21. Tamara
TAMARA
My pussy is still tingling when I get out of Finn’s bed, pull on my clothes, and sneak through his apartment to the front door. I can hear him singing in the shower, a song I don’t recognize, lyrics that evoke no memories in me because I’ve never heard the tune before.
My panties rub between my legs, and my clit spasms from the orgasms that seem to erupt on touch these days. I could turn around, get undressed, climb back into his still-warm bed and ask him to fuck me again while he is still wet from the shower.
It’s tempting.
My hesitancy will be no consolation for Finn when he discovers what I’m about to do, but I have to see it through. For Ivana’s sake. Once I know that she is safe, I can focus on Finn and think about the future.
I take a deep breath, open the door, and step outside onto the landing where the lights are too bright and the peepholes in the other doors are watching me.
Then I lock the door behind me and pocket both keys, mine and Finn’s.
I slide the burner phone from my pocket, locate the only number added to the Contacts App, and type out a message:
I’m sorry, Finn. I have to do this alone. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back.
I hit send, pocket the phone, and leave the apartment building via the rear exit.
I take a taxi to the address given to me by the skipper of the boat at the docks earlier today.
I don’t know what I’ll find. I don’t even know if he was telling me the truth or if the Petrovs convinced him to give me this information with threats to end his life slowly and with an extreme amount of pain.
But it’s the only lead I have, and I will never forgive myself if I don’t at least check it out.
Besides, I saw the way his eyes darkened when he talked about Ivana.
Yelena as he knew her. Why else would he have gone to the trouble of tracking down the Russians when she boarded their boat and didn’t come back?
Apparently, one of the men in black left carrying a briefcase and having changed into a smart silver suit shortly after my sister was taken below deck.
The skipper, Matt, jumped on his motorcycle and trailed him to an aircraft boneyard thirty minutes north of Chicago, and watched him fly away on a light aircraft.
He spoke to the police, but without Ivana’s real name and a photograph of her, they filed his report and followed the usual process but didn’t hold out much hope of anyone coming forward with information.
Until I showed up, and he saw the resemblance.
I didn’t tell Finn. It wasn’t a conscious decision; I’d fully intended to get him and Aiden on board with visiting the disused hangar.
But then Aiden suggested that Ivana might’ve sold out to another Russian organization, a Bratva family who didn’t know about her injuries and saw her as a hook to reel in the Ivanovs. And I swallowed the information on the tip of my tongue, keeping it to myself.
I always knew I would be the one to find her.
And when I do, it will just be the two of us again, the way it has always been.
Ignoring the ache in my chest when I think about Finn, I ask the taxi driver to stop far enough away from the hangar that no one will see the lights or hear the engine.
Then I approach the building on foot, a gun in each pocket, blades on the inside of my jacket and tucked inside my boots, and the burner phone weighing me down with Finn’s green eyes and cute dimples.
I slide it out, remove the battery and SIM, and scatter the pieces across the overgrown land surrounding the hangar.
A sob sticks in my throat. I don’t want to hurt Finn.
He is the only person I’ve ever known who loves me without wanting anything in return, but that will change when this baby is born.
I will no longer be the sexy enforcer he fell in love with.
I won’t be his butterfly. In all the time he has known me, I’ve been searching for my sister.
I’ve no home to call my own. I don’t even possess a weapon that belongs to me.
Then the baby will arrive, and I’ll be a mom.
I’ll be dependent on him for a roof over our heads, money, food, all the things that he can give us, and would do so willingly because he loves me.
But what kind of mom would I be to this child if I couldn’t provide these things myself?
What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t do everything I could to find their auntie?
The building is in darkness when I circle it, sticking to the overgrown weeds, nettles, and vines clambering up the external walls and feasting on the roof.
I didn’t expect my target to be here—if he were that easy to track, then Leonid would’ve found him first—but when I raise the shutters and let myself into the hangar, my heart tries to jump from my chest.
A light aircraft is sitting there, ready and waiting to be used.
Not the bones of an ancient airplane once used by the army. Not some rusty metal corpse, moldy from lack of use, covered in dust and mulch and stringy weeds.
No. This aircraft looks like a one-owner car that has been washed and polished once a week since it was built, standing proud in the middle of the hangar with the cockpit door open.
Sticking to the shadows, I close the shutters behind me, wander through to the small office attached to the building, and let myself in through a smashed window. The annex resembles a greenhouse rather than an office, taken over by plants allowed to scatter seeds and spread as nature intended.
If the man Matt saw was part of the Petrov organization, he has been using this place solely as a means of transport; it’s on no one’s radar, unless someone with a passion for disused hangars happens to drive past, his aircraft is hidden, and he can get away while the deal takes place at the port.
Is Leonid aware?
No. He would’ve rescued Ivana if he knew where she was being held. I have to believe that, or my whole life will have been a lie, a fantasy created by a powerful man who fed us hope and then used us anyway. Not in the same way as these perverted fuckers, but still with his own end game in mind.
Not ours.
Headlights slice through the vegetation growing wild around the hangar, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Tonight, I’m the hunter, not the hunted.
I refuse to bring my baby into a world where women and children get trafficked by scum like the Petrovs while the people in power turn the other way, and it starts right now.
I slip back inside the hangar, closing the door to the annex behind me, and climb inside the cockpit of the waiting aircraft.
It’s cramped. There’s barely enough room for the pilot and passenger seats. But a curtain separates the small cabin from the empty storage unit, and I fold myself onto a shelf with my knees touching my chin, slide my gun out of my pocket. And wait.
I can feel my heartbeat thudding against my thighs. Finn’s cum trickles out of my pussy and soaks through my panties, and when I suck in a deep breath, I can smell sex on me. I can smell Finn on me.
I pray the sick fuck doesn’t have a great sense of smell or he’ll sniff me out before he has even warmed up the engine.
The aircraft jolts when someone else climbs aboard.
I listen to them moving about and settling into the pilot’s seat, flicking buttons like they’re getting to grips with a new gaming console.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I must time this right. Too soon, and I risk revealing myself when he might still be waiting for a passenger. Too late and we’ll be in the air.
I feel the vibrations of the engine beneath me before it rumbles to life.
Pulling the curtain back a fraction, I note the pilot has his back to me, his briefcase is on the passenger seat, but the cockpit door is still open.
He isn’t waiting for someone. At least not on the ground.
He’s staring at the dashboard, probably waiting for the green light to claim the air space that he needs to complete his journey.
I glance beyond him at the night sky through the open hangar shutters and see his hazy reflection in the windshield.
Fuck! He’ll see me coming unless I wait until he dims the lights, but I can’t risk waiting until he has closed the door.
His cell phone rings, the tinny tune strumming inside my chest and accelerating my pulse.
The pilot answers the call, wedges the device between his chin and shoulder, and unlocks the briefcase.
He speaks in Russian, his voice so low and quick I can’t keep up, but I understand the words ‘port’ and ‘arrival’ as he pulls a document from the briefcase and rests it on the dashboard in front of him.
He has a schedule of shipments entering the Port of Chicago.
My heart is thudding so hard it’s making me feel queasy, but I push it to the back of my mind, unfold my trembling legs, and ready my weapons.
He’s still talking when I burst through the curtain, press my gun to the side of his neck with one hand, and slice through his fingers with the blade in my other hand.
I don’t cut deep enough to sever his fingertips, but he drops the phone and I stamp on it with my foot, stabbing the blade through the back of his hand as he tries to reach his gun.
My finger presses the trigger of the gun at his neck, and he freezes.
“I will shoot you,” I say in Russian.
“Who are you?”
I face his reflection in the windshield. If Leonid had shared his intel on the Petrovs with me, I might’ve recognized him, but the suit is expensive, the briefcase smells as if it was once worn by an endangered species, and something about him is strangely familiar.
Bile rises in my throat.
“I’m asking the questions.” At least my voice doesn’t give me away. “What is your name?”
His reflection smirks back at me. “Original.”
I hit the back of his skull with the butt of the gun, buying myself a moment to slide another blade from my pocket.
He follows the movement in the glass and grips my wrist, but not before I sink the knife into his shoulder as he tries to drag me forward and slam me into the controls.
He relinquishes his grip to try pulling the knife out of his shoulder, but I slip around in front of him, pressing the gun to his temple.
“Name.”
“I could lie to you, of course, and you’ll never know my real name.”
He has the arrogance of a sick fuck.
I put a bullet through his other hand and move the gun back to his temple. “Last chance.”
“Mikhail Petrov.” There’s a hint of pain in his voice now.
“Who runs the trafficking operation in and out of the Port of Chicago?”
His mouth curves into an unpleasant smile, lips curled away from his gums. “You’re assuming it isn’t me.”
I narrow my eyes and listen to my gut. “You follow orders. It isn’t you.”
“Why should I tell you? You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make you suffer.”
His smile fades. “Only if I don’t kill you first.”
I shoot his left foot. He uses the distraction to reach for the gun at his side with his bloody hand, but he’s too slow. I force the barrel of my gun between his lips and tilt his head backwards.
“Are you going to give me a name? Blink once for yes.” I don’t bother giving him an option for no.
He blinks once. I slide the gun out of his mouth slowly and move it back to his temple.
“Boris Petrov. He is my father.” He clenches his jaw against the pain in his extremities.
“Where is my sister?” I demand.
“How the fuck would I—”
I press a little harder on the trigger. Sweat beads on his clammy forehead; it’s unattractive, and my stomach tightens.
“Yelena?” He raises his brows quizzically.
“Yes.” My pulse races. He knows where Ivana is.
I told myself that I would find her, but I didn’t think about the moment when hope would become reality because I didn’t want to jinx it.
He smiles, and terror solidifies inside my gut.
“She is being held captive on a cargo ship owned by my father.”
I guessed as much, but something tells me that he’s saving the best for last.
“Where is this ship?”
“Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.” He’s enjoying this way too much.
I’m the one holding the gun, but he is holding something far more valuable: information.
“More specific.”
“Without access to port equipment, it’s impossible.” He goes to shrug and remembers the blade protruding from his shoulder.
“Let me help you.” I pull the dagger out and hold it in front of his face so that he can see his own blood. “Hmm, maybe I should’ve left it in the wound to stem the flow.”
“All right, I’ll tell you.” He glances down, searching for the document on the floor where he dropped it, now staining red with blood from his hands. “The ship will arrive in Chicago shortly. But your sister isn’t on it.”
No. No. No. The terror spreads slowly through my body, growing as it moves.
“Where is she?”
“When I said the ship was in the Atlantic Ocean, I meant to say your sister.”
Confusion bubbles behind my eyes, making it difficult to think. “What do you mean?”
“I mean my father generously shared his hospitality with her, and she repaid him by trying to steal cargo from his ship.”
“Cargo?” I swallow hard when a mental image flashes behind my eyes, of Ivana trying to set dying human beings free from a metal container while these slimy fuckers drink vodka below deck. “You mean women and children.”
“Well, if you’re being specific, yes.”
I drag the gun down the side of his face and shove it up beneath his chin. “What. Happened. To. My. Sister?”
“What happens to anyone who tries to steal from my father? She joined the cargo until the time was right and then she got thrown overboard.”
It’s hard to breathe, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing what effect his words have had on me. I’m doing this for Ivana. For me. For the life growing inside my belly.
“When?”
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even squirm when he says, “About thirty minutes ago. If you’re fast, you might rescue her before hypothermia sets in. If you can find her in the dark that is.”
I ram the gun harder into his chin and feel the movement of his Adam’s apple as he tries to swallow. “How do you sleep at night?”
“The same way you do.” His eyes become slits. “Don’t think you’re any better than me. You kill people for a living too.”
“The difference is, I kill people the world won’t miss. Will anyone miss you, Mikhail, when you’re gone?”
His top lip curls into a snarl. “Why don’t you shoot me and find out?”
“Because a bullet is too good for you.” I lean over him so that he understands what I’m about to say. “And because I want you to pass a message onto your father. Tell him that I’m coming for him, and there will be nowhere for him to hide.”
I stand back and fire a bullet into each of his knees.
Then I pick up the bloody schedule and jump out of the aircraft.