4. Vlad
4
VLAD
AGE TWENTY
S tepping under the warm water jet, I watch as some blood pools at my feet. I feel for the knife wound, my fingers measuring its depth. Satisfied it's not too deep, I get out of the shower and take out the first aid kit.
I force my brain to shut off all the noise around me, focusing only on getting this damned wound fixed.
I place myself in front of the mirror to get a better look at my body. Then, taking some gauze and soaking it in disinfectant, I douse it all over the affected area. The pain is minimal, almost like a ticklish feeling. I can't even remember the last time my body had ached, or any wound had pained me.
Now, they're simply there. I know I have to be careful, so that they don't become septic, but other than that they don't interfere with my other activities.
I'd gotten this specific one because of Bianca, my new partner. I grit my teeth as I think about that, because most of the time she simply annoys me with her presence .
This time it had been no different. She'd goaded me into a fight and when we'd reached our target I'd snapped, losing control and slaughtering an entire room of people. It was during that bloodbath that someone must have jabbed me in the ribs, although I have no recollection of it.
If only Marcello were still here.
I sigh as I continue the ministration, taking a Band-Aid and placing it on top of the wound.
Marcello and I had had a quiet understanding and we'd worked in one of those rare partnerships where one didn't even have to speak for the other to follow. We were evenly matched in most things, his intellect sharp, his skills unparalleled. But certain issues had made him abandon his place in the famiglia.
I still keep tabs on him, but something's changed. He's... broken.
That doesn't mean I forgive him for leaving me partnerless, since my father had needed to find a replacement as he doesn't trust me to do a job on my own.
Hell, I don't trust myself either.
After my break-down in Harlem, a few years ago, he'd placed me under strict supervision, knowing that my grasp on my sanity had dimmed considerably, once I'd found out my sister was, in fact, dead.
Although I don't appreciate the constant attention, even I have to admit that I'm too dangerous to be left alone.
My fascination with blood had only increased after that incident. But the same substance that once brought me joy has now become my main trigger. If before I lived for the sight of blood pouring out of my victims, now I avoided it like the plague, knowing that if I became too enthralled by it, my mind would slip from me.
Usually I can feel a crisis coming, and I do my best to calm down. But sometimes, the bloodlust becomes so strong, I'm simply no longer human.
A killing machine. A monster. A berserker.
People have given me many nicknames over the years, but only one has stuck: Berserker. Ironically also my codename, I'd been given the nickname after the Norse mindless warriors. Those fighting in a fury-like trance with no recognition of what goes around them except destruction.
Because that's exactly what I become when I lose myself.
A mindless monster.
Of course my father couldn't rid himself of his perfect weapon, so he'd sought to control me in the least intrusive way—a new partner.
Bianca is three years younger than me, and while her age would put her firmly into an inoffensive category, she's also a born killer. Clinically diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder, Bianca is brash, reckless and a major pain in the ass.
We do complement each other well on the battlefield though, since guns are her weapons of choice while mine are knives. This way, I engage in close combat, and she has my back from a distance.
Theoretically, it's not a bad arrangement, since we work pretty well together. But she's also an immature brat and her carelessness sometimes endangers our missions.
My wound bandaged and ready to go, I put on some clothes and head to the gym, thinking I'd spend what time I have left before the next mission training.
I start humming a soft melody, still forcing myself to tune everything out.
But as I cross the backyard to get to the gym, I hear my brother's leering voice.
"Come on, Lenochka, drop the towel," he says, and I turn my head slightly, noting they are all by the pool.
Misha is sitting by the pool, leaning on his elbows as he looks suggestively at Elena.
Both Katya and Elena are sitting timidly in a corner, their hands tightly gripping the towels covering their bodies.
They look a little apprehensive as they spot Misha, and I can see Elena's eyes darting between the pool and the house.
They're almost teenagers now, and while my father keeps Misha under control, there's no denying the lascivious way he looks upon our sisters, especially Elena.
I'd mentioned this obsession of his to Father and he'd grunted, assuring me Misha would never overstep his boundaries. But I have to wonder. Does Father not see the pest he has in his own house? Is he so blinded by the fact that Misha is his eldest that he's willing to overlook his cowardly behavior and decidedly dishonorable reputation?
Elena takes a step back, cowering behind Katya. Born only a year apart, Katya's always been the stronger of the two. Sometimes their relationship reminds me of Vanya and me...
Shaking myself from that line of thought, I turn to leave.
Misha chooses that exact moment to be the asshole he is, rising from the pool and going to where the girls are. I watch from the corner of my eye how his fingers circle Elena's wrist, jerking her toward him.
"Let her go," Katya's voice booms, but even that isn't enough to stop Misha as he rips the towel off Elena's body.
"Look at you, Lenochka," he whistles, his eyes roving down her body with interest, "who knew you were packing a punch," he continues, one hand going for her breast.
I don't know exactly when I move, but before Misha can touch Elena, I wrap my hand around his neck, squeezing painfully.
We might be years apart in age, but I've long surpassed him, both in height and body mass.
His feet aren't touching the ground as I tighten my hold, looking him in the eyes and enjoying the fear reflected. His lids move rapidly, and he tries to blink away the terror I know is coursing through his body.
"What have I said about those wandering hands, Misha?" I ask him, as I lean in, my face millimeters away from his. "Don't tell me you don't remember what I told you?"
I watch the emotions play on his face—terror, outrage, arrogance. Even with my fingers suffocating the life out of him, he dares to have a smug expression on his face.
"Fuck you, freak," he spits, his saliva hitting my cheek.
I close my eyes for a second, willing myself to calm down. I'm not surprised at his pathetic attempts. After all, when has Misha done anything noteworthy?
Bringing my other hand up, I wipe my face with the back of it.
"You seem to have forgotten. Don't worry, I have not." I give him my most brilliant smile as my finger traces his features, settling just above his eye.
"Freak," he scoffs, fake bravado on his face, "you can't do anything to me. Father will kill you before he lets you harm a..."
He trails off, his words becoming a scream as my fingers dig into his eye socket. I grasp his eye and I pull. It doesn't take long for it to pop right out of the orbit.
The girls are screaming in horror behind me, scurrying away.
I only have eyes for my dear brother. Pun intended. My lips quirk up as I pull on his eyeball. I push forward, my fingers curling inside his orbit, digging in, his screams music to my ears.
I'd done this plenty of times before, so I know what to expect when my fingertips meet bone. I just have to break the sphenoid and I'll have easy access to his brain.
Just as I'm about to give him what he deserves, I hear another screech in my ear. I do my best to ignore it, but her voice breaks through my defenses.
"You promised, brother. You promised you'd never kill family," she speaks, her form materializing next to me. She wraps her ghostly hand around my arm, urging me to let go.
My eyes widen as I watch her... so little, so powerless. She's dressed in the same bloody rags, her entire body a mess of cuts and wounds, her own eye hanging out of its socket.
My entire body starts trembling, and I let go. Misha crumbles to the ground and I take a step back.
"No," I whisper to myself.
She's not real. She's never real.
You'd think that years of seeing one's dead sister would make it easier on the eyes. But every time I see her small, feeble body racked with pain, I just lose it.
I try to regulate my breath, almost losing sight of what's happening around me. How Father's guards are storming in, taking Misha away to give him medical assistance.
Or how someone jabs a needle in my skin, the entire world starting to sway with me.
"Not again," is the last thing I say as I pass out .
I come around much later and realize I'm in my room. A cold rag is on my forehead, and small hands are tending to me.
I don't think. I just react, grabbing the arm of the intruder. A small gasp escapes her lips, and I realize I'm staring at my sister.
Katya.
"What are you doing here?" I croak, looking around for any guards.
Her lips are trembling as her eyes move between me and my painful hold. I quickly release her, expecting her to move.
She doesn't.
"Thank you," she starts, a little unsure, "for what you did back there. Misha is always picking on Elena and..." she trails off, looking away, suddenly embarrassed.
"What?" I ask, my voice a bit brusque.
"He makes her uncomfortable," she eventually says. "He always tries to corner her alone, and I can't always be with her. Maybe now..."
"He won't bother her again. I'll make sure of it," I declare.
I don't know where this came from, but as she smiles at me, I find myself happy at my decision to intervene.
"Thank you," she says again, surprising me anew when she leans forward to kiss my cheek.
I'm staring at her, dazed. She... touched me.
Everyone is afraid to even come close to me, and yet she, of her own volition, touched me.
My eyes must give away my bewilderment, because she confesses, "You're not so bad, you know."
Standing up, she leaves the room. And I'm still pondering her words... and her kindness toward me.
" M otherfucker! What do you think you're doing?" Bianca yells at me from behind.
I turn my head slightly toward her, holding up a piece of meat. "Barbecue?" I ask jokingly.
Well, she doesn't take it very well, because she quickly takes out her pistol, pointing it toward me and shooting .
The bullet whizzes past my ear in a deafening sound, lodging itself firmly in the head of the man next to me.
I don't react, although Vanya, sitting right by me, quickly places her palms over her ears, her eyes squeezed shut.
"Now, that was just mean." I pout at her, half annoyed.
"Dude, you've been skinning him alive . For hours! What's wrong with you?" She shakes her head at me, coming around to glance at my work of art.
"It was supposed to be a quick job. In and out. And to think I'm usually the troublemaker," she mutters under her breath, scrunching up her nose in disgust when she leans in to look at what's left of the man.
Yes, it should have been a quick job. But once I'd realized who our target was—an Armenian human trafficker in charge of some questionable trafficking rings in Maine—my interest had been piqued.
It's not often that we're sent after human traffickers. Might be because my father is the one choosing our targets, and he doesn't want me to get too hot-headed on a job, since he knows I'd vowed to make Vanya's killer pay.
But just like this skinless fellow in front of me, I don't know much about the circumstances of Vanya's death.
My memory of the years before I'd returned to my family is fuzzy. I've only managed to piece together some things. Like the fact that Vanya and I had been abducted when we were three and we'd been held captive by some sort of madman for almost five years. Although my father and his associates had relentlessly looked for us, it was only by chance that the Italians got to us first.
Marcello's brother, Valentino, had been leading a team inquiring into a human trafficking ring led by some dangerous people when they'd found us—or rather a dead Vanya and her half-dead brother. Even he hadn't been able to offer me more insight, citing pure luck behind their sudden discovery of the location.
We'd both been found in a cage. The details are, even now, hard to stomach. Vanya had been well on her way to putrefaction, and me? Starved to the extreme, I'd already had one foot in the grave.
Because of the circumstances of Vanya's death, as well as my own rather morbid state, a doctor had told me it's normal for the brain to block some memories—particularly traumatic ones. He'd also said that Vanya's presence in my mind might be explained by the residual trauma of living with her corpse for days on end.
Well, certainly that's one way of looking at it.
But there's also my way. Vanya is here with me to ensure I find her killer and I punish him or her accordingly.
An eye for an eye.
Even now, as if knowing the direction of my thoughts, she preens, her lips spreading into a languid smile.
I shake my head at her, returning my attention to Bianca.
"Maybe I could have gotten some information out of him," I mumble, "eventually."
Looking down at all the stripes of flesh I'd taken from his thighs and his back, I'm suddenly bummed that I didn't get to do the entire body. It had been going great too, since the bleeding had been minimal and my mental state never better.
"Sure," she mocks, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Now where's the fun in taking the rest of the skin if he's dead?" I sigh, returning to task and continuing with his chest.
"Wait," B says, her fingers going to her temples. "Let me get this straight. You're going to continue skinning him? He's dead! "
"Of course he's dead," I add drily, "you killed him."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. But seeing that I'm in such a good mood, I refuse to engage further.
"You'll thank me when you get your Christmas present. I'll make you a shiny new leather holster. One hundred percent man -made too." I wink at her.
When she gets my meaning, she backs away, her hands up, her eyes half-shut in disgust.
"Ew, no thank you. You can keep it for yourself." She waves me off, going to an empty chair and opening her laptop.
"Stalking again?" I ask, amused.
Her face immediately lights up and she turns the screen around to show me the latest pictures of the subject of her obsession .
"I don't get it." I shake my head, turning back to my work. Might as well finish this now.
"Of course you don't get it," Bianca mutters, "we've established you don't know what love is," she says with a dreamy sigh, staring at the computer and no doubt imagining herself with that suit of hers.
I don't even deign a reply, because she's not too far off the mark. I don't know what love is. At least not the type of love she's implying. I know loyalty and family ties. I know my connection with Vanya, the type that not even death can sever.
But the type of love she's talking about? The butterflies mixed with bodily fluids and eternal devotion? I mentally groan at the picture, firmly depositing it out of my mind.
That type of love isn't for me, and likely won't ever be. After all, I have but one purpose.
Find my sister's killer and return the favor. When that's done... I'll have to see if I'll stick around.
A fter the confrontation with Misha, things get progressively worse at home. My father sends me on mission after mission just to ensure Misha and I are not in the same location at the same time. At any other point, I would have been thrilled to perform sanctioned killings twenty-four seven. After a while, though, even the prospect of blood fails to rouse my interest.
My mind, my biggest enemy, won't leave me alone. And it's not only in the form of little Vanya hanging around me at all times. No, this time I'm getting increasingly paranoid about Misha and his intentions.
He'd had a doctor see to his eye and put it back in place, so the damage had not been too bad. But his behavior afterwards had been deeply concerning. He'd been... nice. Or as nice as Misha can be. Still, it had been entirely too disturbing to be on the receiving end of such non-assholery.
He'd even apologized to Elena.
Extremely unlike Misha .
The more I became suspicious about my brother, the more I started doing unnecessary things. Like hacking into the live feed of our compound. Or the mainframe. Or everyone associated with Misha.
When you're as antisocial as I am, you tend to develop hobbies that don't involve... socialization. Or humans. Or anything that lives, breathes and talks back. Except for Vanya, but she's not really alive, anyway. Computers are heavenly manna for someone like me. Not only are they extremely interesting, but they also provide constant challenges for me, since my impatience might be my winning quality.
My time is split between a computer screen and corpses, so you could say I've become an expert. In both.
"Are you going to keep on doing that?" Bianca asks, yawning and stretching back.
We'd been assigned to supervise an out-of-state shipment of drugs. A little unusual, since our missions in the past always finished with someone dead, but still within normal parameters, considering my father's plan to keep Misha and me separated.
I shrug, closing the laptop and placing it aside. I might have been doing it ad nauseam, since my curiosity won't let me rest until I get to the bottom of everything that's happening, but I'm not about to let Bianca know about my suspicions.
Not when there's little evidence to support my theory. I only have my intuition and my not-so-stellar people-reading skills — which no self-respecting scientist would take as anything but bogus.
"I'm bored," I reply.
She sighs, almost exasperated.
"You've been bored for the last three missions," she continues, and I stifle the urge to roll my eyes at her.
We may be a team, but we still get on each other's nerves... most times.
To pass the time, I switch to reading at some point, exchanging more jabs with Bianca in between.
It's not until the truck carrying our asses and the merchandise comes to a sudden stop, throwing off our balance, that we realize something may be off .
Both Bianca and I react to the potential threat — her hands on her guns, my fingers wrapped around my shashkas.
It didn't take long for us to realize we'd been sent into an ambush, with people coming at us from all directions.
But they hadn't banked on one thing. For all our bickering, Bianca and I are top-class assassins, and forced proximity has only enhanced our work compatibility. We killed fast and in sync. Whoever sent these guys clearly hadn't done their homework.
When all the corpses lay on the ground, it became clear this wasn't just a simple attack.
"Bratva," I grimace as I note their tattoos.
Suddenly, my previous concerns become urgent, and I can barely contain my ire, getting behind the wheel and yelling for Bianca to get in the car.
"It's a coup," I add, eventually, my eyes fixed on the road as I break all speed limits.
"A coup? But who?" She frowns.
"My stupid ass of a brother, that's who. Fuck! I should have seen it coming. Misha's always been power-hungry, but I didn't think he had it in him." The words pour out of me.
I should have trusted my instincts.
"But..."
"No one else could have ordered those Bratva soldiers to come after us. Think about it, B," I say when she seems unconvinced.
Misha must have promised them something in return for helping him overthrow my father. He's always been dissatisfied with his role within the organization, mostly because he knew Father didn't trust him as much as he should have, being the firstborn and the heir.
Our ongoing conflicts, though, must have only strengthened his resolve to take matters into his own hands.
I should have known that someone like him would never be satisfied with not being important . But regardless of what he's doing to take over the Bratva, my utmost worry is for Elena and Katya.
Fuck!
If he's gotten rid of Father and his loyal soldiers, then there's nothing standing between him and doing whatever he wants to them .
The thought of that, coupled with Vanya's cries in my ears, only serves to make me hit the accelerator harder, speeding down the highway in hopes I might make it in time.
"He'll kill them," Vanya keeps chanting next to me, her words not helping my already tense headspace.
I barely take my eyes off the road for a moment to get Bianca to load the camera feed from the compound.
The moment the screens flare to life, I'm not surprised when I see blood everywhere, my father slain by his own son, his body lying in the middle of the great hall.
Misha has his men move Father's corpse to the exhibition area—the place reserved for traitors and enemies of the Bratva.
"Fuck," I mutter, realizing I may have underestimated Misha. He's not as dumb as he's led me to believe.
And the fact that he's displaying Father's body in such a manner in the great hall is a warning for everyone thinking of going against him.
We reach the compound in record time, and Bianca offers to use her skills as a sniper to have my back and get Misha.
Once we split, her heading toward a good vantage point and me moving toward the hall, I turn to Vanya.
"See, it won't be by my hand," I joke, and she gives me a brilliant smile. Knowing that I won't be the one to put the bastard out of his misery seems to be doing wonders for Vanya's mood.
A few guards get in my way, but I'm quick to split them in half, my blades running smoothly across their stomachs.
The alarm goes off, and I know it's only a matter of time before I'm surrounded. Smiling to myself, I just wait.
Sure enough, quite a few soldiers come out of the great hall, all surrounding me. I let myself be caught because I know Bianca should be almost at the south tower now, which should give me a few uninterrupted minutes of conversation with my dear brother.
A couple of kicks and the men think I'm down, holding me by my arms and dragging me inside the room.
Misha is standing in the middle of the hall, his hands behind his back as he gazes at Father's corpse .
A quick glance around the room and I don't see anyone else here - not Mother and not my sisters either.
"Brother," he spits at me when the guards stop in front of him.
"Such a welcome," I drawl.
"You should have been dead already," he continues, clearly put off by my sudden presence.
"And you should have learned by now that I'm not that easy to kill," I retort.
"Ah, but don't worry. This time you will, and by my hand too," he says, pacing around in front of me.
Jittery. A little too jittery.
"Where are the women?"
He stops, raising his eyes to find me. He holds my gaze for a moment before he starts laughing.
"The women?" he asks, his arms wide open in wonder. "No more women," he replies sneakily, and I narrow my eyes at him.
"What did you do, Misha?"
"What did I do?" he repeats, looking unhinged as he continues to pace around. "I'm finally where I belong. At the top."
From the corner of my eye, I see Vanya plant herself in front of Father, an inscrutable expression on her face. Her eyes are downcast, the corners of her mouth sloped downwards. She's... sad.
Turning back to Misha, I'm surprised to see him blabbering on about how he's going to turn the Bratva around and the deal he's already made on Father's behalf.
"You should have stayed gone, freak. Then Father wouldn't have been so against human trafficking. Drugs don't bring in the money they used to, but humans..." he whistles.
Ah, so this was his aim.
"Really? And how are you going to do that?" I keep track of his movements so that his form is lined up with the opening in the window. "You know Agosti has a monopoly on that," I add, curious to see who he's been talking to.
"My contact is even more powerful," he snorts, "and once we join forces, we'll take the city by storm." He continues to prattle on about his grand plan, but there are no details about this mysterious partner of his.
"I doubt anyone would ally themselves with you," I start, trying to rile him up into disclosing who he's working with. "Doesn't he know you've got a track record of making dumb decisions?"
He stops for a second, coming closer to me.
"They trust me, brother. Unlike others, they see my potential."
They... Interesting.
I'm about to open my mouth to ask more when I hear a sharp sound and a circle appears on Misha's forehead. Blood leaks out of it, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. And then he falls.
I take advantage of the slight disorientation of the men holding me and I pry my hands loose, immediately going for the blades hidden in my boots.
The men stand no chance as I throw the knives. They lodge deep in their throats, hitting the perfect spot.
And they're down.
I turn toward the window where Bianca is likely still looking at me through her rifle, and I wink at her.
Now...
Vanya is hopping around with glee, looking at Misha's dead body with a delight I hadn't seen in a while.
Shaking my head, I go back to the main living quarters, needing to make sure Katya and Elena are safe.
The hallway is empty, and as I make my way toward the second floor, I get increasingly worried.
I can't hear anything...
I barge inside the girls' room and I blink twice, before averting my eyes. Vanya runs from my side, and I close the door softly.
Elena's naked body is on the floor, an angry cut at her neck. The entire carpet is soaked in her blood.
I take another step, and my worst suspicion is confirmed.
Bruising around her thighs and blood between her legs tells me exactly what happened here. Or who.
I sigh deeply, disappointed at this turn of events. I'd hoped they would be fine.. .
Vanya, on the other hand, is on her knees in front of Elena. She's bawling her eyes out, her hands touching her face, her hair. She's crying for the sister that met the same fate she had.
Taking a blanket from the bed, I cover Elena's body, hoping to offer her some modesty, at least in death.
Vanya is inconsolable as she keeps trying to rouse her sister. Everything to no avail.
Shaking my head, I look around for Katya, confused that she's not here.
A small hope flares inside of me as I think that she might have been spared. I search every single room of the house, finding Mother's dead body and that of those loyal to my father.
No Katya...
By chance, I stumble upon someone who moans in pain. Realizing he still lives, I crouch next to him, thinking I might get some answers.
He's face down on the carpet, and as I turn him around, I note it's the family doctor—Sasha.
"Sasha," I say, slapping his face to get his attention.
His eyes are unfocused, but eventually he finds his words.
"Vlad..."
"Where is Katya?" I ask, getting straight to the topic.
"Katya..." he croaks, grimacing in pain, "He gave her to him," he finally says.
"Him? Who?"
Sasha shakes his head.
"Misha's partner." Is all he says before his eyes close.
Still feeling a pulse, I put him over my shoulder and I meet up with Bianca back in the great hall. Vanya is sluggishly trailing behind, her face one of desolation at losing both her sisters.
Placing Sasha on a table, I realize I'm the one in charge now. So I just shoot orders, taking out my phone and dialing contact after contact, knowing that the entire place is due for a cleaning.
"Your sisters?" Bianca eventually asks, and I just shake my head.
Elena may be dead, but Katya isn't.
I just have to find the man who took her .
"You'll make them pay, brother. Promise me." Vanya comes around me, her eyes misted with tears.
I look down at her and I feel my heart jerk a little in my chest.
"Promise," I say, taking her small hand in mine.
It seems I have my work cut out for me.
Two sisters. Two faceless enemies.
A smile pulls at my lips.
" S hh, it's starting," Vanya shushes me, directing her gaze toward the stage, her big eyes full of curiosity.
Somehow, her bad eye doesn't hang out of its socket as much today.
Leaning back into my seat, I chug some champagne, knowing it's going to take a while until they get to the interesting part.
With a bored expression on my face, I watch as a man in a dog mask saunters on the stage, calling out a number and inviting a man and a woman to join him.
The man in the mask commands them both on their knees before lowering his zipper and taking his cock out, dipping it in and out of the man's and woman's mouths.
I glance warily at Vanya, thinking she's too young to be seeing something like this. But then I remember she's not real.
Her attention is wholly focused on the people on the stage. In just a short while, their positions change. The woman is on her knees, getting railed from behind by her partner, while the masked guy is fucking the man in the ass.
The show becomes even more interesting when they call out yet another number, and another man joins them on the stage. The masked man takes a step back, making the newcomer join the fucking train before taking his dick in his hand once more and riding his ass.
It's like a never-ending chain, especially when they keep calling out names, more people joining in, the masked man always in control at the end of the line. Men and women are arranged alternately, so there's always a cock fucking a hole.
Weirdly enough, the stage is the least problematic aspect of this entire place. And ghost or not, I ask Vanya not to look around, especially not up.
Like an opera house, the entire room is sectioned in boxes on different levels, all looking down at the stage.
But the boxes belong to the richest and most depraved. The ones who crave the anonymity the crowd cannot give them.
I let my eyes wander around briefly, but the images are too much, even for me.
Men in their late fifties are getting their dicks sucked by teenage boys. Some have shunned all morality and are actively fucking children. But then probably the worst box is the one that has a few people watching children fucking each other.
I'd known I'd see sick people in here; I just hadn't realized how sick.
"Do you think we'll find her?" Vanya speaks again, her voice hopeful.
I try to put the things I'd seen out of my mind as I turn my attention to her.
"I don't know," I answer honestly.
It's been months since Katya's disappearance, and I'd used all the resources at my disposal to dig into human trafficking rings in the area, thinking she'd show up in an auction.
She is, after all, the virgin daughter of a Pakhan. That's bound to get a pretty penny anywhere. So I'd listened to the chatter in the underground world, knowing I'd find something, eventually. And I had. I'd found out about this .
The Block, aptly named after its famous auctions, is one of the most exclusive human trafficking rings on the East Coast. Run by an elusive drug lord, it caters to the elite and the most debauched of the bunch.
It had proven a little harder to get myself an invitation, and I'd had to put all my experience with computers into making an entirely new persona for myself on the Dark Web.
A bait here and there, and I'd somehow managed to snag myself an invitation. A VIP invite.
But tackling the Block had not proven that easy. They had regular auctions, and with time, the chances of me finding Katya slimmed considerably .
I've been coming here for a while now, and still no trace of her.
"We're not giving up, though," I quickly assure her.
After the mass orgy ends, the second event of the evening involves cooking a live man. Well, I can stomach this better than that .
A few times here and I'd learned that I can excuse myself from certain events that don't... tickle my fancy.
I'd certainly excused myself from the sexfest. Even now I shudder to think about being close to so many bodily fluids... so not appealing.
It's enough that I bathe in human entrails when I lose my mind, often waking up in pools of blood, with organs hanging off my clothes. I'm not about to engage in that while I am lucid too.
A man needs to maintain some dignity.
But my first trip here I'd won myself a taste of human flesh. Not too bad, but I'd overcooked it. I blame Vanya for that since she'd kept distracting me until the meat had burned.
After that, as a regular member, I'd been able to make my preferences known.
Vanya is yawning by the time the auction opens, and I borrow the binoculars from the table to carefully study every girl that fits Katya's age and coloring.
Hours later, though, we're back to where we started.
"What if..." Vanya starts as we make our way out of the club.
I look down at her, but a man in a black suit comes crashing down into me. I frown as I watch him fumble with some sheets of paper fallen to the ground, helping him pick them up.
"Thank you," he says, looking intently at me, his eyes oddly familiar. Yet I can't say I've seen him before.
His hand lingers a little too much on my own until I shake him off, moving forward and ignoring the way my temples throb with pain.
Odd.
"Hm?" I turn to my sister, briefly distracted.
"What if that man didn't sell her? What if... he kept her?" Vanya asks, and I still, my eyes widening at the realization.
Shit!
I'd focused all my resources to find hotspots of human trafficking, thinking she might end up for sale. But this... Vanya is completely right.
What if he kept her?
"Then we need to double our efforts and find out just who Misha's partner was."
Partners... He'd mentioned plural.
"We can do this." Vanya nods at me confidently.
"Indeed," I reply.
We'll find everyone involved. And when Katya's safe and back home, I'll refocus on getting Vanya's killer.
Who would have known, though, that the clock was ticking?
And not in my favor...