Page 9 of Dirty Crown
CHAPTER4
Maksim yelled so muchon the plane that we gave him another sedative and slapped a strip of tape across his mouth, just to be certain he’d shut the fuck up. He was so annoying when he was in pain and experiencing discomfort. The irony wasn’t lost on me, since he was such a piece of shit to anybody he had captive and now here he was, the biggest wimp when it came to his trauma.
We landed in London in the early morning, just as the mist was rising on the tarmac of the airfield. We were outside of town, but there was another car and driver there to meet us and take us to the flat.
It wasn’t some old style London brick and limestone townhouse, though, not like I was expecting. It was the penthouse in a sleek new glass building in a wealthy district. Ivan and his penthouses. I’d have to ask him about that sometime. It was as if he couldn’t stand the thought of anybody on top of him, he had to be top dog at all times.
When we were inside the apartment and away from prying eyes at last, we propped Maksim up on a leather sofa with Avery on the other end. She was awake, but perhaps slightly out of it because she was much more mellow than usual. Or maybe my blow to her head had rattled something around and would make her a nicer human being. I’d have to consider it my charitable service, if that was the case.
“We should send another video to Ilya,” Kingston said, and he ran his hand through his hair while taking a deep breath. He looked bone tired. We all did. We were weary of being on the run or from being hyped up on adrenaline for so many days now.
“We’ll do a quick video, and then bed,” I said. “I want to be in this one, though. I’m tired of hiding from him.”
They all nodded, and we got set up straight away.
Kingston held the burner phone and recorded me next to Maksim. I sat up straight, crossed my legs, and placed my hands on my knee while the phone rang. He picked up and I could hear him breathing on the other end.
“Hello Ilya, I understand you’ve had time to go over our previous demands,” I said and braced myself for his response.
“Fuck you!” he bellowed, breaking his silence. “Fuck you, you fucking cunt! Maksim! Come on, boy, fight back!”
He added a bunch in Russian, but I didn’t understand the language. Given Ilya’s way with words, it was probably more of the same as what he’d been saying.
“He’s a little sleepy at the moment,” I told the furious father. “But he’s still eager to get home. Now, where is Ivan?”
The last video we sent demanded that Ivan be present for the next live chat.
Ilya muttered something in Russian to somebody off camera, and in moments Ivan was dragged into view.
They deposited my father at Ilya’s feet. He tumbled forward and fell in a crumpled heap, barely having the strength to look up at the camera. His eyes sought mine, as if he could see me over the miles and miles and he could see into my soul.
I hadn’t had a lifetime to get to know my father, and I hadn’t grown up worshipping him as his little girl. I didn’t even know if I loved him now, my heart was so closed off that only having him in my life for a couple years meant I needed time to warm up to him.
But despite all of that, seeing him like that was a knife to the guts. A sharp pain followed by a twisting sensation that ramped it up. It was if there was a tear in the fabric of the universe, a shifting in time or a wavering of reality.
Ivan, the entire time I’d known him, had been larger than life. Almost inhuman with his power and skills and the way he handled himself. He commanded attention everywhere he went, not just from his powerful physical presence, but also from his powerful energy.
The man before us now was half of who he’d been. Ilya had starved Ivan, that much was obvious. He was like a prisoner of war, with his skin stretched across his skeletal frame. His muscles had wasted away in the time Ivan had been captured. He looked like he was battling an illness not just battling to stay alive.
“Tell her you’re okay,” Ilya said with a smirk as he poked Ivan with the toe of his boot. “Tell her you’re happy staying with me. It’s been like a vacation. Or summer camp. Like one of those fun sleep over situations where we get to spend so much time together.”
Ivan’s eyes focused on the camera again, and he coughed before giving a wan smile. He was hurting, his pain apparent with each breath he took. He winced and tensed up, as if he had broken ribs, or had been beaten enough that it hurt to breathe.
“It’s been a blast,” he said with a grim tone and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Such a fucking blast. Don’t worry about me, daughter dear, worry about yourself.”
“Are you injured?” I asked. “How badly?”
Ivan scoffed and said, “Minimally. Ilya has been trying to crush me but he doesn’t have the balls to do the job.”
Ilya cursed him out in Russian and kicked him with his foot. I looked at him, narrowed my eyes and said, “What happens there, happens here.”
With Ilya watching intently, leaning forward to see exactly what I was doing, I stood up and lifted my leg. I was wearing boots of my own, and deliberately drew my foot back and slammed it into Maksim’s knee. Maksim grunted in his sleep and groaned.
“Do it again, and your son will suffer,” I said, moving towards the camera so I would block Maksim out. “Keep doing it and neither one of us will have somebody to trade.”
“You fucking bitch!” Ilya exclaimed, keeping up with his usual high level of language. “You hurt my son, you’re fucking dead. Fucking dead, I tell you! Dead!”
“I look pretty alive right now,” I said and shrugged. “Besides, if you come for me, I have four men who will be coming after you. And they’re just rich enough to do it physically or financially. Either way, you and your empire are fucked if you mess with me.”
