Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (12 page)

We're lucky I have a set of keys to the van and I jam them in, revving the engine. I look behind me and put the van in reverse, pulling out and pointing the van toward Orton, who's throwing another knife at Katrina. Her speed is nearly as fast as his, and she's able to dodge, while Jackson tries to close the distance. He sees me coming though and dodges out of the way, jumping toward Katrina. I get in between them all, Orton on my left with Katrina and Jackson on the opposite side. “Get in!”

Orton's pulling yet another knife as Jackson and Katrina jump in, and I throw the van into drive, jamming my foot down on the gas as soon I hear Jackson's body thump on the floorboards. We peel out, Katrina leaning over to jerk the door closed. Just before we reach the end of the parking lot another two thumps hit the back of the van and another back window explodes, causing me to scream as I hang a right. I have no fucking clue where I'm going, as long as it's out of there.

“You okay?” Katrina asks, her voice tight and scared. “Jackson?”

“Fine,” Jackson says, his voice a little shaky. “You?”

“Fine. Andrea?”

“I'm fine. What about BA?” Baby Andrea answers for all of us by laughing happily, and I glance into the rearview mirror where I see that she's waving her arms and smiling. She thinks this is all a big game. Katrina kisses her daughter and reaches for the straps on her car seat. BA, seeing that her game is over, stops laughing and pouts, crying in frustration when Katrina clicks the straps closed. “Okay, question answered.”

“We need to get back to the farm and find out about Orton, now,” Katrina says. “If he found us here, he knows about the farm.”

I nod, and reach the end of the road. I have no idea where I am, so I hang a left, going anywhere I can to put distance between us and the clinic, my eyes cutting back constantly to look to see if someone is trying to catch up to us. “Well then, get on your GPS, because I'm lost.”

I
t's unnerving
, the apparent normalcy of sitting around the kitchen table, a snoring baby sitting in her car carrier as we wait for Nathan to arrive while we discuss what happened at the clinic. He texted us just a minute ago, saying he's on his way here, and as we wait, everyone seems so calm. Everyone that is, except Melissa.

“You mean... the man I talked to last night... oh God,” she says, her voice trembling and her hands shaking as she looks out into the dooryard at the van. Two windows have been smashed, and there's still a throwing knife handle embedded in the rear door.

Katrina shakes her head and comes around the table, taking Melissa's hands. “You did nothing wrong, Melissa. Last night you were trying to be nice, and you were talking to what you thought was a nice man. That's it.”

“Still... little Andrea... I'm so... I'm so...” she tries to get out before she starts sobbing. Katrina holds her carefully, stroking her hair and comforting her. “She could have died!”

“But she didn't,” Katrina says softly, and I look at Jackson. His normal happy go lucky appearance is gone, and he’s as serious as can be. Andrea, for her part, is sipping tea with both hands and looking down at the table, holding her peace for now. I want to reach out and reassure her that she's going to be all right too, but now isn't the time, and Melissa needs my help.

I get up from my chair and go to Melissa's other side, kneeling next to her. “'Lissa... 'Lissa, look at me.”

She sniffles and pulls her head from Katrina's shoulder. “What?”

“You didn't know. It's okay, and we can move on from here,” I reassure her. “Now, I know it's going to be hard, but I'm going to ask you to do something I've never asked you before. You've done it on your own, but now I'm asking you instead. I need you to harden up, and deal with it. We all screwed up last night. Look around the table. Everyone but Jackson and BA have some guilt for what happened this morning. But if what's going to happen is what I think might happen, we need each and every one of us going full-on to protect our family. I love you 'Lissa, and I've always protected you, because you protected me first, but now we need you to protect someone else.”

“Who?” Melissa asks, her eyes clearing up as she sniffs back the snot in her nose. “Who can I protect? I'm a wreck who can barely take care of herself.”

“BA,” I say softly. “We're going to have to set up a safety net, a hierarchy. We all protect each other, and we'll protect you, but most of all, you need to protect BA. She's your niece, and if we were innocent long ago, she's even more innocent. You don't want her to fall victim to Peter's evil, right?”

Melissa nods, her eyes hardening. “No way. Okay... I'll do my best.”

“I know you will. That's why I love you so much.”

Jackson's phone buzzes, and he looks at it. “That was Nathan. He says he's got a tail, he's trying to lose it. He'll be delayed about ten minutes. Carson, you mind having a talk outside? I could use some fresh air.”

“Sure. You mind helping me in the barn? I'd say after this morning, my gun collection needs more than just to sit in my cabinet.”

“That sounds good. You girls will be okay without us?”

Katrina glances at Andrea, who gives her brother a grin. “You know it. Girl power and all that. You boys go do what boys do in barns, playing with your guns. We'll be fine.”

Jackson bumps fists with Andrea, and gives Katrina a meaningful, somewhat smoldering look. There's strength between them, and I hope it's one that I can depend on as things get worse.

I lead Jackson outside to the barn, over to my weapons area. I unlock the cabinet, and turn on the light. “So what's your poison?”

“Glock 17,” Jackson says, “if you've got one. If not, a 1911.”

I give him a look, smiling. “Strange combination there. Any particular reason?”

Jackson chuckles and nods. “Long story. Maybe another time.”

“Well I've got both, so that's not a problem,” I tell him, pulling out a pair of Glock 17s.

“Can I ask you a question since we're out here alone? What did you mean about Melissa protecting you?” Jackson asks as he checks the Glocks I hand him. “I got the impression that you've always been the one who stuck up for her.”

“I have, but not always,” I tell him, thinking back. “Realize that when the Sands died, after Janice's suicide, I was only two years old. Melissa was seven. So at first I didn't understand as we were taken in by our uncle and aunt, except that she for some reason was always angry at Melissa. Me too, actually. I think they would have thrown me out on my ass except that the will stipulated me as the sole beneficiary. My uncle needed to keep me around in order to justify using money from the trust fund for my upbringing. Still, he was unfair about it despite what I said about him earlier. Melissa doesn't say anything, I'm not sure she thinks about it anymore, but at first, Melissa went to public school while I was sent to private daycare, stuff like that. When I was old enough to realize what was happening, I tried to stand up to my uncle, who wasn't the kindest of men. He was old school country, and thought he was the lord and master of his entire property and family. For a little punk like me to try and stand up to him... he beat me... pretty badly.”

“How badly?” Jackson asks, his face written in disgust.

“Broke my wrist, shattered my cheekbone. You can't see the results, the docs did a good job of setting it and puberty took care of the rest, but afterward, I was going to tell the child welfare people. I was eight, and my uncle went for his favorite tool, his baseball bat. It wasn't full-sized, it was one of those kids' models, maybe about eighteen inches long, he used it when he was out in the back fields. Melissa...” I say, getting choked up at the memory, I guess it's been so long since I shared it with anyone, “She got in between us. She was still suffering then, the nightmares and the depression, all of it, but she stood up and protected me. I remember, standing there with my face swelled up, my wrist in a cast from where he broke it earlier, and Melissa's standing there, a kitchen knife in her hand, holding it out and threatening to kill our uncle with it. She stood up to him, and afterward, when he and our aunt left and stayed away for three days on a trial abandonment or something, she took care of me. I couldn't cook for shit obviously, I could barely microwave ramen, and she wasn't much better, but we stayed fed, we stayed cleaned, and we stayed together. I'd been sleeping with her before, since I was a toddler and I was the only one who could calm her nightmares, but during those days, she was the one comforting me. From that point on, during the good days or the bad, I've always known one thing. Melissa's only weak until she needs to protect someone else.”

Jackson nods, and picks up the pistols. “I always knew she could. And you're not thinking of ditching us? I'm not trying to be a dick, but so far Peter hasn't directly threatened you or 'Lissa.”

I shake my head, and go to the ammunition portion of my cabinet, taking out boxes of nine millimeter ammo. I don't keep my guns loaded in my cabinet. “Not an option. You're family, Jackson, and I'm not going to abandon family. Now, I do think we need to talk with Nathan about perhaps abandoning the farm for safety reasons, 'Lissa can deal with it, but abandon you guys? Hell no.”

Jackson stops what he's doing and comes over, grabbing me and giving me a hug. “I've never had a brother before. It's good to have one now.”

I clap him on the back, and give him a grin. “Damn right. Now, let's go make sure our family is as safe as we can make it.”

* * *

W
hen Nathan comes in
, he's grim, grimmer than I've seen him before. If him and the Grim Reaper were standing in the room together, I think I'd be more afraid of Nathan, the way he looks right now. “Peter is on to me.”

“Well, let's just add some good news to the pile,” Andrea gripes, holding her gun and trying to get comfortable with the grip. It's the smallest pistol I have. Katrina's been working with her, giving her a quick lesson on how to use it. I want to help out, but I still don't trust myself around Andrea, my attraction is just too strong. “How do you know?”

“First off, he lied to me, saying that he was sending his men out to Mobile like I had fed him,” Nathan says, coming in and sitting down. Melissa shifts over to sit next to him, and I can see the look on her face. She's being brave so far, but the presence of the deadly ex-Green Beret is helpful to her, and she draws comfort from having him around. “But more worrisome was that after you guys contacted me, I tried calling him three times. He's not picking up. He has never rejected a call from me, not in all the years I have worked for him.”

“He could just be with a girl,” Melissa offers, and Nathan shakes his head. “Why?”

“Because I have interrupted him mid... well, mid-session before, and he has never said a thing about it,” Nathan says, aware that BA has woken up and is looking around the room, her eyes intent. She seems to understand that the adults are all tense, and she's trying to figure out what's going on, too. “Good idea though, Melissa, but for over a decade when I called, Peter was right there.”

Melissa nods, and I can see in her eyes she's really trying to do what I asked her to do. “Okay. So what do you want us to do, Nathan?”

Nathan gives her a measured look, then looks around at the rest of us. “Are the rest of you on board?”

I look at Jackson and Katrina, who nod immediately. All eyes go to me, and I take a deep breath, then nod as well. “You're the expert. Tell us how we get through this.”

“
T
he first thing
we need to do is set up a multi-layered defense,” Nathan says, looking around the room at us, his new band of recruits. We might not be eager, but at least we're determined. “The first level is detection, the second is our main reaction level, and the final level is our static defenses.”

“No offense, Nathan, but why not just get the hell out of this place?” Katrina asks.

“I have a couple of reasons,” Nathan says. “First, whoever this guy is, he knows more about us than we know about him. I would still like to know how he tracked you guys to that clinic. The van isn't exactly uncommon. I know that Melissa may have given this man information, but that does not explain it all to me.”

“I'm more worried about how good this guy is with knives,” Jackson says, and I have to nod in agreement. “He was fast. Freaky fucking fast, excuse my language.”

“I agree,” Katrina adds. “Whoever this guy is, he's good. Real good.”

“Better than you?” I ask, and Katrina nods somberly. “Really?”

“I'm not Bruce Lee,” Katrina says with a small smirk. “I've had my butt handed to me plenty of times, Andrea.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, and Katrina nods. I remember watching some, but I was too scared trying to hold BA and to get the van going to really focus on the rest of the fight. “Did you guys even get a lick in?”

“Not one,” Jackson says angrily. “The guy made me feel like a clown. Even more than when you and I sparred that time back at the plantation house.”

Nathan sighs and nods, his fingers tapping the table. “Then it is worse than I feared. I examined the van. The two knives I found were both custom jobs. Clearly handmade, and not just cheap ones procured from the Net. The balance on them alone demonstrates that. It adds to why we need to stay static here, though. I have been all over this house, and these grounds. We all have. We have the advantage of terrain and territory, even if we don’t know our attacker.”

“The natural formation of the country is the soldier's best ally,”
Katrina says, then looks at me when I give her a questioning glance. “Sun Tzu.”

Melissa gives us a questioning look, and I laugh. “Get used to it, 'Lissa. This woman spent a decade doing little more than absorbing martial arts philosophy and learning how to become a one-woman killing machine. She doesn't know a thing about any of the good music released in the past five years though.”

“There's been good music in the past five years?” Melissa asks, and Katrina laughs.

“Yep, I knew I liked you for a reason.”

We all stop laughing when we realize Nathan’s as serious as a heart attack. “In the Berets, briefings had their share of jokes too. But let's move on. The basic plan is simple. I am going to put Maverick on the perimeter of the house, where he will be the first level of our security. Before you ask, I have trained him for this, and he is a natural protector. Honestly, he is probably one of the best dogs I have ever had for this purpose. For such a large animal he is quiet, and he is trained to stay silent until he finds something. He knows when he has occasion to use that voice. He is loud, and he will be a great early warning system.”

“And what's next?” Jackson asks, but before Nathan can say anything, I interrupt.

“Wait. Nathan, Maverick opens his mouth around this guy, and he's in trouble. You understand that, right?”

Nathan nods, his eyes heartbroken in advance. “I know, Andrea. But I just have to hope that doesn’t happen. The next level is having a person on watch at all times. We can’t afford teams of two, so the next best option is to station one person at the stairs to the second floor. When all access to the house is sealed, we will be better able to pinpoint where they will try to breach the house, and be better able to defend. We’ll work in shifts.”

“And the third level?” I ask, and Nathan looks around.

“There are too many of us to fit inside even the largest bedroom together. So we will split into two groups. Melissa, you will have Katrina, Jackson, and BA as your bedmates, while I will share with Andrea and Carson in Carson's room.”

“Is that the best idea?” Carson asks, then blushes. “You know, for peaceful sleep.”

“Yes,” Nathan says without any hesitation. “BA needs her parents nearby. Melissa's room has a full bathroom for changing diapers in the middle of the night. Yours is only a half-bath. And only your master bedrooms are the most secure. The other bedrooms all have more than one window, and are easily accessible from the roof.”

“How long can we keep this up?” I ask, and Nathan shrugs. I get it. As long as we need to.

“Then let's get to work,” Carson says, standing up. “We've got about six hours of daylight left, let's use what we've got in the barn to help secure this place. By the way, why aren't we using the barn?” Nathan shakes his head.

“It can be a fallback position in a pinch,” Nathan says, “but it is not tenable for something long-term. If more than one person comes, they can lay siege to the barn. To be quite frank, the barn is not as bulletproof as the bedrooms.”

* * *

I
'm tired
as ten o'clock rolls around and everyone else goes to sleep. By luck of the draw I get first shift, which I guess is better than Jackson, who is pulling watch from two to four a.m. The only two people exempt from drawing lots were BA and Melissa, who has never fired a gun in her life. Katrina got the lucky draw tonight, she'll get to sleep the whole night through while pulling early shift tomorrow.

“You going to be okay?” Katrina asks, staying out a few extra minutes since she'll be able to get a full seven or eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. “You worked like a madwoman.”

“I feel bad about how I screwed up last night,” I acknowledge, looking over. The fact is, I've been burning up with shame about the way I acted last night, and I worked as hard as I did to try and make up for it, or at least start to. “It was my job to watch Melissa. And all this, this is new to me.”

“I know, sis,” Katrina says softly. “If it helps, I feel like crap, too. Knowing that Nathan compromised his training in order to guide me, to make sure I stayed safe... I feel like an amateur.”

“Well, we'll get through this,” I tell her, forcing a smile. It helps, knowing that a certified badass like Katrina can still feel bad and make mistakes. Nathan I can understand, but Katrina's always been semi-mythical in my eyes. It's nice to see her as a real person.

Katrina pads silently down the carpet and I settle down on the top step, a borrowed Stephen King paperback next to my Glock. I think about the past six hours, and the work we put in. I can feel it still in my fingers, which are raw and a little achy. After raiding the barn for wood and other supplies, we'd gone to work, hammering and screwing the storm shutters closed first. Next we took care of the windows, locking each one from the inside. The only window that didn't get covered is the big kitchen window that overlooks the dooryard, because the shutter is broken. We're going to board it up tomorrow after Carson takes his truck to a nearby Home Depot and gets some plywood.

After that we'd moved the mattresses from the other bedrooms to Carson's and Melissa's bedrooms, laying them on the floor to try and optimize the sleep space for the extra people. We all sat down for a big dinner together, Maverick with us as well. He ate not only his big bowl of dog food, but also a giant hamburger that Nathan cooked up especially for him. Maverick wolfed everything down before Nathan took him on a walk, coming back after dark and after the rest of us had retreated to the upper floor.

“Maverick's on duty,” he said to me thickly before going into Carson's room. I can see in his eyes. The walk was also a way for him to start to say goodbye to the dog he loves so much. “I will be ready at midnight.”

Now I'm on duty, and as the minutes crawl by, I try to think about what to do. Finally, I turn on the small red LED lamp that we set up for the person on duty and open the book. “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed...”

The night is quiet as I read, and when the clock next to me beeps the hour, I reach out and hit the timer, resetting the sixty minute countdown. It was a final touch that Nathan came up with, a kitchen timer on a sixty minute loop, so that even if we got tired and nodded off, we wouldn't stay asleep too long.
You cannot friend a hawk, they said, unless you are a hawk yourself, alone and only a sojourner in the land, without friends or the need of them...

“Good book,” Nathan says quietly behind me, and I look up, realizing I've got five minutes still on my shift. “Quiet?”

“Not a sound,” I reply, marking my point by folding over a corner of the page. “But I suspect you know that, since you probably didn't sleep at all.”

“No, but I made sure Carson did. He will not do well from four to six otherwise.”

“I'm sure. But he's strong, he'll do fine.”

Nathan sits down next to me, his eyes sweeping the darkness below. “I have a bad feeling this time, Andrea. Even worse than last time.”

His phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his pocket, reading. “This is not good.”

“What?” I ask, and Nathan reads silently for a minute. “What?”

“A contact of mine, someone who owes me a favor, found out who our 'Victor Orton' is. His real name is Vadim Orloff. He is with the Bratva, the Russian Mafia,” Nathan says quietly, showing me the phone. “I will make sure that everyone knows this as they come on duty, but this profile... and I have heard of this guy. He is no amateur. This is serious.”

“How serious?” I ask, and Nathan licks his lips. I think it's the first time I've ever seen him show even a touch of fear, and that's scarier than anything else.

“It says here he is from St. Petersburg, but that might be false. He spent fifteen years in prison, from the ages of eighteen to thirty-three, originally for drug trafficking. In order to survive in prison he quickly joined the prison mob, where he found a certain affinity for his mental temperament. He was an enforcer first, and later became a contract killer for them inside the prison, but continued once he was released,” Nathan says, shaking his head.

He shows me a picture of Vadim, and it's the same man I saw earlier for sure. In particular, the eyes and hair are a dead giveaway. He's shirtless in the picture I see, and he's covered in tattoos. There are a lot of religious symbols, but also a lot of other things I can't really make out on the phone. “What's all the ink?”

“His resume,” Nathan explains softly. “The Russians are a lot like the Yakuza. They ink themselves to show who they are, and what they have done. From what I can read here in these pics, he has killed a lot of people. See the knife that is tattooed on his collarbones, like it was shoved through his neck?”

“Yeah... gruesome shit,” I say as I shiver, and Nathan nods.

“It means that he killed in prison, and that he is for hire. The drops of blood represent each kill he has done. These photos were taken by Moscow police when they brought him in for questioning about five years ago. Judging by the other symbols, it’s probably safe to assume he is the top hitman in their mob. But each drop of blood and star tattoo represents a life he has taken.”

“I can't even count the stars,” I say, and Nathan nods. “So what do we do?”

“Stay frosty, as we said in Spec Ops. You go get some sleep. Tomorrow no one goes alone anywhere, for any reason. But for now, try to get some rest. I will see you in the morning.”

“You sure?” I ask. “I mean, if this Orloff tries something...”

“Then you guys will be up and watching my back before he can get in the door,” Nathan reassures me. “Don’t worry, Andrea. He is good, but he's not that good.”

He's feeding me a line of shit, I know it. He wants me to relax and not freak out, and to be honest he's doing a piss poor job of it. Still, I nod, and stand up. “Okay. Goodnight, Nathan.”

“Goodnight, Andrea. Sleep well.”

“If I can.”