Madness (Revenge Series Book 3) (6 page)

“There. That should buy us some time, but not much.” He jerks his gun from my hand, and then we run to the valet station. The room is abandoned, the door locked.

Nikolai fires his pistol at the doorknob, busting the locks, and then kicks the door open with a jarring blow. The wood splinters and gives way as he storms through.

He reaches into his pocket and looks at the valet number: seventy-seven. It doesn’t take long for him to find his keys. Snagging them from the wall, he pulls the ring off the hook, and then we go in search of his car.

“Give them to me,” I shout, jerking the key ring out of his hand.

I push the panic button, setting off the car alarm, which immediately directs us to its whereabouts.

We run. My belongings and his briefcase weight me down, but I still manage to keep up with Nikolai.

I shut the panic alarm off on the car and unlock the doors as we approach the outside of the steel beauty. Then I toss the keys over the roof of the car and I yank open the door, tossing the stuff in the back seat.

Nikolai falls in the driver’s seat and fires up the motor. He starts to pull out of the parking dock at the same moment my ass hits the seat. By the next tick of the clock, we are already speeding out of the parking lot. I had barely time to get my door get my door closed, the tires screeching as we turn the sharp corners of the parking garage. As Nikolai tears around the corner, Vlad’s thugs manage to wedge their bodies through the blocked door. The car surges toward the exit, the men stampeding after us.

It feels like an eternity as we wait for the automatic gate to detect the car and open. Vlad’s crew is gaining on us.

I look over at Nikolai. His jaw is clenched and his pistol is ready to fire. I raise my gun from my lap and ready mine, too, but the gate finally opens, and we heave forward and onto the roads. Nikolai wastes no time, peeling down the road and abandoning the bright lights of the strip.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Nikolai

August 15, 2015 7:03 a.m.

I
hand the car keys over to the gentlemen working in the private hangar. I drove for two hours, making sure we were not tailed. Luckily for us, we managed to shake the
thieves
off at the hotel.

Josslyn said nothing the entire time we rode in the car. She understood I needed to concentrate on getting us out alive and unharmed, not be barraged by questions.

In a positive turn of events, I got into a conversation with the man working at the private hangar about our love of muscle cars. He explained to me how much he loved my car and wondered what I was going to do with it. Then a genius idea hit me.

I met with him in private, making an exchange of cash to secure a storage garage to put my car in. I gave him enough money to pay for a year in advance and only asked him to look after it until I get back. The older man understood the love a man has for his machine and was happy to oblige my request.

As I board the plane, I see Josslyn is settled in a plush seat located in the back corner. Her feet are up on the seat across from her, and she is staring out the window. She watches the runway crew bustle around, getting our stuff loaded and the plane ready for takeoff. Dressed comfortably in jeans, an oversized T-shirt, and her black hooded sweatshirt, she relaxes back as she zones out.

We will be the only people on the flight to Zurich. Stephen informed me his pilot had to drop off businessmen in Las Vegas for a convention, and I was fortunate for the lucky timing.

I sit in the seat diagonal from Josslyn, looking at her tired and worried face. I can’t really blame her. The threat we are up against when we make it overseas is greater than anything we have faced thus far. We are going to be in hostile territory, not that the places we were leaving were a complete cake-walk either. Still, it could be worse yet if Cubby refuses to see me.

The engine vibrates my seat as it starts up. The flight staff inspects the door to the cabin, while the other attendant talks over the loudspeaker, giving us the safety details and running down our itinerary for the trip. We will have a ninety-minute layover in Chicago and arrive in Zurich almost nine hours after that.

The plane starts to taxi out as I sit back in my seat and look out the same window Josslyn is. We watch the view blur as we speed down the runway. Moments later, the plane lifts, and we are airborne, one step closer to finishing our mission.

I break my sight from the blue sky and look over at Josslyn. She has her head tilted back, resting against the seat, and her eyes are closed. I don’t know if she’s asleep, and I don’t want to disturb her if she is.

I lean my head back and expel a deep breath. My mind keeps going back to the dance we shared at the nightclub. It was nearly impossible for me to refrain from breaking that man’s neck when he disrespected Josslyn. Out of nowhere, though, I stopped. The combination of her pleading eyes and the knowledge of the disaster that would eventually follow gave me enough calm to step back.

Then we started to move, dancing in a slow, rhythmic pace before the song faded and blended into the next upbeat tune. For three minutes, we had this unexplainable connection where life was simple and our relationship was like everyone else’s. I could feel what she is doing to me. Her light is slowly sinking in, waking me up in a different way, and making me unravel years of routine, discipline, and death. But like everything good in my life, this feeling won’t last.

Once Stravinsky is dead, the team of Josslyn Stowe and Nikolai Petrov will be no more. We will either be dead or have gone our separate ways. That is where we make the most sense—far, far away from each other.

I clear my throat and adjust in the seat. I can’t permit myself to be consumed by anything except killing Stravinsky. The moment we shared was just that—a moment. It will not keep me alive, and it will not kill the man who is responsible for all the pain and hate taking up space in my mind. It will be the hate that will set me free from it all.

.*.*.*.

August 15, 2015 11:47 a.m.

The plane finishes its final descent, and the wheels touch down and coast across the tarmac. Josslyn stirs awake, stretching her arms over her head. My eyes automatically pan down when a sliver of skin peeks out from under her shirt. She pulls her hair down from the crooked bun on top of her head and tousles the strands. Her face is without makeup, her skin looking clean and fresh—natural. She is an extremely beautiful woman.

Damn it!
I shout in my head. This is not where my mind needs to be right now. Tomorrow, we will head to Russia then into Chechnya. I can’t be overwhelmed by the little mannerisms I enjoy about this woman. She is no one. Just another woman I fucked, nothing more and nothing less.

The frustration of my own actions bubbles under my skin. I sense the anger and tap into the sensation as I unfasten my seatbelt and stand from the chair. As soon as the doors open, I abandon the aircraft, plod down the stairs, and walk toward the private hangar. I need to get away from her.

The glass door opens, and I nod to the man holding it open for me. The room is large, filled with ornate pieces of art on the walls and fine furnishings. The black tiled floor is polished to a glossy shine, reflecting the white couches and chairs scattered about. Over to the side, there is a small hallway with several doors on either side. I look at the sign affixed to the desk in front of the corridor that says, “The Calming Cove.” Upon reading further, I realize people pay to take naps in those rooms. Weird, but I can understand the appeal. In the center of the room is a large desk with flight plans, schedules, and any other information you need regarding this place. Off to the other side is right where I want to be—the bar.

Confused for a moment, I look out the window, recognizing we are not at the private hangar at O’Hare International Airport in Chicago. We are at some privately owned landing strip; it has to be. It’s a place only the rich and famous occupy, considering only private jets are allowed to land here. TSA agents are still around but acting more like security guards than the annoying jerks they are known to be. However, I would agree that they got assigned a pretty good job considering the cluster fuck O’Hare can be.

I break my sights from the window and head toward my momentary salvation. A woman stands behind the bar, waiting to help me. She is a friendly-looking woman with a pearly white smile and happy green eyes. Her orange hair is twisted behind her head, standing out against the navy blazer covering her modestly-sized breasts.

“I will have a Martini,” I demand, pulling out my wallet from the inside of my jacket pocket.

“Sweet or dry, sir?” Her voice is cheery, much too happy for my liking.

“Dry,” I say curtly.

She tries to keep the smile on her face, but she can’t hide the fear that flashes in her eyes.

“Don’t mind him,” Josslyn’s voice breaks through her fears as she strides up to the bar, standing behind me. “He’s an asshole.”

The woman looks over at her and uncomfortably smiles back. She is clearly not prepared to be in the middle of whatever argument Josslyn is trying to start.

“Would you like a drink, ma’am?”

“A water, please.”

Josslyn moves from behind me to lean against the bar. She props her elbows on the countertop, making her breasts pop forward.

My eyes act of their own accord and pan down, taking in her fine form. This woman is impossible. Every time she gets near me, I can feel this cloud surround me, and it is impossible to find my way through it.

I turn my head forward, focusing on the awful piece of art hanging on the wall above the bar. I lift the glass to my lips and savor the bitter taste of the drink. It’s cool and refreshing the more I consume the clear liquid.

I finish off the drink, relaxing somewhat as I motion for the woman to make me another. She quickly mixes the Martini and places another glass in front of me. I pull the olive out of my first drink and pop it in my mouth. The treat explodes with flavor and sets off the aftertaste of the drink. I will have to admit, this bartender can make a fine Martini.

“So,” Josslyn says, “what’s the plan now?”

C
HAPTER
N
INE

Josslyn

August 15, 2015 12:08 p.m.

N
ikolai is in a foul mood, more so than normal. I can only assume it has to do with what happened to us in Vegas. Perhaps it’s because Vlad’s men caught up with us at the Bellagio, but that was probably normal for him—running from flying bullets. My gut is telling me his foul mood is attributed to what happened at the club.

Although I was very drunk by the time I arrived at the club, the intensity of the moment extinguished my high once Nikolai joined me on the dance floor. We were living someone else’s life in that moment, and it was amazing.

Actually, I have been living someone else’s life for the last several days. It’s like my existence up until I met Nikolai was a dream, and now I am really experiencing life for the first time. It’s a very unusual feeling and one I am still getting used to. Then again, I wished that old life away. I stood in a Macy’s bathroom and shed my old existence for this new, dangerous one. Maybe that is why I’m feeling this way. Being with Nikolai completely changed me. I’m nostalgic and pining for the old me, but she’s vanished.

Nikolai grabs my wrist, his grip firm, cutting off the circulation to my hand, when I ask him what the plan is. He pulls me toward a private corner of the room, his drink sloshing over the rim of his glass as he walks aggressively. I wonder if he comprehends how hard his grip can be when his hostility pulls in whichever direction he pleases.

I spin around and fall back onto a couch. Nikolai swallows down the rest of his drink and sits beside me. He is in a mood; that’s for sure. I ready myself for his quiet lecture and cold, deadly stare down. The sight doesn’t terrify me anymore. I know what he is capable of, but I also know what he is not capable of, and I don’t think he will harm me. He seems too concerned where my life is concerned.

“When you want to know details of our plan, make sure no one is in earshot. That’s lesson one. Next, until this is done, you will assume the role of Amelia Night. I have told you this already. You have established her as a classy, sophisticated woman, not some trashy, low-rent cop.” He’s flustered, and I am slightly insulted by his comment. “Get your head on straight. You never know who’s watching us. That should be apparent from this morning’s rush out of Vegas.” He roughly sets his Martini glass on the coffee table in front of us and rips me to pieces with his frigid glare. “Got it?”

I nod and pull the bottle of water to my lips. I understand where he is coming from, but I assumed we are safe here. I didn’t think it was until we are in Russia that I would have to be Amelia Night, but I guess Nikolai is never really Nikolai when he is out in public. He is always his alter ego, Vincent Black. I guess there is still a lot for me to learn.

We sit in silence for the next hour. Nikolai looks off in the distance, his eyes searching. I can only wonder what kind of thoughts are running through his head. If they are anything like mine, they are trying to predict the future and wondering if we will make it out of Russia alive.

It’s nearing time for us to board, so I take the opportunity to use the bathroom. Standing in front of the sink, washing my hands, I look at myself again in the mirror. He is right. I don’t look like the woman he described I should be. Until we are done with this quest, my public persona can only be Amelia Night. If I look like anyone right now, it’s the old Josslyn, the one who is detached from reality and will stop at nothing to get her man. However, the man I need to capture is outside this door.