Chapter 4 （continued） #2
"Or do you see something else?" I lean closer, voice dropping. "Something that scares you more than dying?"
"Stop." It comes out as a whisper.
"Why? Because it's true?" My eyes drop to her mouth, watching her lips tremble. "Because you're terrified that some part of you liked having my attention, even with a gun to your head?"
"No." But there's no conviction in it.
"Liar." My hand comes up to her face, thumb brushing across her jaw. She flinches but doesn't pull away. "You want to know what I think?"
She shakes her head, but her eyes say yes.
"I think you've spent your whole life being invisible. Safe. Boring. And then I saw you. Really saw you. And for one second, you forgot to be afraid and remembered what it felt like to be alive."
"You're wrong." Her voice breaks. "You're insane."
"Maybe." I smile, and watch her pupils dilate. "But you're still here. Still letting me touch you. Still wondering what happens if you stop running."
I release her and step back, picking up my vodka.
"Goodnight, Valerie. Sweet dreams."
I leave her there, shaking and confused and aroused, and head back to my office.
The mouse is starting to crack.
Soon, I'll see the viper again.
And when I do, I'll decide if she lives or dies.
Business pulls me away from my surveillance for two days.
Arms deal with the Chechens. They want American weapons—M4s, grenades, enough firepower to start a small war. I don't care what they do with it as long as the price is right.
The meet is in a warehouse in Red Hook. Neutral territory. My men, their men, product sample in the middle. Standard procedure.
Except Ruslan, their negotiator, thinks I'm stupid.
"I hear that price has decreased," he says in Russian, arms crossed. Behind him, six Chechen enforcers try to look intimidating. "Market conditions. Supply issues. You must be aware of this."
The only thing I’m aware of is that he's trying to shortchange me by two million dollars.
"We agreed on a price." My voice stays calm. Mikhail shifts beside me, hand moving toward his weapon. "That price hasn't change."
"It changed." Ruslan shrugs. "I’ll pay the new price or we walk."
They won't walk. They need these weapons too badly. This is a test. Seeing if I'm weak enough to be pushed.
I'm not.
“I want us to talk privately.” He says, moving his hand subtly, but I notice the glint inside his sleeves.
"Mikhail." I don't take my eyes off Ruslan. "Clear the room."
My men file out immediately. Ruslan's men hesitate, looking to him for direction. He nods once, confident he can handle me alone.
Stupid.
Now it's just us.
"So, you want to renegotiate?" I ask conversationally.
“Yes, and I need to leave with the products tonight.” His eyes gleam greedily. “Did you say the rest are outside?”
It’s obvious he is just fishing.
“Yes, in crates, secured in the trucks outside.”
“Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you.” He smiles before pulling out his concealed weapon.
But I am faster and prepared for his stupid move.
I hit him before he finishes. Fast, brutal, my fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to send him stumbling back into the crates behind him.
He recovers faster than expected, reaches for his gun again, but I'm already moving. I grab his wrist, twist until I hear his bone crack, and the gun clatters to the concrete.
"Wrong move."
I break him methodically. Ribs first—three, four, five rapid strikes that leave him gasping. Then his fingers, bending each one back until they snap. His nose, crushed flat against his face. Several of his teeth, knocked loose with calculated strikes.
He's begging within five minutes. Offering the original price, offering to pay immediately, but I don't stop.
The motherfucker was going to kill me and stroll out of here with my goods.
When his face is unrecognizable, and he's choking on his own blood, I grab his head with both hands.
"Don't fucking disrespect me."
Then I slam his skull into the concrete floor. Once. Twice. Three times until it cracks open and blood pools across the warehouse floor.
The door bursts open. His men rush in, see their boss's corpse, and reach for weapons.
Mikhail and my team are faster. Gunfire echoes. Bodies drop. Over in thirty seconds.
I look down at my hands. Ruslan's blood covers them, dripping from my knuckles, staining my shirt. His brain matter smears my forearms.
Satisfaction pulses through me. Pure and clean. This is what happens when people think they can fuck with me.
"Clean sweep," Mikhail confirms. "No survivors."
"Good. Return the weapons. Keep the money. Send their heads back to the Chechen network with a message from me."
It's nearly 3 AM when I get home.
The house is dark, save for the security lights. I should shower, burn these clothes, but there's a light on in the kitchen.
Voices drift down the hallway. One small and frightened. One soft and soothing.
I move toward them.
Mila sits at the kitchen table in her white nightgown, small face blotchy from crying. Valerie sits beside her, one hand gently rubbing circles on my daughter's back.
"—and the princess realized she was braver than she thought," Valerie's saying softly. "Because bravery isn't about not being scared. It's about being scared and doing the brave thing anyway."
"But what if I'm never not scared?" Mila's voice breaks. "What if I'm scared forever?"
"Then you'll be the bravest person I know." Valerie's hand doesn't stop its gentle motion. "Because being scared and still getting up every day? That's the hardest kind of courage."
Mila sees me first.
Her eyes go wide, and this sound escapes her, part gasp, part whimper, and her whole body goes rigid.
Valerie follows her gaze.
The blood drains from her face when she sees me.
I look down at myself. Shirt soaked with blood spatter. Hands stained. Probably blood on my face and in my hair.
I move toward the sink without a word. Valerie shifts instinctively, putting herself between Mila and me. Protecting a child from a monster.
Smart girl.
I turn on the water and start washing. Blood swirls down the drain—red, then pink, then red again. My knuckles are split open, stinging. I can feel them both watching. Mila with wide, frightened eyes. Valerie with something closer to horror.
I turn my head while my hands are still under the running water.
Look directly at Valerie.
Hold her gaze.
This is what I do. This is who I am. And I don't give a fuck if it terrifies you.
Her breath quickens. I watch her chest rise and fall faster, watch her eyes drop to my bloodstained hands and linger there despite the horror on her face.
There it is again. That twisted arousal you don't understand.
I turn off the water and dry my hands on a kitchen towel. The white fabric comes away red.
"Milaya." I keep my voice soft for Mila's benefit. "Nightmare?"
She nods, not trusting her voice.
"The same one?"
Another nod.
The nightmare where her mother dies. Where she hears gunshots and screaming and can't do anything but hide.
My fault. All of it.
I move toward her slowly. She doesn't bolt. Just watches me with those too-old eyes.
When I'm close enough, I crouch beside her chair.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
She shakes her head quickly.
"That's okay." I reach out carefully and brush a curl away from her face. "But I'm here now. And nothing's going to hurt you. Okay?"
"Okay, Papa."
"Do you want me to sit with you until you fall back asleep?"
"Can Valerie stay too?"
The question catches us both off guard. Valerie's eyes widen, and I notice her weighing whether she wants to be in a room with me after what she just saw.
But she nods. "If your papa says it's okay."
I should say no. Should send her away.
But Mila's looking at me hopefully, and I've denied her too much already.
"She can stay."
Relief floods Mila's face. "Can we go to my room?"
"Yes. Come on."
I stand and offer my hand. She takes it without hesitation—small fingers wrapping around mine—and doesn't seem to notice or care about the blood still under my nails.
She trusts me. Even covered in someone else's blood, she trusts me.
We walk to Mila's room together. Me, my daughter, and the spy I should probably kill but won't. Not yet.
In Mila's room, I settle into the chair while Valerie helps Mila into bed. There's an ease between them that took Elena months to develop. Valerie adjusts blankets, checks the nightlight, and brushes hair back from Mila's forehead with gentle hands.
"Better?" she asks softly.
"Yes." Mila looks between us. "Will you both stay?"
"As long as you need," Valerie promises.
I nod once. "I'm not going anywhere."
Mila's eyes close. Within minutes, her breathing evens into sleep.
Valerie moves to leave, but I catch her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop her.
"Stay."
She freezes but doesn't pull away.
We sit there in darkness, watching my daughter sleep. The silence stretches until it becomes something else. Something charged and dangerous.
"You're good with her," I say finally. Not a compliment. Observation.
"She's easy to love." Valerie's voice is barely audible.
"Is she?" I release her wrist. "Or are you just good at pretending?"
"I'm not pretending." The defensiveness is immediate. Honest.
"No?" I stand, moving toward the door. Stop beside her chair. "The blood didn't surprise you as much as it should have. Which means you've seen violence before. Recently."
She doesn't answer.
"Who hurt you, Valerie?" The question comes out softer than intended. "Who made you understand what real fear looks like?"
Her breath catches. In the dim light, I see tears gathering.
"Goodnight, Mr. Volkov." She stands quickly and moves past me.
I let her go.
Because I'm getting closer. Closer to understanding what broke her. Closer to finding that darkness.
And when I do, everything changes.
I return to my office and pull up the surveillance feeds one more time. Review her phone records. The burner number called again tonight while I was at the warehouse.
Someone's putting pressure on her. Someone wants information badly enough to risk an amateur spy in my house.
I should be threatened.
Instead, I'm fascinated.
Valerie Novak is caught between two predators.
And I want to see which one breaks her first.
Or if that flash of darkness will surface and she'll break us both.
I close the laptop, planning tomorrow's tests.
More pressure. Closer proximity. Push until something cracks.
The mouse is useful. Good with my daughter. Easy to manipulate.
But the viper?
The viper is what I'm really hunting.
And I always catch what I hunt.
Always.