“But India would.”
“She won’t give you what you want, Ox,” Rocco intervenes. “She isn’t like the women you’ve met in this industry. You could torture her for hours, and she wouldn’t speak a peep. She’s fucked in the head.”
Smith hums out an agreeing murmur for half a second before he races across the room. “There could be a way around her stubbornness.” He spins around the prototype laptop he’s been using to communicate with India for the past couple of weeks. “The site is impossible to hack, but if I were to log in directly via India’s device, I wouldn’t face so many issues.” He taps his index finger on an icon at the top of their chat window that indicates India uses her cell phone for all correspondence. “If you keep her talking long enough, I could access her buried files with voice recognition. They may unearth the information you’re after.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
I stray my eyes to Rocco when he asks, “Are you sure about that, Ox? I’d be tempted to shoot the bitch in the head on sight, and she didn’t fuck with me like she did you and Demi.”
Demi’s name alone convinces me, much less peering at the grubby face of the first lady on a stack of photographs at my side. The information Audrey, Dimitri’s first wife, disclosed to Dimitri exposes that the women aren’t incubated with India’s children the old-fashioned way. They’re held down in dirty rooms on stained mattresses and violated by alleged health professionals like Dr. Franklin. As if that isn’t bad enough, they’re raped by the men India brainwashes to follow her scheme, then beaten until they miscarriage if their rapist forgot to use protection. They’ve endured hell, so I’m confident I can stand across from the woman responsible for years of torment for a couple of minutes to free them from more harm.
“All right,” Dimitri says when he sees the truth in my eyes. “Let’s get this wrapped up. India is scheduled to arrive within the hour. Once it’s done, I need you to move onto that other task I assigned you before we left.” He isn’t talking to Rocco or me. His focus is on Smith. “I need it done ASAP.”
“If it’s there to be found, I’ll find it,” Smith guarantees.
Aware Smith won’t stop until he finds what Dimitri is searching for, Dimitri shifts his eyes back to me. “Tell India I said hello.”
It’s wrong of me to smile, but I’d be a liar if I said my lips didn’t hitch into a grin.
Fifty-three minutes later—yes, I counted—I lower a cap over my eyes, stuff a gun down the back of my pants, then back it up with a semi-automatic weapon. I never thought I’d contemplate killing another person, much less a woman, but not an ounce of guilt has thickened my blood the past hour. Dimitri laid everything out for me—how the Bureau has let India slip from their grasp time and time again, the number of victims she’s amassed, and how she orchestrated Nikolai and Justine’s disappearance.
Furthermore, just like she was responsible for popping the idea of Justine’s mauling into Col’s head, she did the same thing with Maxsim about having his goon hit her in the stomach.
India deserves to die. If admitting that makes me a monster, so be it. I’m at peace with my decision. I protected Demi as a child. I loved her as an adult, and I will honor her until the day I take my final breath. If that happens to be today, I’m okay with that as well. Death doesn’t scare me. It’s the prospect of living without Demi for eternity that scares me the most.
I’m dragged from my somber thoughts by Rocco squeezing my shoulder. “You good?”
I check that the magazine of my gun is loaded properly before lifting my chin. I feel like I’m dreaming, like nothing that is happening is real. I don’t know if that stems from the fact my gut isn’t twisted up in knots or the peace I feel knowing I’ve finally reached the end of the road.
The last five years have been fucking hard. Pretending you’re okay when you’re not is exhausting. I have so much more respect for people battling depression now than I’ve ever had. It’s the biggest prison there is. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel. No loosening of the cuffs. It’s one dark hole after another.
Rocco takes a moment to gauge my real response before he hands me a bead listening device like the one Agent Machini gave me. “Keep her talking until Smith gives you the all-clear. If you do that, those women could be home by the end of the week.” That lifts the fog by half an inch as do the words he speaks. “It will get better, Ox. It always does. You’ve just got to have faith the world couldn’t be so fucking cruel.”
After a second squeeze of my shoulder, he disappears down a dingy corridor that leads to a mine shaft. He wanted to stay close by, but we can’t trust that India won’t demand one of her men to search the premises before entering it.
To kill time, I walk around the large concrete and steel building, taking it in. It’s kind of surreal learning this is the place my sister grew her wings. She didn’t die here. She was reborn here. Nikolai saved her, and in thanks for his gallantry, Justine returned the favor. For someone who used to faint over a paper cut, I was shocked to learn she removed the knife that ended Vladimir’s life from his chest. I guess I shouldn’t be. There wasn’t a single obstacle I wouldn’t have scaled to save Demi. Even years after her death, I’m still leaping over those barriers.
I head to the front entrance of the compound when Smith announces a car is pulling down the dusty road. India wouldn’t agree to come by herself, but she was stupid enough to agree to my demand that we exchange assets alone. Any johns in the car with her will be taken out by long-range snipers once I have India out of earshot.
“Stop right there,” I say to the man flanking India’s walk up the front stairwell, freezing both him and India in their tracks. “Raise your shirt… and your dress.” I have to force my last command out of my mouth. I’m not interested in anything India is selling. I just don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.
When they do as requested, I lock my eyes with India. “We agreed to be the only two people in attendance at the exchange.” The accent I’m putting on is horrendous, but India doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too fucking high-strung to pay a bottom dweller gangbanger any attention. She only has the big fish in her sights.
“We did,” she replies, her tone all pompous-like.
“Good, then tell him to fuck off and let’s get down to business. I ain’t got time for your shit, lady.” Rocco’s snicker about my impersonation is soft but unmissable. It’s barely audible through the water still sloshing in my ears, though.
After a few seconds of deliberation, India signals for the brute to leave with a dainty wave of her hand. When he tries to cite an objection about her dismissal, her hand leaves a red imprint on his face. Her moods are worse than a schizophrenic—up and down like a roller coaster.
“Bag, shoes, and cell phone into the crate at the side,” I instruct when she follows me into an old Popov compound. When she scoffs about my demand, I rip the goods out of her hands. “If you think I trust you, you’ve got another thing coming.” Once I have the items where Rocco will have no troubles retrieving them, I nudge my head to the stairwell. “We have to go up before we go down.” I step closer to her like I’m sharing trade secrets. “But you know that already, don’t you?”
I wasn’t lying when I said Dimitri told me everything. His stories included a confession about how India not only watched K be assaulted by Vladimir from a bunker hidden in the basement of this compound, she also recorded her abuse.
Those tapes were a major part of India’s negotiation. If Smith hadn’t located them, our agreement would have been null and void.
With the smile of a vindictive bitch, India whispers, “I’ll never tell.”
My teeth grit when she drags her fingernails across my pecs before she commences climbing the stairwell on our right, indicating she knows the way. “Were my specifications met?”
