal assassin.
But this housewife? This down-to-earth wife and mother of two, who barely curses at burned casserole?
“I know what you’re thinking.” Melanie ducks into the kitchen for a dish towel, bringing it back out and using it to gag Brittany’s mouth. “And before you start questioning my sanity, just remember who my parents are.”
“Be as it may.” I rest a hand on her shoulder to make her stop in her stride before she does something she’ll regret. “Look at me, Melanie.”
She does. For one instant, a flicker of vulnerability passes through her otherwise cold expression. Then it’s gone again.
“There’s no going back from this. I can protect you from the cops, from investigations, from the Clearys if they try to come after you. But I can’t protect you from your own nightmares.”
Melanie takes it into consideration. I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she weighs the pros and cons of seeing Brittany through to the bitter end.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Really. It means a lot. However…” She turns back around and stalks over to where she can kneel in front of our captive once more. “You,” she snarls at her, “have been my sister’s nightmare for years. I will always protect her. No matter what it costs me.”
I take that as my cue to leave. Mak texts me to let me know Daphne should wake up any minute now. I silently check with Sofi, who gives me a single nod to confirm she’s got this handled. Damien will remain outside, far enough to avoid detection but close enough to help hide the body when they’re done.
I slip out the back door and find myself agreeing with Melanie about the gag.
Brittany Cleary is a loud screamer.