I knock the other baby soldier out too. I don't care that they will report back to Vasily that it was a dark-haired Ukrainian who attacked them. After tomorrow, Nikolai Andrushko will cease to exist. I'm here to ensure the death of only one man. Sergei.
The rest of the morning goes off without a hitch, so smoothly that I begin to worry. The waiter I bribed replaces the sugar with baking soda. Sergei drinks his supposedly sugared coffee and spits it out immediately, but the reaction of the baking soda with the Perrier he always begins his breakfast with causes foaming to appear at the mouth.
"My god, he's got rabies!" cries one patron. Others stand up and move away immediately.
"What kind of disease have you brought in here?" Magvendov demands and shoves back from the table. Sergei holds his hands out, pleading with the wealthy oligarchs.
"It's nothing!" he shouts but no one there believes him. Sergei is vermin to them, and that he is actually foaming at the mouth only proves how he does not belong. I would laugh at him if I didn't want to twist his head off his neck.
His bodyguards are trying to help him, but they are being blocked by the staff. It is easy enough to slip into the melee and administer a syringe of curare to both bodyguards and to Sergei. Curare is a paralytic drug harvested from vines of the South America rainforest that causes almost no harm but renders the victim immobile for a short time.
When Sergei goes limp, it's easy enough for me to shoulder him and push my way out of the restaurant. The staff and patrons think I am one of his foot soldiers, coming to his aid. If only they knew the truth.
I drag Sergei out, his heavy body made more unmanageable by his paralytic condition. I fold him into his Maybach and take off for the hotel.
The private hotel elevator for the top floor of the Metropol Hotel is convenient. I encounter no others on my trip up to our suite. Sergei is fully awake and shooting poisonous glances my way. I feel almost jubilant.
"You look unhappy, Sergei. Is it because you cannot move your limbs or because the whole oligarchy of Russia now thinks you are a diseased dog?" I don't even try to stifle a laugh. My joke at his expense only enrages him further. I drag him down the hall and into the suite. Dropping him by the door, I go to the kit and get out the plastic wrap and duct tape, and I position one of the heavy mahogany chairs in the middle of the plastic.
"I know. You are thinking, 'Just wait, Nikolai, until I gain full function of my limbs again. You will be hunted like the dog you are.'" I click my tongue at him, watching as a little saliva dribbles from his tongue. The curare is wearing off. I debate giving him another dose but decide against it.
He flops in the chair, and I tape his arms to the sides so that he can sit upright. Then his legs. I text Daniel that my quarry is secured.
I receive an immediate OK in return.
I sit on the sofa and dissemble the Glock, clean it and reassemble it. It's larger than I would like for Daisy, but I can help hold it when she shoots Sergei. I wonder how long this can take. The drive from the Petrovich compound is only half an hour, but I suppose Vasily must mobilize the transport for Daisy. Perhaps news has already reached the compound of Sergei's kidnapping. In order to be able to effectively lead the Bratva after Sergei's demise, Vasily must appear as if he had nothing to do with Sergei's death.
"Why do you not kill me?" Sergei chokes out. The curare is wearing off.
"Because that is for Daisy."
He gives a weak cough and leans his head back to spit out his extra saliva to the side. It makes a slight splatting noise when it hits the plastic. "She's too weak. She'll never do it." His head lolls to the side.
"I wonder why you do this, Sergei? Why you take these risks?" I muse. Leaning my head to one side, I pull and crack my neck muscles. I do the same on the other side to relieve tension.
"What risks? Killing Alexsandr?" Sergei spits again, only this time some of the liquid hangs on the side of his mouth. He looks unkempt, like a beggar pulled from the streets.
The mention of Alexsandr kills my humor at Sergei's situation. I begin to pace, knowing that I shouldn't show my agitation to Sergei but doing so anyway. "You knew that Harry was diseased and that your transplant source was selling organs from alcoholics and drug addicts and HIV patients. You knew you were supplying bad krokodil to your own people and killing them. These are the acts of a stupid man, unfit to lead."
"Is that what they tell you? Alexsandr thinks the Bratva business too dirty for us. Perhaps, he says, we should not do some of these things anymore. Alexsandr shows me he is too weak to be the enforcer of the Bratva," Sergei tries to sneer, but the lax control over his muscles make him look as if he is seizing.
"You have no sense of brotherhood," I scoff. "Alexsandr would not more betray the Bratva than he would cut off his own cock, but you kill him because he talks reason that you do not want to hear. Then you endanger everyone by taking Daisy." I stoop in front of him and point the empty gun in his face. "Daisy needs to see you die so that in the night, when it is dark, she can know that she does not need to be afraid."
"Where will you be?"
"Beside her." Holding her hand and helping her pull the trigger, I think.
"And you are not enough man to take her virginity, let alone her fear."
Sergei has no taunts that can touch me, but I tape his mouth shut because I am tired of hearing his drivel. I pull up my tracking program and wait.
DAISY
I watch Daniel with wariness as he pulls into the parking lot of the hotel. It's quiet, and there's no one around, but I don't trust this man. How can I trust anyone ever again? Everyone has lied to me.
Even Nick. It's his lie that hurts the most, honestly. It feels like I never really knew him, after all this.
When the car stops, I don't move. I wait with bated breath to see what this new man will do. He tells me he's working with Nikolai to bring down the Bratva leader, but I don't know that I can trust him or what he tells me.
After all, Nick was Nick Anders to me. He is not Nikolai, Bratva hitman.
Daniel comes to the side door of the car and opens it to let me out. I leave the car, every muscle in my body screaming caution. He sees my tension and leans in. "I'm taking you to Nikolai, little girl. It's not in your best interest to run. You have nowhere to go."
He's right, but it doesn't stop the thought from crossing my mind and lingering there. I don't respond to this, only raise my tied wrists.
He pulls out a knife, and I wait…
But he only slices through my bonds. "Come on," he says. "Stay behind me and keep quiet. We're going in the back way."
Daniel takes me to a service elevator in the parking garage and then into a back door. We cut through a kitchen, an empty hallway, and then through what looks like a laundry room as we make our way inside. We pass people in staff uniforms, but they deliberately avoid making eye contact with us. It's like they see my bruised face and the dangerous man I am with, and they want to pretend we do not exist. It's probably easier that way; I don't blame them.
Then, we are in another elevator, a staff one. Daniel pushes a button and waits at my side, his stance wary. I cannot help but look at the perfect hang of his jacket, wondering where the gun is. I wonder if I can grab it before he breaks my wrist.
And then what?
Fight my way into the hotel? Tell the manager that I have been kidnapped?
And…then what? Will they take me back to the States, or will they call the authorities? What if the men I am running from are the authorities?
I'm so confused, so cornered. I clench my hands and wait for instinct to kick in. Instinct will tell me what to do.
The elevator dings, announcing that we've arrived at our floor. "Come on," Daniel says, and he puts a hand to my shoulder.
I flinch away, skittering backward a step. "Don't touch me."
"Sorry," he says, and he raises his hands in the air to show me he means no harm. "Let's go, before Nikolai decides we're taking too long and kills Vasily."
My heart goes cold at his casually tossed off words. Let's go before Nikolai kills Vasily. Like he would do it in a fit of spite. My Nick.
Daniel walks two steps behind me—probably so he can watch my movements in case I bolt—and he shepherds me down the hall to a hotel room door. 786. It's the last one down the hall, and it offers a modicum of privacy from the other rooms. Once at the door, Daniel knocks once, then three times rapidly, then once again.
It's a pattern I'm familiar with. Didn't my father and I have our own system of knocks and acknowledgments to let the other know it was safe? The door opens immediately on the other side, and there is Nick, who gathers me into his arms. I catch a glimpse of him. He looks tired, stiff…furious. His arms are trembling around me as if he can barely hold on to his control and an animalistic sound escapes his throat. I sag into him, feeling safe even though I know it's ridiculous to feel safe here in the arms of a man who kills people for a living.
Some semblance of sense creeps in, and I push out of Nick's arms.
He grabs me before I can retreat from his anger, and his hands capture my face. His eyes are wild as he surveys my swollen nose and my bruised eyes, but his fingers are careful as he traces over my injuries. After a long, tense moment, he lifts my hand and examines it carefully. He pauses at the bruises circling my wrists, but he seems satisfied that I have all my fingers.
Then, before I can say anything, he whips out a gun and points it at Daniel's forehead.
Everyone in the room freezes.
"Nikolai," Daniel says warningly. His expression hasn't changed. "You know we're in this together."
"You let them hurt her," Nick growls. "You let them touch my Daisy."
"What were we supposed to do? Cuddle her in front of Sergei and Yury?" Daniel's voice is flat, unafraid. It's almost like he's daring Nick to shoot him. "Use your brain, dipshit. She has all her fingers. She was not raped. She is fine."
Nick is breathing hard, and his face is flushed with rage. The hand holding the gun aloft trembles, and I realize he's struggling to keep control.
Daniel's gaze flicks to me, and I realize he wants me to speak up and say something.
"Nick, you're scaring me." I don't have to fake the tremble in my voice; I'm utterly terrified at this moment.
It's my voice that breaks through his mindless rage. The gun lowers and goes back into the holster in his jacket.
And then Nick turns to me and his hands cup my face again. "Daisy," he groans, and he leans in to kiss me. It's a gentle kiss, mindful of my split lip. "My sweet Daisy."
I can't relax in his grip this time, even when he pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me. All I can think is that this man is an assassin and that he nearly killed a man just now. All because he thought Daniel hurt me. He would kill over bruises and a split lip.
I wonder what else Nick has killed over.
He seems to sense that I am not returning his hug, that I am shrinking away from his touch. He takes a step backward, and those intense eyes study me, full of hope and longing and relief.
"You are not hurt?"
I shake my head. I'm not hurt, not really. I'm bruised, I'm terrified, and I'm feeling so betrayed, but I'm not hurt. "Where's Regan?"