48. Hendrix
Hendrix
I may not have been able to get much info on the Salvinis thanks to Vic, but as for the Ivanovs? I guess he underestimated my ability to think quickly on my feet when left no other choice.
Names, addresses, places of business, were all found in less than two minutes before I crushed my cell phone under my sneaker and took off on my journey to the Ivanov stomping grounds. Which happens to be a Russian restaurant called Valeriya’s in the Upper West Side.
I could’ve gone for his house since it’s closer, but my guess is there’s a lot more security to shoot through than a store front.
My heart has been pounding and my hands have been shaking through the entire train ride from Chelsea, but I refuse to allow nerves to outweigh my determination to do what should have been done the second I was healed enough to get out of bed.
And that’s to get the revenge that Carlo deserves.
Besides, when everyone is convinced you’re crazy, what’s the point in wasting time not playing the part?
The city buzzes with life, and I slip through the masses as casually as one can while hiding a gun in the front pocket of a stolen hoodie. Which I knew was fucked up when I spotted it lying next to a sleeping homeless guy…but I’m not taking any chances getting caught by Big Brother stepfather.
So, for the last five minutes since exiting the train station, I’ve been making sure to keep my hood up, head down, and face away from the cameras lining the poles.
I’m five steps away from Dover Street when sweat pools at my neck, and my already pounding heart turns to furious bangs—because this means it’s only one more turn of a corner before I’m standing in front of Valeriya’s.
When I land on the street, I find it’s dim compared to the main ones, and it works in my favor.
The first round of second-guessing appears in flashed faces as I spot the restaurant:
My mother’s. Then Auntie. Even Bex with Archer.
Saint’s face follows right after, his crystal blue eyes pleading with me like they did earlier, and it damn near kills me.
Tears sting my eyes, knowing after tonight, chances are I won’t be getting lost in them ever again.
For a split second I consider turning around and running back into Saint’s arms that used to ground me, in hopes they’re still able to in spite of what he’s done.
The sad part is, I know they would, because deep down in my heart of hearts I’ve already forgiven him for his mistakes. Even if one of them includes my best friend.
Maybe it’s the fear of death talking, or the crazy, but just like the secret Saint kept about my father, I know if there’s any truth to what Annalie said, there has to be a valid reason for him to keep it from me.
It’s at this moment I realize this isn’t Saint’s face flashing in front of my eyes, it’s the personification of my entire life.
The good, bad, and ugly.
My feet are on the brink of turning around when another flash appears, this time of Carlo. His smile, his laugh, him with his arm outstretched holding open a door for me.
I hear his voice in my head, and it’s all encompassing, calling me signorina and asking me to correct his English:
“Pee…cuk?” Carlo shakes his head. “Oh, no, signorina. I no fall for it. You try to make-eh me say the funny word.”
“No, I’m not!” I laugh, pointing to where the bird is wide feathering us from behind the zoo fence. “That’s how you say peacock!”
“You do the same thing with the man’s name.”
“Dick really is short for Richard, Carlo!”
“Uffa!” He waves me off. “Let’s-eh go. You play too many the games.”
Tears fall, and my heart crumbles to pieces as I picture him reading the signs of every animal exhibit in Central Park Zoo, failing miserably at pronouncing the names.
The zoo was another attempt of Carlo’s to cheer me up after Saint and I cut ties the first time.
A long list of attempts following after.
Animals and signs begin to fade into a vision of dancing flames, growing quickly into a blazing fire coming from Carlo’s Escalade.
His charred remains.
His broken cornicello necklace.
Whatever consideration I had for turning around melts into blinding shades of orange and black.
I hear, but don’t see my feet as they stomp along the pavement, same goes for my hands when pulling the gun out of my hoodie pocket.
My lungs breathe the same flames raging inside my head, and a few steps later I’m across the small street of the restaurant. The flames have vanished, allowing me a view of the handful of men sitting around a table in the back.
I watch them laugh freely, breathe freely, live freely without fucks to give about everything they took from me.
Like a killswitch going off in my head, every sense of rage, pain, and grief I’m burning in shuts down. Leaving me with nothing but a voice screaming for me to carry out my vengeance.
So, after a quick kiss to Carlo’s gold horn, I raise the gun and release the safety, marching across the street as I pull the trigger.
A deafening crack bellows into the night as the first bullet shoots through the window, leaving it to shatter in a ceremony of glass.
Then…I shoot another.
And another.
Until I’m standing in front of the restaurant screaming at the top of my lungs…unleashing six more shots back to back.
Seconds after the shooting stops, I’m out of breath, dizzy, and being hit in the head with something hard.
“Wake up sleepy head…” a distorted female voice says right before a sharp slap whips me across the face.
“What the…?” I mumble, heavy eyes blinking open.
The person in front of me appears fuzzy at first, but when I’m slapped even harder adrenaline kicks in to jolt me awake.
I find a woman standing in front of me, dark hair, early twenties, dressed in all black leather. With a familiar accent and face I can’t quite put my finger on. That is, until she sneers, “Hendrix Montgomery, didn’t I tell you we have to stop meeting like this?”
The dressing room. The club. The questions.
All that’s missing is the flirting and blonde hair.
“Leerie?”
“In the flesh. Except my full name is Valeriya Ivanov. Eldest daughter of Nikolai Ivanov.”
I attempt to lunge at her, but a sharp sting radiates down both arms, and when I look I find them outstretched with ropes fastened around my wrists. My ankles are in a similar circumstance, except they’re tied to hooks on the floor.
Fucking fantastic.
“Nuh-uh-uh.” Leerie wags a finger at me. “I suggest you save your strength for when Boris joins the party.”
I spit in her face. “Fuck you.”
Leerie swipes the saliva off her cheek, then sucks in an angry, ragged breath. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
Add it to the damn list of stupid decisions .
“What does your piece of shit family want with me?”
“Have we not made ourselves clear yet? We want you dead for what your psycho father did to my brother . In fact, I traveled a long way from Russia to make sure it happens.”
“I didn’t even know who he was!”
“Yeah, well. You don’t have to know the king was your father in order to be deemed a princess.”
Struggling in the restraints, I bite out, “I’m gonna kill you, and your despicable father for what you did to Carlo.”
“Ha!” She claps her hands. “Funny you should mention Papa, because he’s on his way. And not very happy about the mess you made in his restaurant.”
“Too bad, so fucking sad.”
“Eh. Not too, too bad. Your aim sucks. All you managed was a nick to sweet Boris’ arm.”
Knowing my attempt to avenge Carlo was all for nothing has me brimming with a vicious fury—because now I’m most likely going to die, which makes it that much harder to try again.
“Oh, I can promise you I won’t be making that mistake a second time.”
“Talking a lot of shit for someone dangling from a basement ceiling.”
“Dirty ass basement, by the way.”
Shit, I already spotted two mice crawling on the floor.
“Sorry if our torture chamber doesn’t live up to your expectations. I’ll be sure to tell Boris to spruce it up with your blood.”
A knock comes from the door, and a moment later, it’s opening, revealing a huge shirtless bald guy with a bandaged arm holding a toolbox.
Fucking fantastic, squared.
“Ready for fun?” Leerie smiles devilishly.
“That depends…is your boy here to do some magic tricks?”
Boris grumbles some Russian under his breath, smacking the toolbox onto a nearby wooden table.
“If magic includes removing fingers, sure.”
“I think I’ve seen a trick or two like that.”
Leerie’s eyes sparkle with something ugly, and I’m hit with another slap to the face. “Why aren’t you scared? You should be scared!”
A really good question, and if I had to guess the answer, it’d have something to do with rage.
“Because that would involve entertainment on your end. I prefer to make your trip from Mother Russia just as useless as my trip here.”
“Go ahead…keep making things worse for yourself.”
“Didn’t quite need your permission, but thanks.”
Leerie huffs. “My sister mentioned you’d be a tough nut to crack.”
Ah, yes, her cunt bubble younger sister Alexis who disappeared from Riverside last year. “Skank should know, she sucked the majority of them in Riverside.”
“You know what they say...takes a skank to know a skank.”
“Good comeback, bruh. Why don’t you untie me so I can give you a fist bump?”
“Ha-ha.” Leerie mocks me. “Nice try.”
Eh. Mediocre at best.
“Anywho, Hendrix Montgomery. I’m going to let Boris here get to work. I’ll come back after you’re humbled a bit.”
Snarling, I respond, “Mark my words…you will be the one to die tonight, Leerie. You and your precious papa.”
Leerie winks, then, without another word, exits the room, leaving me to face the ogre shadowing my body holding a knife.
Lifting it to the collar of my hoodie, Boris mutters, “I prefer easier access.”
I’m already wiggling when he makes the first slice, which does nothing but cut narrow lines down my chest. Hot torrents of pain stream through me, but I swallow a scream, unwilling to give this motherfucker any satisfaction.
Not even when my naked breasts are exposed to him.
By the time Boris gets to my leggings, though, I force myself to remain still to avoid bleeding out through my vagina, doing the same the rest of the way down to my ankles.
Last goes my panties, resulting in the first cry slipping past my lips—because now I’m hung up, my entire naked body on show for a homicidal stranger.
“You have very nice body,” Boris comments matter-of-factly in his heavy Russian accent. “Nice and thick…how I like it.”
I’d take it as a compliment if it didn’t sound like he’s referring to a steak. At this point, the best I can hope for is a quick and painless death, something proven fruitless as he slices a line, slow and steady, down my thigh.
There’s no holding back the agonizing scream anymore.
Which, of course, has the guy in front of me on his haunches letting out a satisfied noise.
Not enough to add a second line, though.
“Consider yourself on the list of fuckers dying tonight,” I sputter, which is quickly followed by another slice. This time fast, deep, and dangerously close to my vagina.
“I like your tattoo,” Boris states, unaffected by the threat or my scream. “Very fitting for a pretty princess. Just missing one thing.” A moment later the tip of his knife is cutting into skin again.
The sounds bursting out of me are incoherent, desperate, as I watch him carve a bloody crown above my zinnia.
Using the only defense I have on hand, or should I say mouth , I spit on Boris’ head, finally rattling his cage enough to spring to his feet.
Epic win and fail as he strikes me in the face with the back of his hand, making my cheek sting and head whip to the side so hard I’m dizzy.
Warm blood trickles down my lips, adding a maniacal twist to the smile spreading them. “For a big guy…you sure do hit like a pretty princess.”
Crack goes the other cheek.
Unlike the first slap, this one has tingles erupting under my skin, adding an odd burst of energy that has my smile welcoming a full on belly laugh. “A little better, keep up the practice and you’ll move up to HPIC in no time.”
Dirty nails claw into my cheeks. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you, princess?”
“Sounds a lot more like you think I’m funny.”
A slow, dangerous sound rises from Boris’s chest. “There it is…”
“There’s what?”
“The same spark in your eyes as your father.”
“I’m nothing like that sick fuck!”
Boris points his knife at me. “Well, you better hope so, princess, because crazy people are much more fun for me to break.”