Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The thugs had just entered the kitchen. Saskia could tell because they were banging around, knocking things over and swearing loudly.
She squeezed herself even tighter against the metal rack as a pot banged against the wall over her head.
She was a sitting duck if they looked around the corner, which of course they eventually would.
She frantically searched for an escape, catching the eyes of the server who had helped her the first time. The poor woman was stiff, her face petrified as she clutched the tray with the soup, but when she noticed Saskia looking at her, she jerked her head.
Saskia looked to where she was nodding and noticed another door. It had the Afrikaans word for storage on it.
She scrambled on all fours toward it as the sound of smashing dishes followed her.
“Where is she?” One of the thugs bellowed in Russian.
Russian? Why were the Russians after her? It was suicide to go after the family of someone as high up in the Bratva as Jozef. Maybe these guys weren’t affiliated with the Bratva? Or maybe they didn’t know who she was. Regardless, she wasn’t sticking around to find out.
She started moving again, flinching at the explosion of broken glass as a stack of dishes hit the floor.
They were threatening to kill everyone if they didn’t give her up.
God, she hoped the kitchen staff wouldn’t out her, but at the same time, she understood.
None of them owed her anything and why would they die for her?
The ideal scenario was the bad guys going straight out the back door while van guy ran around the front of the building to see if she went that way.
Crouching by the storage room, she braced her shoulder against the heavy door, then crawled through the small gap she’d made. She softly closed the door behind her, then turned her attention to the muffled shouting on the other side.
Where was the hotel’s security? Whenever she stayed at this hotel, she spotted them everywhere. It’s part of the reason the Prime Minister’s office liked to book it. She didn’t remember seeing them at all as she was running through the lobby.
She turned and found herself looking at shadows created by a set of dim utility lights high up on the wall.
She squinted, thinking she could see stairs and moved forward, her arms outstretched against the wall as she tried to walk cautiously but also speedily.
She needed to find a place to hide, and quick.
A high scream from the kitchen had her gasping. Oh god, were they hurting someone?
The rush of adrenalin shooting through her made her move faster and less cautiously.
She stumbled when she hit the stairs and almost pitched headfirst down them.
She held the knife tighter as she clutched the railing to steady herself while she scrambled downward into the dark.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the storage room door crashed open.
She braced her back against the wall and used her arms to guide her as she moved as fast as she dared. Her hands touched metal, then bags of something. Shelves filled with kitchen supplies.
“Saskia Koba, we will find you.” Light flooded the basement and the thundering of feet came rushing toward her.
They knew her name. Why did they know her name? Who were these guys?
She turned but was greeted by a dead end. There was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.
One of the thugs, the couch guy, advanced on her, a gun in his hand.
“Saskia Koba.” His voice held satisfaction.
She lifted her chin and forced calm into her voice as she said in Russian, “If you know who I am then you know what’ll happen to you if you hurt me.”
He grinned at her, showing a gap in his teeth. “We’re not worried. We’ll be protected.”
“The Bratva does terrible things to traitors,” she snapped, hoping her bravado would work. The other guy, the one who’d been going through her hotel fridge, joined them.
“We do not answer to the Bratva,” Couch guy said.
Saskia clutched the knife with both hands and waved it back and forth between her attackers. “Get away from me.”
Fridge guy smirked and showed her his gun. “You brought a knife to a gun fight.”
“Nice one, Indie,” she said sarcastically. “Why don’t you go raid some tombs instead of picking on me? If you know who I am, then you know who Jozef Koba is. He’s on his way and he’s not going to be happy if you hurt me.”
Hearing Jozef’s name made Fridge guy pause, but not for long. “Koba isn’t here, little girl. There’s no one to save you.”
A shudder slid down her spine. “Then why don’t you come and get me? You have me trapped, defenseless.” Except the knife, which was shaking in her hands. She’d have to steady herself if she were to have any chance of fighting her way out.
The thugs exchanged uneasy glances. Saskia thought she understood. They’d managed to kill Aurelia without drawing attention. After chasing Saskia through a hotel, past a bunch of kitchen staff and into a basement, they weren’t going to be able to do her quietly.
“Come with us,” Fridge guy said, reaching for her.
Idiot.
She slashed the knife and connected with his forearm.
White of bone flashed as his flesh split open. He screamed and lurched back, his fingers clutching the gaping wound spewing blood.
Couch guy lunged at her, knocking the knife from her hand as he slammed her into a shelf. She hit her head so hard she blacked out for a few seconds. When she came to, she was on her back, her satchel trapped underneath her, Couch guy standing over her, his gun pointed at her head.
“Not here,” Fridge guy said weakly as he cradled his bleeding arm close to his chest.
“There’s no choice,” Couch guy said. “We have to get the job done. Boss will clean up after.”
This was it. She was going to die.
Despair rolled through her and she almost cried out at the pain of knowing she would never have the career she worked so hard for, never see her family again… never find out why Radik sent her all those gifts.
She wished she could fight like Ayaan and Leeza, but she wasn’t them. Didn’t have the drive for combat. And now, because she refused to learn proper mafia fighting skills, she would die in a basement in Pretoria, South Africa.
Still, she was mafia enough to greet death with dignity so she slowly and painfully sat up, leaning against the wall for support. She defiantly stared at Couch guy. She hoped her eyes would haunt him every time he tried to sleep.
Then something caught her attention. A shadow moved past profusely bleeding Fridge guy, disappearing behind a shelf. She frowned, trying to focus on the spot, wondering if she’d imagined it.
Couch guy caught her distraction and whipped around to look. Saskia didn’t hesitate. If he was going to give her opportunity on a silver platter she was going to take it.
She grabbed the knife off the floor and stabbed it into his thigh, hoping to hit his femoral artery. He screamed as blood spurted, then smashed her temple with his gun. Like a rag doll, she slipped sideways.
She lay on her back, the strap of her bag pinning her arm down, trying to catch her breath as pain shot through her.
She felt paralyzed, her body refusing to cooperate with her brain, which was screaming at her to get up.
Move! But the edges of her vision were dimming.
Her brain was shutting down. She was helpless, she was going to die in a dank storage room in a foreign country.
She blinked back tears as she stared helplessly up at the gun aimed toward her.
Then the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.
There was a moment of frozen silence, then Fridge guy said, “What’s happening?”
“I don’t fucking know.” A light flashed above her and she saw Couch guy holding up a phone. “Go check,” he ordered, his hand covering his blood-soaked thigh.
Fridge guy squeezed his bleeding arm, turned and took a step into the shadows, but stopped like he’d hit a brick wall. He was lifted off his feet and shaken like a rag doll until his neck snapped. He jerked and his head lolled, his lifeless eyes staring at the floor, which his body hit with a thud.
“Holy,” Saskia whispered as she crowded closer to the wall as if that would save her from the animal who just shook Fridge guy to death. She blinked into the shadows trying to see the attacker, but it was too dark.
“Fuck,” Couch guy said, stumbling over her in an attempt to flee whatever was coming toward them. There was nowhere to go. He turned, training his phone light and gun on the shadows. “Who’s there?”
Saskia laughed shakily. “Told you not to fuck with me.” Her voice sounded dim to her ears, as though it was outside her body and coming from a distance.
“Shut up, bitch,” he snarled, kicking her in the ribs.
She groaned and curled in on herself as she hugged her stomach.
A roar from the shadows sent another wave of fear through Saskia. The sound was animalistic, almost demonic.
Apparently her attacker agreed, holding his shaking hands up and firing wildly into the darkness. Saskia shrieked and covered her ears as shattering glass rained down on her.
Something out of a horror film barreled towards them with, what seemed to Saskia, inhuman speed.
Couch guy was lifted off his feet and slammed into the concrete wall with such force, Saskia heard bones crunch. His screams were abruptly cut off as the sound of joints wrenching apart echoed through the room.
Then an eerie silence filled the space.
Saskia saw a pair of massive feet wearing shiny black shoes next to her head. Her heart pounded, her vision blurred and her body refused to move. There was nothing she could do to save herself.
Couch guy was flung on top of his friend, his phone clattering to the ground, the flashlight down. She could see enough from the glow to know the one who’d killed the thugs was human.
Trying to peer up, she could make out a pair of legs, encased in black.
It crouched over her.
“Don’t touch me,” she croaked, trying to blink away the darkness threatening to close over her. “I’m… I’m a Koba.” Then she slipped into unconsciousness.