Page 109 of Thorns of Lust
Raising to my feet, box in my hands, I shoved it into my duffle bag and headed back to my rental.
Time to visit Sasha and his kidnapped bride.
* * *
I walked down the hotel hall with the duffle bag over my shoulder and key in my hand.
The Carlton in Moscow was the epitome of style, class, and luxury in typical Ritz manner. But I preferred the American version of the Ritz. In my attempt to blend in, I stuck to speaking Russian. I didn’t want to attract more attention to myself than needed.
Tomorrow I’d take a flight to our Siberian home and there’d be some family reunion going on. Unless Sasha kills us all and that was definitely not out of the realm of possibilities.
Finally finding my room, I stopped in front of it and swiped the key against the magnetic strip. The door clicked and I pushed it open. I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against it with a sigh.
I was exhausted.
I took in the room. A large bed that looked inviting. Two nightstands, one on each side. A large sofa and a corner desk for businessmen that were crazy enough to invest in this country. But the view behind the large window was magnificent.
St. Basil’s Cathedral with all its magnificent domes and colors stretched in the distance, and for a moment, all I could do was stare and imagine hundreds of years of history. This cathedral had seen the rise and fall of an empire and the Romanov family. How many Tsars had gone to pray there? Any?
One of the earliest memories of Vasili’s bedtime stories to me were of the Romanov princess that might have escaped. Princess Anastasia. Though she was murdered along with the rest of the family, there were fake claims for years that she’d survived. It was enough to get my imagination going. I kept asking my big brother to tell me stories about the princes roaming this world, hiding in plain sight from the evil Rasputin.Anastasiawas my favorite movie, but I needed more fairy tales associated with it. My brother appeased me, although he always concluded with ‘this is not real’ statement.
I shook my head at the ridiculous stories.
Striding into the room, I dropped the duffle bag on the coffee table and headed to the bathroom. I took a long shower and scrubbed my skin raw, letting the hot water trickle down my body.
Once I stepped out, I felt refreshed. I padded back into the room and dug through the bag for something to wear to sleep. Once dressed in shorts and loose tank top, I crawled under the covers and fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.
A soft click woke me out of my deep sleep. I blinked. Did I hear it or dream it?
I held my breath.Click.
There it was again. My heart stopped beating for an agonizingly long second and I blinked my eyes, getting used to the dark. Keeping my movements to a minimum, I slid out of the bed on the side closest to my duffle bag and reached for the Beretta I had tucked into the side pocket. Then I remembered. I needed the silencer.
I couldn’t have Moscow police on me tonight.
I screwed on the silencer. One. Two. Three twists. My hands were slightly unsteady but I got it on. I raised my arms and aimed, keeping my hands steady despite my wild beating heart.
My brothers would be so proud, I thought for no reason.
Without thinking, I put my finger on the trigger, keeping it aimed at the shadow.
“Stop there or I’ll shoot,” I called out. The shadows stopped. A man. I couldn’t see his face. It was too dark. But he was tall and lean.
One step. “Last warning.”
He started advancing, taking another step and I shot.Bang.
The body fell down with a loud thud and I waited, holding my breath. But nobody else entered. No other shadows moved. Slowly, gun still in hand, I padded silently towards the body. I kept my guard up and my eyes sharp. Nothing.
Then I flicked the light on. A body lay slumped; the face turned away from me. Cautiously, I pushed it with my feet, and the dead weight rolled over. Annoyance flared inside me.
“Are you for real?” I hissed.
The Yakuza in Russia. The world was going to hell in a handbasket.
THIRTY-THREE
KONSTANTIN
