War (Romanian Mob Chronicles Book 5) (15 page)

M
ilan

“
Y
ou should go now
,” the man said.

“And what will you do to him?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be but still clinging to hope that I was wrong.

I had somehow regained my composure, but his expression when I asked that question sapped it away.

He didn’t respond, but instead gave me the most evil smile I had ever seen.

I shuddered to think of what he planned to do, just as I recognized it was up to me to prevent whatever he planned.

“Forget this ever happened, Milan. Move on with your life,” he said.

I couldn’t tell if that was a threat or a warning. Maybe both.

What he intended it as didn’t matter.

I wouldn’t forget Priest, and I wouldn’t leave him here to suffer.

Which left the question of what I could do. One I considered as I got into the car he had promised and drove off.

I watch the man’s retreating form through the rearview mirror, and when he stepped back inside the building and closed the door, the urgency I felt only intensified.

I needed to move quickly.

But where to?

The police were completely out. I didn’t know if they were looking for me, considered me a suspect. Even if they welcomed me with open arms, by the time I explained what happened, he would probably be long gone.

I wouldn’t dream of going back to that godforsaken place where Priest had gone before.

So where…?

The Simpson Building.

He’d said he was going to the Simpson Building. I could go there. Maybe find someone, someone who could help him.

The highway was up ahead. I pointed the car toward it and then, driving as fast and recklessly as I dared risk, I made my way back to the city.

M
ilan

T
he city still slept
, but it was starting to come awake when I stopped and parked about a block away from my destination. Knowing my luck, I’d get towed, but at this point, I was more than willing to take the risk.

I had no other options, and something, that same instinct that had told me I could trust him, now told me I would find help here. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but I would grasp onto any chance to save him.

Moving quickly but cautiously, I made my way toward the Simpson Building, looking up at the dilapidated skyscraper. It had been empty for years, its namesake lost to bankruptcy, and the neglect was apparent in its shabby facade, the air of neglect around it setting it apart from the other, more vibrant buildings on the block that were starting to light up in preparation for the people that would fill their halls. I hardly ever came downtown, but I knew the patterns well enough, and knew that soon the streets would be clogged with traffic, making travel that much harder, taking precious seconds away from him, seconds I knew he couldn’t spare.

I stayed back, watched the empty building for any signs of life. There were none. The place was silent, empty, like a tomb.

Or a place that was made to
look
like a tomb.

I laughed, wondering what Priest would think of my newfound detective skills. Then I sobered when I remembered that if I didn’t come through for him, he wouldn’t think anything about anything ever again. My chest ached with the pain of that thought, but I stood up straighter, iron in my spine, my conviction now stronger than ever.

I wouldn’t fail him.

All traces of humor gone, I rushed toward the building and pulled at the door, not at all surprised when it didn’t open.

The building was situated on a corner, so I walked alongside it, looking up before focusing on the side door.

It was also closed tight, but still I pulled at it and then looked up at the weathered marble on the side of the building, searching for
something
.

There was nothing.

Frustration was rising as I wandered back to the front of the building, my heart beginning to pound. I stopped at the main door, at a loss for what to do. I stared up again at the still-foreboding building facade.

Then I caught it from the corner of my eye. A small flash. I stared at that spot again waited, seconds passing, watched so long that I was almost convinced myself I hadn’t seen it, that maybe I had imagined it.

But as I watched, I saw it again.

A camera.

It was a camera.

And if there was a camera, there would be someone to watch it.

I stepped closer to the door, kept my eyes on the spot where I’d seen the flash, and then begin waving frantically, jumping up and down.

Nothing.

I changed tactics and closed my palms together, silently imploring, begging.

I glanced away for a moment and stared at the door, then looked around the corner, waiting for something.

But again, there was nothing.

My heart sank, and I quickly tried to think of another way to get whoever was in there—and I knew there was someone—to come out.

Maybe if I banged on the door.

I took two steps toward it and then paused in my tracks, the pressure of the object at the back of my head warning me to stay still, though everything inside me insisted I run.

Those next excruciating seconds passed slowly, fear making it a struggle to stay still when I wanted to run, the silence from the person behind me, one I hadn’t yet seen, only intensifying that fear.

But Priest needed me, and that knowledge gave me the courage to speak around the fear. “Can you—”

“Shut up.” The voice that came out was calm, icy, and far more terrifying than any of the other terrifying voices I’d heard in these last days.

“Step backward, slowly, no sudden moves,” the man said.

I went to comply, lifted my foot, and then froze again at the sound of a second voice, this one feminine, warm, and most surprising of all, friendly.

“Adrian, that’s no way to treat a visitor.”

The pressure at the back of my head was gone in the next second, and my lungs began to reinflate.

I stayed still, though, waited and listened to the click of heels against the concrete that was getting closer. When the woman stood in front of me, I looked down into a pair of friendly brown eyes.

“You’re in trouble,” the woman said.

I shook my head rapidly. “No. Not me. Priest.”

Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly and tucked her hand against my elbow.

“Come inside,” she said.

P
riest

“
S
he’s gone
?” I asked Benton when he came back in.

He locked the door behind him, pulled up a small folding chair, and then sat. Then, he finally answered. “Yes. She’s gone. Now it’s just the two of us, alone, like I’ve wanted for so many years.”

He sounded like a scorned lover, but I chose to keep that observation to myself.

“You seem uncomfortable. Have a seat,” he said, nodding toward the floor.

“I’ll stand,” I said.

“That wasn’t a request, Nikolai,” he said, his voice turning steely.

“I know,” I replied. The fucker had the upper hand, but I wouldn’t stand for his bullshit.

His eyes flashed and he vibrated with anger that he quickly managed to rein in.

“This is not off to a good start. I thought we had an agreement,” he said.

“And I fulfilled my part of it. Her for me. There were no other strings attached.”

“Maybe it’s time to reevaluate,” he said.

“What does that mean?” I asked. He was threatening me, but I would make him state so outright.

“It’s my fault, really,” he said instead of responding. “This will be much more…pleasant if you play nicely.”

“I doubt this is going to be pleasant,” I said. In fact, I was certain it wouldn’t be, but me dying in a room like this, one worse, the pain that would come before my death, was the only logical end for me, so the only question, the only surprise was whether it would be today or not.

“For you, no. It’ll just be less unpleasant, perhaps, and much better for her,” he said.

“We had an arrangement. You’re going back on your word?”

He laughed again, the joy and bliss and glee in the sound no less alarming now than it had been before.

“Nikolai, would you presume to take someone’s word? You who wreak havoc and destruction wherever you go.”

“But I always keep my word,” I said. Yes, I had killed, hurt people and lots of them, but I never lied. I wouldn’t dare suggest that gave me integrity or honor, but it meant something.

“I guess you’ve given me a goal to aspire to,” he said.

He didn’t articulate a threat, but he didn’t need to.

I had made a mistake. Perhaps he would spare Milan, maybe he was just toying with me for his amusement, but either way, I would do what I could to protect her for as long as I could.

“So, I want to tell you a story,” he said. As he spoke he crossed one leg over the other, settling in to get comfortable.

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. That happened all the time in the movies, people feeling the need to explain, to try to make someone understand their twisted logic.

What people like that didn’t get was that there was no explanation, no understanding. He had something he felt needed to be done, so he should do it, take whatever solace he got from it, and then move on, no theatrics, no speeches.

At the very least, it would spare me the burden of having to listen to his bullshit.

No such luck, it seemed.

One look at the guy, and I knew I was in for a long, laborious story, but maybe that was a part of the torture. I’d rather get worked over by the pliers, but I suspected he knew that.

Benton still stared at me and then he began to speak.

“You and your kind, you do this for a living, it’s your profession?” he asked.

“‘My kind’?” I said.

He nodded. “You connected guys, you like to think of yourselves as businessmen, better than ordinary criminals?”

“I’m not connected,” I said, which was the truth. I knew many, but I had no formal relations.

“You’re too modest,” Benton said, “but even if I accept your modesty, you still consider yourself a professional, right?”

I considered and then nodded. “I value professionalism and believe there are ways to run a business neat and clean. Though some don’t value those qualities as highly as I do.”

“I value professionalism too, though I take a much different approach,” Benton said.

“Cop, I take it?”

He nodded. “For a little while, but I decided that local policing wasn’t for me. I wanted to make a difference. Help the country and all that shit, you know?”

“Not personally, but I’ve heard similar stories before,” I said.

“Yeah probably. I went federal, did good for a while too. Then everything changed.”

He looked at me then, the anger and scorn back on his face.

“I assume I had something to do with that change?” I said.

“Oh yes.”

“Care to explain?”

“Do you remember Errol Malvin?”

I pause, twisted my wrists against the tight cuffs as I thought. “Fed. Was on the payroll. Murdered after he got caught,” I said.

“I’m impressed,” he replied, though his expression didn’t match the words he spoke. He looked on the verge of exploding with his anger.

“Did I get the story right?” I asked blandly, knowing my description didn’t begin to match the emotion Benton felt, knowing that my nonchalance would get deep under his skin, and happy about that fact.

“The big parts, but you forgot the details.”

“Which you will now fill in for me,” I said.

“You said he was murdered. He wasn’t. He killed himself.”

“He was facing a long sentence as I recall. Some people aren’t designed for confinement.” The idea of long years in a cage was too much for many, so it wasn’t uncommon for those confronting a long sentence to take the alternative.

“Malvin wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t designed to be a criminal either, but that’s exactly what
you
made him,” Benton said, jabbing a finger in the air.

“How?” I asked.

“How?” he said scornfully.

“Yes,” I said. “How.”

“You fucking knew he had a weakness and you exploited it. That’s how!”

“I offered him money for information. He didn’t have to take it,” I said.

Benton stood, completely enraged now. “Is that how you see it? You were just a simple courier? Gave money in exchange for information? You have no other role to play?”

“Yes, that how I see it,” I said. And that was how it was, a simple business exchange and nothing more.

Benton clearly disagreed.

He moved with lightning speed, and the impact of his booted foot against my jaw set my head reeling. My jaw throbbed, and my ears began to ring. I fought back against the dizziness, though my head still swam.

“You’re wrong,” he said as he loomed in front of me.

I braced myself for the next kick.

M
ilan

“
C
an I offer you anything
? Anything at all? Maybe just water?”

I sat rigid in what I knew was an expensive leather chair, my feet padded by an equally expensive rug, the rest of the room also tastefully furnished and giving off the air of an accountant’s office, or maybe a very expensive therapist’s office. Not that I was really able to take any of it in.

“Would you like water?”

The woman, Senna, had asked that question three times in the fifteen minutes I had been here, and each time I had told her no. It finally occurred to me that perhaps it wasn’t a question.

“Water would be nice,” I said.

My stomach rebelled at the thought of putting anything in it, even water, but I watched her as she walked across the expensive rug and went to a small shelf of beverages.

The inside of this building couldn’t have been more different than the outside, which confirmed that the neglected outside was intentional. Everything inside screamed “expensive” and appeared to be a business of some sort, though I had no clue what kind.

Senna returned to me, glass in hand, and I took it and drank the water down heartily.

“Thank you,” I said after I finished. “I didn’t even know I needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, smiling.

“You saw me on the camera?” I asked.

“No. But I saw Adrian leaving, so I followed him.”

Something in her voice made me pause.

“I assume that’s a good thing for me that you followed him,” I said.

She said nothing, just smiled again, but that was answer enough.

What would have happened had she not followed Adrian, who I still hadn’t actually seen head-on, was no mystery to me.

But many other things were, including how she’d gotten here, and where
here
even was, because I doubted an ordinary business was running out of a building that had been staged to look dilapidated on the outside but was opulent inside.

But all of those were secondary, because I needed to help Priest.

“How much longer?” I asked.

Senna shrugged. “I called him.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rush you, but I have to. It’s important.”

“I told him it was urgent,” she said, then she smiled softly again and patted my leg.

“Who’s ‘him’?” I asked.

She frowned with disbelief and then said, “You don’t know him?”

I shook my head, having little clue where this was all going.

Senna patted my leg again. “He’ll be here soon,” she said, leaving out any clarification of who this “him” was.

But her words had been prescient. No more than ten minutes later, the door to the office where Senna and I sat swung open.

The man who walked in was unlike any I had ever seen before. He was tall, imposingly so, and even though he wore a perfectly tailored suit, I could still see the thick, heavy muscles of his body. His hair was light brown, maybe blond, but I couldn’t tell because it had been shorn close to his scalp.

His rigid posture and impeccable dress reminded me of Priest, but the similarity ended there.

With Priest, even in those first terrifying moments, I had sensed something warm, something human.

This man had none.

Heart pounding, I forced myself to look at his face and then worked even harder not to recoil. He wasn’t handsome, his features too hard, face too craggy for him to be considered that. But his looks, or lack thereof, were nothing when compared with the icy expression on his face.

In fact, that was a misstatement. To call his expression icy would be to suggest he had an expression. He didn’t. His face was a blank slate, no warmth, not even the warmth of anger. Just nothingness, a sense that was reflected in the iciness of his eyes.

I stood, not exactly sure where that impulse came from, but doing so made me feel like I was at less of a disadvantage, though I knew full well that feeling was an illusion.

Senna stood too, but the man didn’t even seem to notice her and instead kept his eyes trained on me.

“Who are you?” he asked when he stood closer to me.

His face still had no expression, but he watched me, was studying me in a way that was beyond unnerving.

“Milan,” I finally managed to say around the fear that had clogged my throat. “Milan Meadows.”

“And why are you here, Milan Meadows?”

I laughed, the sound shrill, nervous, unhinged.

It got no reaction at all from the room’s newest addition, who just stood watching, studying, waiting.

“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I know here is the Simpson Building, but I’m not really sure where here actually is. What you do here, I mean,” I said.

I was babbling now, but desperate for this man’s help, I refocused. “Priest, Nikolai, he needs you,” I said.

“What makes you think I know of this Priest?” the man asked.

“He said he was coming here,” I said.

“He told you that?” the man asked, the faintest hint of something in his face for less than a split second before he closed down again.

“Yes, but that’s not important. What’s important is a guy has him. He’s handcuffed to a pipe. You have to go to him,” I said, frantic now.

“And do what?” he asked, his expression showing the faintest curiosity.

“I don’t know. Stop it. Do something!” I said my voice rising. I needed to keep my cool if I had any hope of helping him, but doing so was growing harder with every second that ticked by.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“No. I have no idea. And I don’t care. Except I think you can help him, keep him from dying.”

“I do know Nikolai, and rest assured, if he’s there, it’s because he agreed to be. He can handle his own affairs. Why should I intervene?”

The way the man asked the question suggested genuine but detached curiosity, like I hadn’t just told him that Priest was handcuffed to a pipe. Like Priest wasn’t facing certain death, like he hadn’t put himself in that position and all to save me.

“Because!” I said, not caring about my outburst and ignoring Senna’s warning hand on my arm. “All the things that are probably happening to him right now. You can stop them.”

“Yes. I could, if I was so inclined,” he said.

Then he turned, left, and closed a gate after him. When I heard the door click shut, I ran toward it.

“Stop,” Senna said. She’d followed me to the door. “We’ll stay here.”

Then she put her hand against my elbow again and led me back to the small lounge where we had been sitting. She watched me, hand still on me, and it was only after I had met her gaze that she let me go.

“You care about Priest,” she said.

“I don’t care about him. I love him.”

I’d never said those words to him, hadn’t even said them to myself, but they were true.

“I know. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise,” she said.

“I meant what I said. I don’t really know where here is, but I assume that was ‘him’?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Maxim.”

“I know he can help,” I said.

“He was always fond of Priest,” she said.

That the cold, reptilian creature I had just met could be fond of anyone was shocking to me, but I’d take Senna’s word for it.

“He’s very angry right now, so we shouldn’t push the issue,” she said.

“Angry? He barely has a pulse,” I said.

She just smiled warmly. “We won’t push the issue,” she said.

“But do you think he will help?” I asked, my voice barely emerging from the tightness that clenched my throat.

Her smile dropped.

“I don’t know.”