Dark Chase (The Gunrunner Series) (14 page)

Naomi nodded, her eyes red and swollen. Sophia kept herself from rolling her eyes, grabbed the suitcase, and rolled it to the back bedroom.

She pulled it open and flipped through the clothes, very tiny clothes. Probably Naomi’s size. Ugh.

She found some stretchy black leggings and a long sleeve, low cut black shirt. She still didn’t have shoes, but at least she was somewhat properly dressed. She returned to the living room, where Gram was tossing his keys back and forth from hand to hand, a sign of impatience when he usually gave none. “Ready?” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

She glanced back at Dmitri, hunched over the laptop with two other men surrounding him, talking in urgent voices. He was lost in his work, righting his organization.

He didn’t look up as she left, but she understood.

There were five or six cars parked in front of the house. Gram got into the driver’s seat of a boxy, eighties model car with plenty of wear and tear. She climbed into the backseat.

The engine roared to life, loud as a diesel engine. The car shook under the strain of the three passengers as they bounced down the dirt road and back to the highway. She laid her head against the cold window, shivering against the intrusive chill.

Her heart ached for Dmitri, but he had to work, and she understood. He didn’t have a nine to five desk type job, so his work always involved risk. Great risk. And she’d have to learn how to deal with it.

She closed her eyes. It was the middle of the night, and she was tired. She heard Naomi speaking in the front seat, asking again if Gram would let her call her father. He refused in gentle, soothing tones she’d never heard him use. Hell, he’d rarely uttered more than a syllable in her presence.

She didn’t sleep, but stayed awake listening to the roar of the engine, feeling the coldness of the night press into her.

She was in a rickety old car, possibly older than herself, in the middle of the Russian countryside, and that was fine with her. Dmitri was alive and she was alive. That was enough for now.

An hour later, Gram pulled up to a large structure and killed the engine. Sophia pressed her head against the window. “What is this?”

The structure stood out against the coming dawn with two box-shaped turrets, at least four floors, and small, square windows dotting the entire exterior. To Sophia, it looked like a super-modern, gothic castle from a horror movie.

“An estate,” Gram said.

“No shit,” Sophia said. “This is a safe house?”

Gram actually laughed. “It is safe in that I just rented it from a shady broker, and no one else except the three of us and Dmitri know where we are.”

Sophia sighed and got out of the car, stretching her arms and legs in the cool air. “It’s a bit grand for a damn safe house.”

Gram stepped next to her. “He said to get something nice for you.”

That made her smile.

Gram pulled the keys out of his pocket and rested his hand on the small of Naomi’s back, leading her up the stairs to the front door. Sophia followed, watching the two of them together.

Gram opened the door. He fumbled around with the light switch until it popped on, revealing a breathtaking entry.

A grand, wide staircase with carved banisters looped to the two open floors above them. A massive teal green, crystal chandelier dangled over their heads. Broad marbled hallways split left and right away from them.

Gram pointed to the right. “Stocked kitchen.” He pointed to the left. “Furnished drawing and sitting rooms.” He pointed up the stairs. “Bedrooms.”

“Thanks for the tour,” she said.

She pushed past him and a shell-shocked Naomi, eager to pick a room for her and Dmitri: a love nest for his triumphant return to her arms. She glanced back at Gram and Naomi still paused at the base of the stairs. Gram, big and strong, Naomi, a wisp of woman who looked like she wanted to disappear into the night.

They were an odd couple, as if she had any right to judge.

She bypassed the second floor and moved all the way to the third. It was narrower than the second floor, but quieter. She moved down hallways, passing one smaller bedroom with a twin size bed.

Further down the long hallway, tucked at the very end, she found it.

It was beautiful, dark, and oppressive, just like Dmitri: black, shiny marble floor, softened by a couple of soft white fur rugs; a ridiculous large four poster bed with a black, iron frame, piled high with soft blankets and tons of tiny decorative pillows, all black and white. A beautiful black chandelier floated down from the ceiling, casting tiny lights all over the walls.

“Wow,” she breathed. The cold, hard marble pushed into her feet through her socks. She found the bathroom and almost had a coronary.

It was massive, detailed with a dark granite counter, plush plum-colored towels, and double sinks with oval mirrors.

She hadn’t seen this kind of luxury in Russia before. In fact, she hadn’t seen it anywhere.

The tall, rectangular windows were letting in the first gray of a new day, and she was exhausted. She couldn’t stand not knowing where Dmitri was or what he was doing, but she’d have to trust him to come back safe to her.

She shut the door and jumped into the bed, burying herself under the blankets. She felt like a queen in the big, empty estate. All she was missing was her king.

Chapter 18

DMITRI

Dmitri’s footsteps were heavy as he thudded into the finally empty club. He allowed them to be. He wanted to be heard. Ivan locked the door behind them.

Dawn was threatening to break. In the very early morning, the club was quiet, with only a few people cleaning. As much cleaning as Ivan did anyway, which clearly was not much.

Dmitri swallowed back his distaste. Ivan was letting them hold Tariq here. He was expecting to be compensated, and he would be. Very nicely.

“Where is he being held?” he said to Ivan in Russian.

“Small room upstairs.” Ivan held out his hand and gestured. He was nervous, Dmitri could read all his tells: shaky hands, sheen of sweat on his forehead, clearing of his throat before he spoke. Ivan probably had plenty of experience with mobsters, but not a man like Dmitri.

Dmitri followed Ivan up the grimy staircase, past an expanse of booths and tables, to a dark hallway with thin, dirty carpet. Any pretense of modernization disappeared as they walked deeper into the club.

Two of Dmitri’s men were stationed outside a door. They nodded at him when he approached with respect in their eyes. Dmitri was glad to see it there.

His strategically deployed units had done their job, had done it well, fast.

Over the past twenty-four hours, his elite team and B had captured almost all the men that had moved against him. Most of them were dead, except for a few that might be useful. Like Tariq.

Affirmations of loyalty had come flowing in from around the world. His air and ocean shipping companies had been quickly audited and found to be in full compliance with his wishes. Suspicious personnel had been quietly disposed of.

He’d been ruthless.

He was back.

All that was left was to find out who’d been funding this synchronized, unprecedented movement. It hadn’t come from within; someone had paid dearly and planned for years to lure his men away and move against him.

Once he found out who it was, they would pay.

He paused outside the door. One of the men opened it for him.

He stepped inside. It was dirty, small, and windowless. The only light came from a small bulb in the middle of the room. In the middle sat Tariq, bound and gagged on a small, wooden chair.

Dried blood caked the side of his face and hair. His right eye was swollen shut. His clothes were dirty and coated with sweat and grime. Dmitri approached him, noting the man steeling himself. He yanked the gag out of his mouth.

Tariq erupted into a coughing fit. Dmitri waited silently until he was done.

“B was here, I see,” Dmitri said. He leaned back to examine the full damage to Tariq’s face.

Tariq said nothing, working his jaw, blood riddled drool dripping down the side of his face.

Dmitri waited. Silence was his greatest asset. Not many men knew the power of silence. They were too eager to fill the air with their voices, their pride, and their egos.

Tariq finally mumbled something through his lips. “Water,” he said weakly in English.

Dmitri stepped back. No doubt B had used sleep deprivation and physical torture. He wasn’t sure what else he had used. Dmitri sighed and then rapped on the door twice. “Water,” he barked.

Feet shuffled outside the door, then one of his guards handed him a half empty bottle. Dmitri stepped behind Tariq and cut his hands loose from the zip ties.

Tariq groaned and brought his hands forward, flexing and closing his fists as he grunted. He was in a world of hurt. Once his fingers were working, he grabbed the bottle of water from Dmitri and chugged it down, panting when he was done.

He made no move to get up from his chair, just leaned back while he rubbed his shoulders. “I protected her.”

Dmitri waited again, letting seconds of silence tick by before he responded. “Who?”

“Sophia,” Tariq said.

Dmitri stepped toward him. “I do not ever want to hear her name spoken from your lips.”

Tariq shook his head. “But I did. You have to believe me. They wanted her dead, but I instructed the men to keep her alive.”

Dmitri nodded, pacing around the room behind Tariq. “Who?”

Tariq dropped his chin to his chest, his shoulders sagging. Dmitri could almost see the desperation overtake him. Whoever had him, had him good. “You know I cannot say.”

“Then you will die,” Dmitri said.

“Please, man. I really tried to protect her,” Tariq said. He lifted his only working eye, swollen and blood shot. “That must count for something.”

“It counts for nothing!” Dmitri shouted. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “What counts is a name. I can only protect her moving forward if I have a name.”

Tariq’s head rolled back, like he was falling asleep. He caught himself, moving his head forward. “I can’t. You will have to kill me. ” He looked back at Dmitri with his broken, busted face. “I want to die. Do it. Do it knowing you’re killing the only other man in the world that was willing to protect Sophia.”

Dmitri only smiled. Tariq was full of shit. Even with the damage in his face, his one good eye dashed off to the side when he spoke. He shifted his weight and licked his lips. Dmitri had picked up all of Tariq’s tells during their in-person meeting.

Tariq was lying. He did not care about Sophia. He was trying to exploit Dmitri’s weakness. But Tariq was wrong. They were all wrong.

Sophia was not his weakness. She was his strength.

“I want you to see something,” he said to Tariq. He raised his voice. “Bring him in.”

His guards threw open the door, escorting a tall, thin man into the room. Tariq’s eyes widened. “Rodrigo?” he gasped. “What are you doing?”

Rodrigo’s lips curved into a haughty grin. He had been roughed up, too. B had started on him, but he’d turned against Tariq fast. He was power hungry and smart, so Dmitri let him live. He was also Tariq’s number two, his lieutenant.

Dmitri jerked Tariq’s head back by his hair. He cried out.

“You see, Tariq, Rodrigo and I have a deal. I am taking over your little organization. He is going to run it for me. I wanted you to know that before you died; that you handed everything you worked for over to me. Thank you for that.”

Rodrigo nodded eagerly, power hungry little bitch that he was.

Dmitri was satisfied, too. This small acquisition would make it a lot easier for him to move cargo across Russia and open his growing inventory to small, local markets in need of arms. Small arms were and always would be his main source of income.

Dmitri let go of Tariq’s head. His shoulders sagged, defeat overcoming him. “Fine, kill me. But you still don’t know who funded me. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even him.”

“Rodrigo here is giving me access to your wired accounts. I am tracing them now. I will know soon, and he will be rewarded handsomely.”

Tariq said nothing, just swayed back and forth in his chair. He was ready to collapse.

“Kill him,” Dmitri said.

Rodrigo did without hesitation, as he’d agreed to do in order to prove his new loyalty to Dmitri.

Rodrigo was quiet and thin, but he was strong. He grabbed Tariq’s forehead, yanked it back, and then swiped a blade across his neck. A curtain of blood enveloped Tariq, dripping onto the floor. Gurgling noises filled the room.

It was done.

Dmitri had an idea of who might be involved, now. There weren’t many groups big enough to fund the movement against him. The bank traces would come back soon, and he would know more. Money always left a trail, even the underhanded, wired money transfers between numbered, unnamed accounts.

He’d find them and then he’d go after them. Men did not mess with Dmitri and live to tell the tale.

But first, he needed Sophia.

He left the small room, leaving the momentous task of cleaning up to the others. B had made a mess, but he always cleaned up.

He shoved a large wad of bills into Ivan’s hand as he left. It was more than he deserved, but he was a friend of sorts to Sophia, so he would be treated well.

He got into a car, without bodyguards, and traveled alone. Much of the imminent danger to him was gone now, but he’d have to find the big backer. That was the real enemy.

But right now, he had something important to do. St. Petersburg was coming to life, the morning light bringing the beautiful buildings and architecture to light. Dmitri preferred Moscow, but if Sophia liked it here, this is where they would live.

He parallel parked in front of the small, dingy building and knocked on the door. Mark was waiting with a small velvet box and shadows under his eyes.

Dmitri opened it. He was not very knowledgeable about jewelry, but this piece shocked him. Mark had delivered on his promise.

The beautiful pear shaped ruby was a deep, fiery red, set high and free and clean so its natural beauty showed through. The rest of the ring was black gold, detailed with an Edwardian style filigree, marked with glinting black diamonds. There were even diamonds on the setting that held up the ruby.