Page 35 of Darkest Deeds

Niko

Irony’s a bitch sometimes.Eight years ago, my obsession with Ava nearly cost me my life, and now, eight years later, the same damn thing is going to finish the job.

I’m screwed. By taking Ava, I sealed my fate. The head of the Tabella Della Morte will be the first person Sergei will call when he figures out Ava is still alive. Once Arthur hears I’ve gone rogue, he won’t rest until he has my head mounted on a wall in his office.

The path I’m wearing in the grass is getting more obvious as my maniacal pacing quickens, but I don’t care. I need something to occupy my mind so I don’t go back in there and finish whatever the fuck just happened.

The minute she touched my face and whispered my name, everything became distorted. I hate her for making me weak, but all I can seem to care about is feeding this roaring beast gnashing its jagged teeth against the cage I’ve kept it in far too long.

I cut my eyes toward the simple, rustic ranch-style house that’s doing nothing to contain her banshee-like screaming. Eventually, she’ll wear herself out, and it’s not like I’m worried about anyone hearing her. The house sits on eighty acres of hunting land without a single neighbor for miles. Hell, the driveway alone is almost half a mile long and overgrown with weeds.

No one will find her, if that’s what she’s hoping.

No one’s looking for Garrison Franko, a forty-year-old retired military vet living out the rest of his years quietly on a mini-ranch in the middle of Okeechobee, Florida.

I have over twenty-eight aliases who own property in nineteen states and are legal residents of six different countries. I can play Hide and Go Seek well into my golden years.

However, as much as I prefer to work alone, I’m going to need an ally. Someone who can watch Ava while I at least try to convince Arthur not to rip my lungs out through my nose.

Someone who isn’t a member of the Cavalieri. Someone who isn’t my best friend and the man Arthur threatened to hand Ava over to. Someone who isn’t Dagger.

There’s only one problem.

I don’t trust anyone else.

All my life I’ve been a loner. Besides Ava and Dagger, the only time I gave a shit about anyone was when a mercenary job landed me in a Columbian prison. A guy with a homemade shank was fighting four assholes at once and…

I stop pacing, and tip my head back, drawing in a deep breath. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I close my eyes, searching my memory for the number. It only takes three rings for him to pick up.

“Three years is a long time.”

He’s right, but it could be twenty and I’d still recognize that heavy Russian accent anywhere. “How did you know it was me?”

“Burner phone.” He laughs. “Who else would it be?”

“Maybe any other criminal with half a brain? I don’t have time for bullshit, Mikhail,” I growl, pacing again. “You have ten seconds to be straight with me before I hang up.”

“Who says I am bullshitting you?”

“Five.”

“Okay, fine. I still hear things,” he admits. “Rumor has it you have been in Miami. I assumed you finally decided to take your revenge.”

“Is that right?” I’m not surprised there’s already a buzz circulating.

“There is one thing I do not understand—”

“Not over the phone. Meet me in West Palm Beach in an hour. I’ll text you the address.”

“What? Niko, I…” His voice trails off as Ava finds her second wind. “Is someone screaming?”

“Television,” I mutter.

He doesn’t question me, instead choosing to argue about meeting logistics. “Niko, West Palm Beach is an hour from Fort Lauderdale, and that is if I leave right now. You have got to give me at least two.”

“One.”

“I have not heard from you in three years, comrade, and you think you can summon me? How do I know this is not some kind of trap?”

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