Page 53 of Darkest Deeds

Niko

Contacts are alwaysuseful in my line of work. That’s why after one call to the Miami Medical Examiner, I delivered pieces of an already deceased redheaded Jane Doe to Sergei before lunch without getting my hands dirty. Some say that’s heartless; I say it’s efficient.

Problem number one solved.

Now, I’m having a beer at a small bar in Port St. Lucie, a boring town forty miles east of Okeechobee, when a text comes through solving problem number two.

It’s done.

Smiling,I drop my phone on the bar and lift my mug in a toast. “Beris' druzhno, ne budet grustno.”

An older woman next to me showing way too much leg for her age wrinkles her nose at me. Normally, I’d be pissed at such a blatant show of disrespect, but I’m feeling generous today.

“Russian proverb,” I say, tilting my mug toward her. “In English it means many hands make light work.”

Her eyes lock on the tattoos covering my hands and neck and she twists her chair around until all I see is her back.

The fuck?

This is exactly why I never talk to people. You have one thing go your way, and some bitch still living in a decade that passed her by twenty-five years ago shits all over it.

“Here’s another one for you,” I offer. “Sosí moy khuy, suka. It means, suck my dick, bitch.”

She lets out a small squeak. Slowly reaching into her purse, she slides a twenty dollar bill on the table and slips out of the chair, walking calmly until she’s almost to the door, then takes off like she was shot out of a cannon.

Lifting my mug again, I down what’s left of my beer.

Many hands make light work.

Damn right they do. Especially when one of those hands drips with blood so that mine can uphold a recently bartered agreement.

Technically, I didn’t kill that border smuggling oil tycoon in Laredo. I simply cashed in a favor from someone even more lethal than myself. A man who has the power to make Sergei Chernov both kiss his ass and then piss himself.

Before Arthur came for me, I took a job no one else wanted—a hit on a cartel kingpin’s wife. I followed it straight to Mexico City. The woman had long red hair and creamy pale skin. I had her in my scope then suddenly my mind saw Ava standing there in the crosshairs, and I hesitated. When the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of my skull, I simply released the trigger and waited. I’ll never forget the thick Spanish accent that followed.

“What’s her name?”

I don’t waver. “Ava.”

The headof the Carrera Cartel knew why I didn’t pull that trigger and spared my life because of it. He asked who ordered the hit, and I told him. That Italian asshole died within hours, along with any knowledge of my involvement.

I glance down at the text again before deleting it. Sparing Carrera’s wife started a chain of events that led to a point where a killer could keep his word to his boss and his captive.

I’m about to order another beer when my phone rings. My good mood tanks when I see who’s calling. “What happened?” I snap.

“I have no idea,” Mikhail says, his voice choppy and frantic. “She was naked, yes? You, how do you say, zipped her hands?”

“Yes, why?”

“I thought, the girl is naked and tied; she is stuck in your room. There is no way she would come out to face me that way. I fell asleep.”

“You did what?” I roar, and the entire bar goes silent. Lowering my voice, I speak the words through clenched teeth. “Where is she, Mik?”

“I do not know. I have driven around the area, but I think I went in a circle.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”

---