49. Saint
Saint
“ A re you there yet?” Archer asks anxiously through the phone, the tires of his Porsche screeching against the pavement as I make a quick left. “One minute out. Where’s my dad?”
“Looks like he’s still on his way to the Ivanov mansion. The accident must’ve slowed him down too.”
Good.
Exactly what I was riding on, sans the fucking fender bender that added an extra twenty minutes on the highway.
It didn’t take long after my conversation with Bex and Archer for my dad to catch on about Hendrix’s whereabouts, given they’re exactly where he feared she’d end up from the beginning after learning the truth.
His major mistake was assuming she’d be stupid enough to head for the nearest Ivanov residence where there’s twenty-four hour muscle guarding the perimeter.
Hendrix is on a desperate mission as much as I am: her to kill and me to stop her from getting killed. Something made clear I can’t trust my father to do.
It’s why I made sure to be convincing when I promised him I would stay put, even handed over my keys for him to take my Rover.
But the second he was gone, and Cray’s dad picked up June and Poppy, I had Archer tossing me his keys, switching phones as I jumped into his Porsche.
Now, here I fucking am, about to roll up on Nikolai Ivanov’s restaurant, with nothing but Halo, boiling rage, and the pistol I keep around for rainy, deadly nights like this one.
And make no mistake…someone will be dying tonight.
But it won’t be my little Jimi Hendrix.
“They’re moving again!” Archer announces frantically as I approach a red light, gunning the engine to fly past it and turn onto a one way street.
“Still on the highway?”
“One stop from the exit.”
Fuck.
A drive by the mansion is all my dad will need to know that the fight isn’t there.
GPS says I’m two blocks from Valeriya’s, so on the off chance of getting spotted, I pull in front of the nearest fire hydrant and kill the engine, then jump out of the car to run the rest of the way.
“Keep tracking my dad and his men. If you don’t hear from me in twenty, call Levi. He’ll know what to do.”
“Saint!” Bex’s cry rings through the speaker. “Please…save her.”
Bex’s words play as an invisible fist tightening my chest, but I don’t allow myself the chance to consider the alternative before responding with, “Twenty minutes,” and ending the call.
My insides burn with a vengeance as I run uphill to get to Dover Street, but burn even harder when I stop in the shadows twenty feet from the restaurant. Which, judging by the broken glass windows, I’m too little too fucking late.
They’ve got Hendrix, or even worse…
I shake the idea, latching on to the reminder of who Hendrix is, and how she’d mean more to the Ivanovs alive if they want to rile a response from Dante Salvini.
Doesn’t mean they won’t be making her capture worthwhile.
My knuckles ball to fists, and the more I picture what can be happening to Hendrix, the higher my temperature rises.
There’s nothing I hate more than walking into a fight without a plan of attack, but given I’m at least forty minutes too late to execute the one I had, I guess I’ll have to wing it and hope these motherfuckers don’t kill me before I get to Hendrix.
With Halo tight around my knuckles, and the gun at my side, I storm across the street to the restaurant, finding only a couple men and the Ivanov’s friendly crooked police chief inside shooting the shit.
Gun raised and cocked, I swing the door open, being met with three of the guys spinning around to point their guns back at me.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Who?” one with a buzz cut and heavy Russian accent asks through a malicious grin.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about, motherfucker. Now tell me where she is or your head’s about to get a nine millimeter hole in it.”
He nods to the guy next to him, then the police chief. “Yours would follow right after.”
Tension builds in the back of my throat, restricting oxygen and my ability to think about anything other than white hot rage building alongside it.
The clock is ticking, and these three pieces of shit are making it tick even faster.
My eyes remain locked on the guy as I shoot a warning shot downward, making the bullet hit the floor barely an inch from where he’s standing.
A dangerous risk to take, given it’s three guns against one, but guys like these know a police chief can only go so far with covering up murder in one night.
Besides, buzz cut knows who I am, and who my father is.
It would be one hell of a he-said-he-said against a man who’s got heavy ties to the government.
“Oh, you are one foolish little shit.” Buzz cut grates after jumping out of the way.
“This is the last time I’ll be asking nicely. Where the fuck is Hendrix?”
“Now, now, boys. Let’s play nice.” A heavier Russian accent comes from behind the three stooges, and I don’t need to see the fucker to know it’s Nikolai Ivanov. When I do, though, my self-restraint ticks away just as fast as the clock.
In the flesh he stands at buzz cut’s side, black turtleneck reaching just below the beard he’s scratching.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Saint Lavell. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”
I point the gun at his head. “Odd, since I tend to be a prick.”
“Prick or not, your reputation precedes you.”
“Thanks, pal. Now be a doll and take me to Hendrix so I don’t have to kill your friends.”
The piqued interest as Nikolai tilts his head acts as the reassurance I need to know that Hendrix is still alive. Knowing this has the tension easing on my throat just enough to expel a slight breath.
Can’t say the same for the rage.
“Your stepsister? Of course.” Nikolai folds his arms. “I’ll be more than happy to take you to her.”
My feet make it barely a step before he holds up a finger. “But first, a little precautionary measures.”
Buzz cut strides over, making it a point to shove me before yanking the gun from my hand, then repeats the process with Halo.
I bare my teeth as he starts to search me. “That eager to meet your maker?”
The fucker chuckles, but says nothing, probably because two seconds later he’s cracking me upside my head with my own pistol.
I’m shot awake with a gasp as a bucket of ice water pours over my head, and when I blink past the frozen water I find Nikolai bent eye-to-eye with me.
“Good morning, Saint Lavell.” He curls his lip. “Sleep well?”
“Not as well as you’ll be sleeping by the end of the night.”
“Oh, c’mon. Why the threats? I’m only doing what you asked.”
Nikolai stands, holding his arm out to reveal the scene behind him, which has me thrashing like a wild beast against the chair my wrists and ankles are tied to.
It’s Hendrix, barely conscious, suspended naked and spread eagle from the ceiling. Blood drips from the dozens of cuts along her body, even her head as it hangs in front of her.
“Jimi!” I call out in a scream but get nothing more than a faint groan.
My eyes slice to Nikolai.
“I swear to fucking God you’re a dead man walking.”
“Such big threats from an eighteen year old boy.”
“I’m not just any eighteen year old boy, trust me.”
“Maybe so, but you’re in no position to carry out threats being tied to a chair.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Through a yawn, Nikolai responds, “In spite of what the princess did to my restaurant, I’m in a good mood, and good moods make me do nice things to those about to die.
” He gestures to Boris, his trusty torture-executioner, covered in what I’m sure is Hendrix’s blood.
“So Boris and I will give you some time with the princess before you watch him continue to have his way with her.”
They walk out together, muttering some shit in Russian, and the second the door closes I’m working the bindings around my wrists.
Moments pass as I wiggle and scratch them up and down the chair, the only other sound in the room being water dripping in the distance.
That is, until I hear Hendrix’s faint voice.
“You should’ve told me…” she says groggily, still hanging her head.
I suck in a deep breath, wanting nothing less than to waste precious time I could be using to get Hendrix out of here. But the fact of the matter is, I’ve already accepted I may not be leaving with her. Therefore, no time like the next two minutes to spill my guts again.
“I was gonna tell you, I swear. So many times, but shit just kept getting in the way.”
Hendrix finally manages to lift her head, and when I see how swollen and bruised her face is I have to fight every molecule inside me not to burst into flames.
The only reason I win is because I’m transferring the energy into my wrists trying to break free.
“Tell me about which part, huh? Luca or Bex?”
“Jimi…the thing with Bex is not what you think.”
She huffs. “Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
“It does fucking matter.”
Hendrix chokes a few times, then spits a wad of blood on the ground. “Fine. Then go ahead and tell me when you fucked my best friend.”
“I didn’t fuck Bex. I swear.”
“Annalie told a very different story before I knocked her ass out.”
“I don’t give a fuck what that bitch said. What happened between Cray, Bex, and me was simply an attempt to help my best friend be there for his girl.”
She lets out a derisive huff. “Seriously? You expect me to believe you hooked up with my best friend because your best friend, who’s even more possessive and psychotic than you are, asked you to?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Just without having sex.”
“I’ll bite.” She spits more blood on the ground. “When did Crayton ask you to ‘help him be there for his girl’?”
“The night of Bex’s birthday.”
Hendrix pierces me with the only eye still open. “The night she was—?”
“Yes,” I answer instantly, not wanting to put any more negative juju into the air around us. “Cray needed to comfort her…and needed me to teach him how.”
Hendrix stays quiet for a few beats, amidst a struggle between thinking and fighting to hold up her head.