Chapter 5 - Ava
They left thirty minutes ago.
My five-star accommodation didnt have the luxury of a wall clock, but I had kept track of time in my head from the hour we landed in New York to the minute Declan got out of the car and the second I was shoved into a black Mercedes by a brute named Fedor.
Viktor had received an important phone call that interrupted the moment. He pulled away, looking like the perfect gentleman in a white shirt and black tie as he grumbled words—which sounded more like curses—into the phone and left the cage.
I paced the floor, one hand on my hip, the other stroking and rubbing my face as I tried to figure out if the past hour had been a dream.
He was no longer here, near me, or anywhere in the room, but his touch on my skin, on my arm and everywhere else left a burning sensation. Stormy gray eyes with deep, dark chasms held my mind captive. And the flick of his tongue on my lips left a trail of heat in its wake.
Part of me was glad he had gone. But the other part … the other part wanted to pull him by that damn tie and catch his tongue in my mouth.
Oh, Ava.
Why?
Whydid I want to do this so badly? It annoyed me. He was the enemy. He had hurt Declan and crafted plans to destroy my father. I should have been repulsed by him. Disgusted, at least. But the opposite was true.
He should be happy; that was what he wanted. To leave an unforgettable impression on me that would never let me forget him—he said so himself. And it worked.
As I gazed into the depths of his eyes, I wanted to ask him why his warm breath smelled of cherry; I wanted to know the man beneath the dress shirt and tie; I wanted a glimpse of the stories the ink had etched on his skin.
I knew he had stories. A man of his kind could not have become what he was without scars from the past. But Viktor Voronin-Varkov had to be one of those men who would rather take six bullets than talk over a cup of coffee.
Ava O’Sullivan!
Stop!
I had to force myself to stop thinking about him. He had invaded my thoughts—intruded! There were important things at stake. Things like protecting my father.
Exhausted, I leaned against the wall of steel bars, ignoring the cold seeping through my shirt into my back. Just as I knew my nightmare had a past, I knew my father well, just as I knew my name.
Declan and I were right: my father was as caring as he was fiercely overprotective. To guarantee my freedom, he would agree to Viktor’s terms to bring me back safely, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be the cause of my father’s weakness; I didn’t want to be his downfall.
I had to somehow prevent him from getting hurt. I may not have spent much time with him, but a year with him taught me things I never would have learned had I remained that young, na?ve girl in Denver.
It was up to me to devise an escape plan. If I succeeded, my father would not have to negotiate, and we would be free of the Russians. Problem solved. War over.
Now the multimillion-dollar question: How do I get out of here??
I knelt on one knee and reached under the sole of my foot for my little secret weapon. One of the tricks my father had taught me in my first week with him. As my fingers felt the plastic sleeve inside my sneakers, my lips curled into a small smile.
The knife had a permanent place, in some part of my clothes or my shoes, since the day after my father asked me, “Mo leanbh [my child], what would happen if you were suddenly attacked in an alley?”
I looked at him with a sheepish grin. “Why would I be in an alley? You always have Declan tailing me. Plus, I am always in a car.”
Hed given me a playful grunt that said he didn’t like it when I outsmarted him but went ahead anyway to make his point. “Okay. What if you get attacked in the car? What’s your defense?”
I laughed out loud. “Trick question? It is Declan, isn’t it?”
He hadn’t laughed as I’d expected. The dark brows above his green eyes drew together into a thin line and he’d stared at me disapprovingly. “You must always be ready. The enemy can strike at any time, Ava. And no, you can’t trust Declan to have your back every second. You have to learn how to protect yourself.”
Then, after his speech, he gave me a small knife. The same knife that I proudly pulled out of my sneakers.
I tiptoed over to the big shiny padlock and stuck the blade of the knife in, just like Dad had told Declan to teach me. I heard a click and thought I was making progress. Until I heard heavy footsteps that didn’t sound like the knife picking the lock.
Startled, I quickly retreated. My eyes widened and I struggled to make out through the darkness who the intruder was. The footsteps on the floor were close. At first, I thought it was Viktor. But there was something different about them.
Viktor’s steps had poise, were calculated, and announced his intimidating presence. These steps, however, were scattered. They were even lousy, sounding like the echo of worn boots on concrete.
The light came on and terror gripped me with nasty claws. This man—whoever he was—was not Viktor. He was scrawny, bald, and had a viper and falcon tattoo that reached up to his head; and he had crazy blue eyes like a psychopath. Unlike Viktor, he had a scary look on his face that screamed lunatic.
I took more steps back.
It was perhaps the craziest thing, but deep, deep down I knew my nightmare would never ogle at me the way this man was—like I was a three-course meal. Hatred burned in this man’s eyes. Fiery and blazing like a volcano.
When he put the key in the lock, my heart skipped a beat; and when he entered through the gate, the breath ceased from my lungs. This couldn’t be true, could it? It had to be a dream.
I masked the fear in my voice and questioned. “Who are you and what do you think you are doing?”
“My name is Anton; you don’t know me—”
“That’s more than enough reason to scream for help right now. You shouldn’t be here with me. Does Viktor know about this?”
His maniacal laughter rang out and the wickedness in his eyes glimmered. After his laughter died down—like some timed dramatic script—he grinned and bared a snaggletooth.
“Viktor not here. I have waited long, many years.” He paused; his eyes traveled from my head to my toes. “Good thing youre a fine one.” He had an accent and spoke broken English.
He moved fast, lurching forward with his big hands aiming for my throat.
A shriek tore through my throat. “Stay. Away!”
The man did not listen. He was lost in the crazy world he had created in his head as he followed me with an ugly frown on his lips. “Your father didn’t wait.”
What?
I ran backward in a circle to avoid him, but he would not be deterred. He mirrored my movements as if he had all the time in the world. “What are you talking about?”
“Your father,” he smirked. “He didn’t wait. He raised his gun to my brother’s head. Poof! A gang fight with you fucking Irish, and your father blew his brains, no remorse. Now, I’m here for revenge; and I promise, I vill kill you, but not before we’ve had a liiittle fun.”
“No!”
He reached for me, and I tried to dodge him but failed. He grabbed me roughly, dragged me by the hair, and pushed me back onto the ground knocking out all the breath from my lungs. My eyes stung and I kicked, hitting his hard chest with my arms to push him off me. But he was as heavy as a boulder.
“Get off!” I choked on a sob. “Get off me!”
“Shut the fuck up!” The back of his hand flew over my cheek. Tears welled and my skin stung, but I didnt have time to react. The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the room, and I saw the shiny Lady Liberty bisected in his grasp.
Cold air swept over my skin, and I moved my arms to shield my exposed bra from his lustful gaze. I’d never been this violated and humiliated before. “Please…” more tears rolled to my ears. “Please, stop! Please—Someone … anyone! Somebody helped me.” I screamed as loud as I could.
It didn’t matter how much I pleaded or fought. The beast inside him only roared more. He had sold his soul to the devil before I knew of his existence. Dirty fingernails dug into my skin and rough hands squeezed a handful of every part of my body.
He grabbed my mouth to his and jammed our lips roughly together; with teeth and tongue, until a metallic taste hit my mouth. My lips bled, but the monster didn’t stop. I cringed and cried even harder. His touch wasnt like Viktor’s. It was like searing acid on my skin. At that moment, I would have given anything for him to disappear.
Suddenly he jerked back and just as I thought he was developing a bit of compassion; a syringe came out of his pocket. He flicked the concealed needle and pointed it at me.
“This is good stuff, pretty. It vill paralyze you for a good twenty minutes, you know, to stop you from kicking so much when I’m giving you pleasure. Then, vhen you finally come to your senses,” he ran his finger across his throat. “Off goes your head.”
I didn’t focus on his stupid speech. In a blink, I removed the knife I’d hidden safely away inside my jeans, under my belt—the sheath came off—and silver glinted under the light. I rammed the blade into his throat, straight into the main artery, as I’ve been taught, with my eyes closed.
Choking and gurgling noises and a warm liquid hit my face. My eyelids opened in horror, and with trembling hands, I slowly pulled out the knife and pushed him off me with all my strength. I crawled into the corner, away from him, and watched the life slowly drain from his crazy blue eyes as a thick red stream flowed from the large wound on his throat.
My spirit dimmed as the light in his eyes finally faded away. His chest stopped heaving. The choking stopped. And he just … stilled.
“Oh, God!” My hands flew to my mouth to stifle a sob, and that’s when I noticed the sticky red stains covering my fair skin. Blood. His blood. It has marked me for life.
I killed him.
My whole body shook violently, and my vision blurred. How had this become my reality? Taking someone else’s life?
I killed a man.
My eyes fell on the open gate. That was it, my ticket to freedom out of this hellhole, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up. I didn’t have the strength or courage to move.
One thought repeatedly ran through my mind and, the more it did, the deeper a void expanded in my chest. When I saw the white syringe lying discarded by Anton’s head, the voice grew louder.
Ava, you’re a murderer.