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Rafael
It’s takenthat bastard two weeks to arrange a meeting. I pull the car onto the top level of the parking deck where we’re meeting. My guess is he has the place covered by snipers, but there’s not an awful lot I can do about that. If he kills me, he won’t have access to my port, and if I kill him, I won’t get Anna back. It’s tentative understanding, and I don’t trust the Russian for shit. I turn the lights off and wait. Snow swirls across the open space in manic flurries, disappearing into the darkness of the night sky just as quickly as it appears. After a few minutes, a black SUV pulls up the ramp, circling behind our car and coming to a halt right in front of us.
I get out of the car, and so do the two guys I brought with me. I left Samuel behind for this one. I can’t risk the possibility of this being a trap and them taking both of us out. Samuel is too important to the survival of the cartel, and despite how it may seem, I do still give a shit what happens to the cartel.
The car doors open and a figure emerges in front of the headlights. His dark hair is graying, his eyes such a chilling shade of pale blue that he looks like the villain in every movie. An expensive wool coat hangs open over a three-piece suit. He’s both a cliché and nothing like what I expected. Two figures move in on either side of him, and my eyes lock with the startling lilac irises of Una Ivanov. I force my expression to remain impassive, but I’ll admit, I’m shocked. I didn’t expect to see her here. She stares at me for a moment longer before I tear my eyes away and focus on Nicholai.
I’ve already laid out what I am, and am not, prepared to give him. I didn’t want to get ambushed out in the open because he expects something I’m not prepared to provide. Truthfully, there’s not a lot I wouldn’t give for Anna, but therein lies the problem. Show an enemy your weak spot, and he will exploit it. Though I’m not sure there’s any point in trying to hide it at this point. After all, I’m here, willing to barter things I never would have previously, for her life. “I offer you reasonable terms, but I want proof of life.”
Nicholai throws his head back on a laugh. “You are demanding for a nobody,” he says arrogantly. Here, I am a nobody, and he thinks himself untouchable, surrounded by his army, but in Mexico…he would be eaten alive. That’s the only small condolence I have in allowing him any foothold in my country. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and throws something to me. I catch it, frowning down at it. It’s plastic Ziploc bag, and in it, is a finger.
“Is this a joke?” I growl.
“Of course not. See, it is fresh. Just cut this morning.” Nicholai spreads his hands to the side.
“This is not proof of life,” I snap, my heart hammering in my chest so hard it’s all I can feel, all I can hear. “This could belong to anyone.” Not to mention that whoever owns it could now be dead.
“If you look closely you’ll see the faded tattoo of a slave number.” He shrugs. “We used to tattoo their fingers until we realized it would fade. Then we did the wrists.” Bile rises in my throat as I notice the blur of faded ink, the same blur I’ve noticed on Anna’s little finger before. Stepping closer to me, Nicholai grins. “On my honor, it is hers,” he says, placing his hand on his chest. “Una cut it off herself.” My gaze swings to Una, and I grit my teeth as red-hot rage rips over my skin. She cut off her own sister’s finger. What kind of animal is she?
“You did this?” I ask, holding up the bag to her.
There’s nothing there, not even a flicker of emotion. “You wanted proof of life. Now you have it,” she says coldly. “Her finger for her freedom seems like a good trade to me.” I glance from Una to Nicholai and back again, trying to comprehend what’s happening. I trusted that Una would protect her sister to a degree, but now…
“She loves you,” I growl.
“Love is weakness, Rafael.” She cocks a brow and steps closer to me. “After all, look at you, here, brokering non-advantageous deals, all for my sweet little sister.”
I dismiss her with a snarl of my lip. She’s a disgrace. Even by my standards, that’s low. The cartel might not have many ethics, but we’d never mutilate our family. “Do we have a deal?” I ask the Russian.
Nicholai’s head tilts to the side. “We do.”
“Good. You can use the port immediately. I expect Anna within twenty-four hours.”
He smirks. “I will be in touch about your delivery.” He turns away, getting back in the car. I expect Una to linger, or at least look at me, but she doesn’t. She simply turns away and gets in the car as if we’ve never met. Is her loyalty really that easily swayed? Or is she playing a role? Role or not, she cut off her sister’s finger. That’s fucked up.
* * *
Two days, and I’ve heard nothing. I sit at the dining table in the Russian house, swigging on a bottle of Russia’s finest vodka. I sent Samuel back to Mexico last night, with half the men. The rest of them remain in the house, but as usual, they avoid my presence. Taking a cigar from my jacket pocket, I place it to my lips and light it. I inhale a deep breath and the smoke dances over my tongue, mixing with the lingering aftertaste of the vodka.
I sent Samuel away as if this is a done deal, but truthfully, I’m terrified that the Russian will back out, and I’m so close, so fucking close. I tip the vodka back again, and again.
I jolt awake at the sound of squealing tires right outside the house. I must have passed out. Voices drift down the hallway followed by the front door clicking open. I get up, scrubbing a hand over my face as I make my way into the hallway. Two of Samuel’s guys are standing in the open doorway, guns in hand.
“What’s happening?”
Someone shouts from outside before jogging back up to the front door. As the soldier steps into the light cast by the front porch, I see the figure clutched in his arms. Blonde hair hangs over his arm. Anna. I’m moving towards him and shoving the other men out of the way before I can truly process what’s happening. He hands her to me, and I take her from his arms, clutching her tight to my chest. Her eyes are closed, her head lolling to the side.
“They dumped her out the front and drove away,” he says in a clipped voice.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Probably drugged.”
I back away and walk into the living room, laying her on the couch. Pressing my fingers to her throat, I feel for a pulse. Its there: steady and strong beneath my fingertips. I stroke my fingers over her cheek, barely able to believe that she’s real after what feels like an eternity of trying to get her back. Her golden lashes cast a shadow over her cheekbones, and she looks almost peaceful in her deep sleep. I wonder if she’ll be so peaceful when she’s awake? What did they do to her in there? Two months is a long time. I press my lips to her forehead, waiting for the raspberry scent of her shampoo to hit me, but it’s absent.
“Sir?”
I glance over my shoulder at the man who brought her in. “We need to move. They know where we are.”
I frown. They dropped her off here. Nicholai has known exactly where we were this entire time?
“Pack everything up. We leave immediately.” I look at Anna. “We’re going back to Mexico.” Back where I can keep her safe. I might never let Anna Vasiliev out of my sight ever again.
