A bodyguard assigned to Brazhensky’s eldest child, Yana. She’d called him Aslan as she barked at him to close the door of the limo when the thug had found her on her knees with Ike’s cock stuffed in her mouth. That dalliance had bought Ike another couple of weeks to pay off the debt to her father.
Ignoring the question, Ike finished his last meal, then stood slowly from the couch and turned to face the men.
With a sarcastic laugh, Ike said, “Your boss knows he’s not going to see a dollar of that money. That’s why you’re here. He wouldn’t have sent you if he thought I was going to pay up. So, go ahead. Do your worst.”
The first blow had stunned him, a quick jab to his temple that knocked him down to one knee. The assault had intensified from there, sending Ike hurtling across the room, crashing into expensive furniture, breaking glass and vases, and leaving splatters of blood over the shades of beige decor.
The men focused on his chest, stomach, and back like good, trained thugs. No wasted energy on smaller targets like his face. Serena wouldn’t care when his body was dragged from the morgue, but Gabrielle would appreciate that his handsome mug was untarnished for the open coffin.
Ike felt a twinge of guilt knowing how crushed Gabrielle would be when she arrived back in St. Felipe after a decade, only to bury a family member. He’d ignored all her calls and texts over the past few days. He couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to the little sister he loved. Didn’t want to leave her with the guilt of wondering if she could’ve done something differently that would’ve saved his life. There was nothing Gabrielle could do to save him now. No one could. He hoped Serena would step up and be the rock his little sister needed to navigate her grief.
No denying this was what he wanted.
What he’d planned.
He’d almost battled his way back to life after the military had turned him into a monster he didn’t recognize. He’d been ready to redeem himself and earn the faith his father had never lost in him.
Then the plane carrying his parents to Africa disappeared.
That was the end for him.
He needed a way to make it happen that would make it easier for his family.
Too bad the Russians were failing.
He was a PISCO, after all.
Years of special ops training had equipped him with the instincts and skills to deflect and avoid suffering. To trick and deceive enemy threats. No matter how hard he tried to let them do their worse, his body rebelled, protecting him.
Surviving when all he wanted was to look death in the face and let go. It was what he deserved. He should be the one buried under the pile of burning ashes and scorched, twisted metal. His soul condemned to suffer through eternity for all the fucked up things he’d done.
A sharp, stinging blow connected with his chin, rattling his teeth as he stumbled backward with a loud crash through the window next to the open patio doors. His body slid along the smooth marble and stopped near the legs of the chaise lounge chair.
He had fond memories of that chair. He’d fucked many celebrities and social media wanna-be stars on that very spot. His body went through the motions while his mind fought the torrent of memories that haunted him at all hours. Mistakes he’d made and moments he’d give anything to do over.
Late-night orgies filled with booze, sex, and drugs had consumed him over the past six hundred ninety-seven days. The numbness dulled the pain that clawed at him every second he was sober.
“What do you think, Igor?” Aslan asked. The hatred in the hitman’s dark eyes told him there was more to Yana’s relationship with Aslan than employer and employee.
Igor shrugged. His ice-blue eyes were hard and cold. “Bullet too easy. He want to suffer. We make him suffer.”
Satisfied with that answer, Aslan stomped across the balcony toward Ike and yanked him up by the neck. His skin was scratched, sliced, and bruised from the beat-down.
The pain was intense, but Ike could still get the upper hand and eliminate them. That is, if he wanted to, which he most certainly did not.
“Time is up,” Igor taunted. “Thirty-eight floors is a long way to fall to your death.”
Inhaling a sharp breath, Ike stiffened as the two men descended upon him. Hands and arms wrapped tightly around his body like a vice. They hoisted him into the air and flipped him upside down on the opposite side of the glass banister. His body dangled above the road below.
Ike squirmed and twisted but couldn’t shake their grasp. He shouldn’t try to avoid this fate, but being a PISCO was hard to turn off. His mind raced with options to prevent death, all while his heart yearned for the peace he hoped it would bring. His head twisted in the wind as lights from cars clogging South Beach blurred his vision. Blood rushed to his head, hammering his skull with a vicious headache.
Maybe if everything his father had believed about the Almighty was true, Ike would see his parents again. He would beg them for forgiveness in heaven since the opportunity had been stolen from him on earth.
The rough hands of the Russians clamped around his ankles. Maniacal laughter erupted from their mouths as they shook him like a rag doll.
Aslan said, “Don’t worry, Ike. Your sisters won’t waste years wondering about your death, like your parents’ plane crash in Lesotho. They will have proof of your bloody, mangled body splattered on the road below. I will make sure of it.”
Ike craned his neck to look into the man’s face, marred by an evil sneer.
