Chapter 11 Fyodor
FYODOR
The door to the apartment swings open, and I know immediately that we're too late. Vasili moves past me into the small living room with his weapon drawn and his boots leaving wet footprints on the carpet, and I follow behind him. But I know what we'll find.
"Check the bedroom," I grumble, moving toward the kitchen where I can already see dirty dishes piled in the sink.
The trash bin overflows with takeout containers and empty bottles, plastic bags stuffed so full the lid won't close properly.
I pull one of the containers out and check the receipt stapled to the side, reading the date printed at the top—two days ago.
I slam my fist against the counter hard enough to make all the dishes in the sink rattle and clank against each other.
Vasili appears in the doorway with his weapon holstered now. "The bed's not made and dirty clothes are scattered…" He scowls at me. He can probably read my fucking mind.
"He was here two days ago at most." I hold up the receipt so he can see the date. "They moved him after we hit those houses the other night. Dammit!"
"Boss, we should leave now." Vasili sounds a bit tense, and for good reason. "If they moved him recently, there's a good chance they're watching this place to see if we show up."
He's right, and I know it, but I can't make myself move away from this counter where evidence of Marat's recent presence sits mocking me. Knowing he was here only a day or so ago makes my blood boil. I was so close to putting this behind me, and now the hunt continues, probably out of the city too.
When I hear a car door slamming outside, I know we're made. My eyes meet Vasili's as he starts to move, and I'm on his heels like a flash. Neither one of us wants to end up with a gut full of lead tonight. We bolt out the door and across the porch as the authorities begin surrounding the place.
Officers spill from three vehicles with guns already raised and trained on us, voices barking commands to halt and raise our hands. I ignore every word. My pistol clears the holster as I run, and I squeeze off two rounds toward the nearest threats.
Return fire erupts instantly, sharp cracks rebounding off the apartment walls and pounding inside my skull until my ears ring. A hot line of pain slices across my left bicep, sharp enough to stagger me for half a stride, but I regain balance and push harder toward our car parked two blocks away.
We reach the car, and Vasili throws himself into the driver's seat while I grab for the passenger door handle.
I fall into the seat more than climb into it, pulling the door shut as Vasili starts the engine.
The car lurches forward with enough force to throw me back against the seat, and he weaves between parked vehicles while bullets punch through the rear windshield.
"How bad is it?" Vasili takes a corner so fast, the tires squeal against asphalt.
"Just grazed my arm, nothing serious." I pull up my jacket sleeve to examine the wound, seeing the torn fabric and the shallow cut beneath that's bleeding a little. "Keep driving and lose them."
Vasili jerks the wheel into a series of sharp turns and the car's tires scream against wet pavement while sirens howl and lights strobe across the mirrors. A pursuing police cruiser rams our rear with a bone-jarring crunch that snaps my head forward.
I twist around and squeeze off four rounds through the fractured back glass, and sparks fly from their hood as the driver swerves. Another police car surges up on our left, close enough for me to see the officer's face in the window. He looks terrified. Good, he should be.
Vasili cuts hard right down a tight alley, and the flanking car brakes too late and overshoots the entrance, slamming into the building on the opposite side. But it doesn't stop the cars behind him.
Fog starts rolling in thick from the river as we burst onto the frontage road, and headlights behind us multiply for a moment, then blur and scatter in the mist. Vasili floors it straight through the haze, pushing the car's engine to its limits until we've put a distance between them and us, and we can relax a little and pray they're far behind us.
Vasili checks the mirrors several times and makes a few unnecessary turns to make sure we're not being followed. My arm burns where I was grazed, and the bleeding hasn't let up, though it's not horrible.
"Are you hit bad?" he asks as I look over my shoulder for good measure. We can't allow them to follow this car back to my home. I won’t go to prison over that rat who needs to be caged.
"Nah, it's just a graze… I'll be fine," I tell him, turning back to face forward now that I'm sure we're not being tailed.
"But this means we'll have a lot more work to do…
" I'm furious, but I knew I was taking a risk waiting.
It's just impossible to do what I need to do when I have baggage sitting around my home in the form of a child.
"We'll get him, Boss," Vasili says, attempting to encourage me, but it's no use.
"Take me home," I growl, and I press my eyes shut to block out at least some of the stimuli that threatens to cause my temper to erupt.
We park in the garage and the door rumbles shut behind us.
Vasili grabs the medical kit from the trunk while I head inside through the side door.
Hallway lights turn on automatically as we walk to the kitchen where I pull off my shirt and drop it on the floor.
Blood has dried around the laceration on my left bicep, a shallow divot three inches long that has now scabbed over.
Vasili opens the kit on the island and in lieu of real antiseptic wash, pours vodka onto gauze. The alcohol burns when he presses it against the wound, but he cleans the area quickly and wraps fresh bandages around my arm.
This should never have happened. Marat should be belly up right now and he's still out there being protected by men who think they're doing this world a service. In reality, they are protecting a liar who may very well get the boss's wife imprisoned for life.
"You're right. The bullet only grazed the surface," he says. "It should heal without stitches if you keep it clean."
I flex my arm once to test the wrap. "Good. Make coffee while I go check my messages. The boss may have sent an update."
He starts the machine as I walk to the study and close the door behind me. I lean against the desk and examine the wound again under better light. The scrape looks minor now that the blood is gone, but it still hurts like a motherfucker, and it's proof I'm a failure.
Yuri will be devastated if I fail and this thing goes to trial.
Inessa is innocent, from everything I can tell, and though I wasn't there, I tend to believe my boss over a rat of a man who didn't have the guts to leave his little hiding place to save his supposed partner.
Marat has to be taken out and I will be the one to do it.
I pour whiskey, which I pull out of my desk drawer onto a clean cloth until it's soaked.
The liquid burns cold then hot when I press it against my bloody knuckles, cleaning the blood little by little.
There are still tiny cuts there from busting heads in that safehouse a few days ago, and they sting as I wipe the fresh blood off my fingers and think of how badly I want to nab this asshole.
The door opens after a soft knock and Noemi walks in and stops a few steps across the threshold. Her eyes roam over my face and down to my bare chest and arms covered in tattoos, then down to the fresh bandage. Color rises in her cheeks.
"Do you need something?" I ask.
She blinks a few times and looks at my face like she's trying to stop herself from staring. "I didn't know you were hurt. What happened to your hands?"
"Work happened." I pour more whiskey onto fresh cloth. "Why are you here?"
"Here, let me help," she says, moving toward me, but I don't need or want help.
I'm still angry the entire mission got fucked up, and the last thing I want is her in here mothering me.
But when she reaches for the cloth, I don't stop her.
Seeing the way her eyes attempt to lock onto my wounds but still manage to bounce up to seemingly admire my toned muscles is comical and somewhat arousing.
She stands close and takes my hand gently, dabbing whiskey on the splits. Her fingers feel cool against my skin as she works carefully.
"What really happened tonight?" she asks.
"Police showed up at a location I was checking. We fought our way out… The knuckles are from something else. I'm just cleaning off blood from the gunshot wound on my arm."
Noemi's shoulders stiffen and she locks eyes with me. "You were shot?"
"Listen, it's nothing. You let me worry about this. I'm not dead yet."
"They're still injuries." She cleans another knuckle.
"What happens to Sasha if you don't come home one night?
" Her eyes return to my bloody knuckles which truly don't need her attention, but I respect that her nurturing nature won't shut off.
Besides, she's a little flustered, and watching her cheeks tinge pink as her tongue flicks over her bottom lip a few times is cute.
"Nothing's going to happen, okay?" She's not asking for reassurance and I'm not giving it. Her questions are accusatory, bent toward making me feel guilty because I take risks. Well, that's just the life I live.
"Nobody can promise that when fights turn violent." She finishes wiping my hand and starts working up my arm. "Sasha needs a father who comes home every day and cares for him." With her work finished, she steps back, holding the bloodstained cloth in front of her clasped in both hands.
"Why did you come here?" I ask again, annoyed that she thinks she can lecture me. Some of her skills with children seem useful, but micromanaging my work flow won't ever be a thing I let her do—attractive or not.
"I need supplies for Sasha's lessons. Textbooks for his grade, workbooks, paper, pencils, art materials. He shouldn't fall behind."
"Make a list and give it to Lazar. You'll get everything." I wave her off and pick up the bottle of whiskey and drink a long pull straight from the lip.
"You'll buy whatever I ask for?" she asks incredulously. Her jaw drops and her eyes go wider.
"Anything he needs for education," I say, pulling my chair out and sitting down.
Noemi's eyes graze over my chest again so I tighten my core, push my chest out a fraction of an inch, just to make sure my rigid muscles catch her eye. If she wants to look, I'll give her something to look at.
"Yes. well…" Her throat works as she swallows and looks down at her hands still cradling the bloody rag.
"That's very generous." Her tone has shifted now, and she sounds baffled but not ungrateful.
To me, it sounds like she came in here thinking she'd have a fight on her hand and got completely taken by surprise.
If I had to guess, Ms. Dragunova is aroused by me and she's a bit flustered and upset with herself for letting my body affect her.
"Is there anything else you need?" I ask, softer now and with a hint of suggestion in my tone. "Anything at all?"
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and like a deer in headlights her pupils are blown wide and her eyebrows wide. Her lips are flushed darker than the color of her tongue, which again flicks over her bottom lip, and I smile at her, though my eyes narrow.
"Because I want you to be comfortable and have everything you need."
Noemi looks away sharply, then takes a few steps toward the desk and lays the cloth down.
It's like she's ready to run, but I snatch her wrist and hold her there.
My touch is very gentle, though she won't look at me, and I'm not trying to embarrass her or hurt her.
I just want to make it very obvious to her that I've seen the way she's looking at me.
"Please tell me if there is anything I can give you or do for you to help you relax and settle in." My thumb brushes over her knuckles, deepening the blush on her cheeks by several shades.
"Uh, just… School supplies," she chokes out, and I smirk at the effect I have on her. Then she darts out the door like I've burned her with my gaze and I chuckle to myself.
Every cloud has a silver lining, I suppose, and Ms. Noemi Dragunova's attraction to me might just be the simple pleasure I get to enjoy for enduring the frustration life has dealt me by shifting so hard.
Whether she ever admits it or not, I know what she was just thinking, and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing how that would play out. But I have to focus on finding my target and eliminating him first.
After that, I can explore the spark of chemistry I just uncovered. I'll call that my reward for a job well done.