Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (16 page)

* * *

“
N
ice work
,” Katrina says as I hand her the laptop in its bag. She's changed rooms, and now we're all in the same intensive care room that Nathan's lying in. He's hooked up to an oxygen line, and has about a half dozen wires running from different points on his body to the monitors that are making sure he's still staying alive. “We got his phone, too.”

I look over at Jackson, who's giving me a pained smile as he reclines on a lounge chair next to the window. BA is sitting on the floor next to him, playing with a teddy bear and gurgling contentedly. “Hey bro.”

“How're you doing, Jackson?” I ask, bumping fists with him.

“Prettier than you are,” Jackson hisses. “Can't move without feeling like my ribs are going to shoot through my lungs, my leg's going to be in a cast for a month... and yet I'm still better looking than you.”

I laugh, then catch sight of my reflection in the mirror next to Jackson, and hum. I've got a huge black bruise across the entire left side of my face, and I can barely see my left eye from the swelling. Funny, I hadn't noticed. “Damn. I guess I need an ice pack.”

“You could say that,” Jackson says, trying not to laugh, but still giving me a smile. “Tell you what, when we get out of here, you and I can go cruising for girls. Now we've got some great stories about that battalion of Navy SEALs we just picked a fight with.”

“Ahem?” Katrina coughs from her seat, giving her husband a raised eyebrow. “Cruising for girls?”

“Only with your permission of course, honey,” Jackson jokes, smiling. “I can be his wingman.”

“Don't need one,” I reassure Jackson, whose smile fades momentarily to be replaced with a knowing nod. “We'll discuss it when you get out of here.”

I go over to Melissa, who's sitting next to Nathan and holding his hand. “How's he doing, 'Lissa?”

“He's alive still,” she says, fear in her voice but she still sounds so strong. She's holding up well, and her eyes are clear as she looks up at me. “The doctors say that the dose was small, and Nathan's in great shape, so he'll recover. It'll just take time, and we'll have to be patient.”

I nod, and give her a hug. “You did amazing, 'Lissa. I'm proud of you.”

Melissa nods and squeezes my hand. “You're going to get her back, right?”

I nod, and kiss Melissa on the top of her head. “Damn right. Then we're taking a vacation. Don't know where, don't really care either.”

“Okay,” Melissa says, taking Nathan's hand again. “Nathan, too?”

“Definitely.”

Melissa nods, and I go back to Katrina, who's doing her best typing with one hand and using her touchpad. “How's it looking?”

“I can type a hundred and fifteen words a minute with two hands, but with one hand I feel like I'm back to hunting and pecking,” she grumbles, waving with her bad hand which is still bound to her body. “I'm about ready to tear this sling off.”

“Don't,” I reassure her. “Separated shoulders mean torn muscles and maybe a few stretched ligaments. You don't need that on top of the rest.”

“Well, as long as you're being nice, hook Nathan's cell phone up with the USB cable that's in my bag, I can crack the memory that way.”

I look in Katrina's computer bag and find the right type of cable, and pick up Nathan's phone. When I connect the cable, the screen turns on, but it's currently security locked. “Got the code?”

“Shorty, I've always got the code,” Katrina says, slipping a more ghetto tang to her voice. I've noticed she does that whenever she starts talking computers, I think because of how and who she learned from. “Now, gimme five minutes.”

It takes Katrina less than that to unlock his phone, and Katrina gives a little grunt of cheer. “Okay, I'm importing his screen to my system, let's see... hey, what's this?”

“What's what?” I ask, going around and looking at Katrina's screen.

“This,” she says, highlighting an app. “It's running, and getting data from something.”

She opens the app, and a window pops up with three sets of data. The first set has letters and numbers, and doesn't change at all, while on the other two, which are both just numbers which flutter constantly. “What is that?”

“It looks like... a tracker,” Katrina says, her eyes widening. “I've seen numbers like this before, it's the MGRS, the military land nav system. Do you think...?”

“But how?” I ask, then I remember. Nathan, clinging to Orloff, hanging on like a bulldog for some ineffectual reason until Orloff could knock him out. It wasn't long, only about five or six seconds at most, but it could have been enough. I look over at the unconscious former Spec Ops soldier, and go to his side, taking his hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

I go back to Katrina, who's typing as best she can. “I'm feeding the numbers into a mapping program. Let's hope that the boys from Google have been out there, wherever the fuck this is.”

Katrina keeps typing, smiling when a map pops up. “You got your phone on you?”

I pat my pockets, but shake my head. “Not on me. Fuck knows where it is.”

“Guys?” Jackson asks, and I look over to see him with his hands over BA's ears, the little girl giggling and tugging at her father's fingers. “Little help here?”

“Sorry,” Katrina says, giving him a sheepish grin. I apologize too for swearing in front of BA before Melissa gets out of her chair to help Jackson. She picks up BA and plays with her for a minute before sitting down on the floor and playing with the teddy bear, which Melissa's decided to call 'Mr. Teddy'.

“Anyway, can you unlock Nathan's phone full-time for me to use?” I ask, and she nods, using her touchpad on her screen. I watch as she goes into Nathan's system settings and quickly changes the security code to 0000, and then backs out.

“Okay. You've got your app, and I've slaved the numbers to a driving nav app that he's got on there too. Let's get going.”

Katrina goes to stand up, and I put my hand on her good shoulder, pushing her down. “You stay here,” I tell her, Jackson and Melissa going silent. “You're hurt, and I need you and Melissa together to look after everyone. I'll get her back.”

“You need help,” Katrina protests, but I shake my head.

“Last time, he caught us all off guard, and he got Andrea because he took advantage of us not being familiar working together. Fine. I'm the least injured, since at least both of my arms work. And I won't give him a chance this time.”

“What are you going to do?” Katrina asks, and I smirk.

“Shoot first, shoot some more, and when he's dead, ask a question or two.”

Jackson laughs, then coughs in pain. “Asshole. No making me laugh.”

“Now who's using language he doesn't want his daughter to hear?” Melissa chastises primly, giving Jackson a smile. “Excuse me though. Carson, can I walk to the car with you?”

We leave the room, and Melissa and I walk down the hallway. The clinic looks like it used to maybe be regular offices, although I'm not sure. The staff is light, only the doctor and two nurses, who are all gathered around a TV watching college football. “Going to need your car again.”

The one nurse reaches into the pocket of his scrubs and tosses me the keys to his car. “Just bring it back with a full tank of gas?”

“Cool beans. Thanks.”

Outside, the afternoon light is starting to fade a little bit, the heat subsiding now that the worst of the day is over. Melissa walks with me to the car, holding my hand the whole time. It's the first sign of weakness I've seen from her, and it's reassuring, really. It lets me know she's not just in shock.

“Carson, I need you to come back,” she says quietly when I open the door to the car. I stop, and pull my sister into a hug.

“I know, 'Lissa. And I am coming back. But I'm bringing Andrea with me. We need her.”

Melissa nods, and hugs me back. “We do. And you and I need to talk when you get her back. I need her in my life, nearly as much as I need you.”

I nod, and give her a kiss on the forehead. “You keep the rest of them safe, okay?”

Melissa takes a deep breath and gives me a smile. “I will. Just a few more hours, right?”

“Right.”

I get into my borrowed car and take out Nathan's phone, and I see that I've only got about twenty minutes of battery left. Sighing in frustration, I make a few changes to my plans. Okay... first stop, a convenience store for a phone charger. Then... Vadim Orloff and I need to have a discussion.

I
wake
up in Orloff's car, my hands cuffed behind my back and my ankles tied together. I'm jammed in the back seat, in the space where you normally put your feet so I can hardly move, my throat burning and my head thumping from being choked out. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Orloff ignores me as he drives, turning right, but I can't see anything except a bunch of clouds out the window, I'm jammed down too far. I kick the back of his seat, pissed off. It's not a strong kick, but it's something. “Hey, asshole! I said what the fuck are you doing?”

Orloff doesn't turn his head, but just sticks his pistol underneath his armpit, the barrel pointed directly at me. “Shut up. Kick me again, you die. When you can speak like an adult and not a child, perhaps I will answer your questions.”

I take a deep breath, and remember what Katrina told me. They'll come for me, so the key is to stay alive. “Fine. Will you please tell me what you are doing?”

“Much better, pretty girl,” Orloff says, his voice lighter. The pistol disappears, and he sounds entertained. “I was not lying, your father wishes to see you alive. So, I am taking you to a safe location where he will come to us, I will get my money, and then what happens to you... well, I don't think you want to know that part.”

“So you're taking me to him?” I ask. “Good. I can have his balls before I die.”

Orloff chuckles, sparing me a glance as he looks back, and he looks seriously amused. “I wouldn't mind seeing that. After I get my money, of course.”

“So is that what this is to you?” I ask as he slows to a stop before turning left. “Just about the money?”

“Money and reputation. Until I landed in Chicago and drove down here, I did not know who you were or anything at all about your family. Your father earned some credit with my employers, and so I was sent. My fee is normally much higher than what I am getting for this, but it's part of my reputation. Pay me, and I will get the job done no matter what.”

He accelerates again, and I'd guess that we're on a minor highway. It's too fast for most streets but not so fast that he's on the Interstate. Paradis is a few miles from the 310 anyway. “How'd Peter get an in with the Russian Mafia?”

Orloff shrugs. “The son of one of our princes got picked up on a drug charge. He's a young man. Handsome, but slim, a pretty boy. In Russia, I knew him, he was very popular with the ladies. However, in an American prison, he would have been made someone's bitch. We don’t have a strong presence in this part of America, not enough Russians, even if Peter has tried in the past to help us out.”

“So Peter helped him out this time as well.”

“
Da
, he did. Peter talked with some of his connections, and our man is riding out the rest of his three years in relative luxury. You know, it is one of the main differences between prison in America and prison in Russia. In Russia, our prisons are much harder places, very cruel, very rough. The guards would beat you for very minor rule infractions, unless you had connections.”

“Such as you,” I say, thinking of all the prison ink that I saw in his photos. None on the face or below the middle of the forearms, but the rest of his upper torso is a tableau of ink.

“So. But never, in the fifteen years that I spent behind the bars of prison, did I ever have to fear for my ass. Maybe that’s why american men are so weak.”

I laugh sarcastically, and Orloff looks back, still smiling. “You have spirit. Maybe I’ll speak with your father, and work a trade. My payment, for your services.”

“You do, and you're going to find that my teeth are as sharp as my tongue,” I reply, and Orloff laughs.

“We will see. I've never had the pleasure of fucking a Japanese girl.”

“I’m half Japanese. And you never will,” I shoot back, and Orloff chuckles. “What?”

“We will see. First, I will have to get you at the arranged meeting point.”

Orloff drives in silence for a while longer, and my arms are going numb from being pinned underneath me. I try to worm around a little bit to at least let me get some circulation. “How much longer?”

“We're nearly there. You should be grateful, I bought a RV for this operation.”

“Why?” I ask, confused.

“Mobility,” Orloff says. “And we might need the space and distance from neighbors for our... foreplay. I'm very good at that.”

I shiver at the way he says foreplay, my level of fright deepening. I close my eyes and hope that whatever Katrina has planned, that it'll be fast. As I wait though, the image that comes to my mind isn't Katrina, but instead Carson, the way he looked last night. I’ve never felt that same connection with anyone else, the connection we cemented just last night. One look from him and I'm willing to do anything he asks, and submitting to him was just... heaven. If I'm going to die, at least I'll die knowing that one time, for one perfect night, I loved someone truly and fully. I opened my heart, and was accepted. Not too many people get to do that, I think.

The car comes to a stop, and Orloff gets out, opening the back door of the car. He keeps the pistol leveled on me, and waves with his other hand. “Scoot out. I'll make a deal with you. You behave and walk, I will untie your legs. You fight, I shoot you in the leg and drag you by the ankles into the RV. What shall it be?”

“I'll walk,” I reply. “Think you can give me a little hand? Just get my feet out of the car, I can pull myself the rest of the way.”

“Agreed,” Orloff says, reaching forward with his left hand and grabbing the belt around my ankles and pulling me about a little bit forward, enough that I can hook my shoes on the bottom door edge and work myself out. Unfortunately, I guess wrong on my body weight, and when I lose my balance, I slide out of the car like a wet fish, wrenching my right shoulder and leaving me thumping into the dirt. Smooth, real smooth.

“Think you can get my ankles now?” I ask, “Or do I need to magically levitate my ass up to a standing position?”

Orloff produces a knife from seemingly nowhere and cuts the belt around my ankles. “Use the car, you can get up with it as a support.”

I push back, and realize what he means, and walk myself up the side of the car, using my hands when I can. I'm sweating still when I get to my feet, but I use the chance to look around. We're out in the country, that's for sure. The dirt road we came up is smooth, so my guess is it's not used very often. Other than what looks like a radio tower in the distance, I don't see much else except for trees. “You pick nice places to camp. Peter's going to love it out here.”

“Perhaps. Come, no more trying to gather information, Andrea. I have a chair ready for you inside.”

Inside, I see what he means as the metal chair is bolted to the floor, and ropes already hang from the arms. When I freeze, Orloff pushes me roughly, setting his pistol aside and waving his knife instead. “Sit. The ropes are for later. When you and I get to have fun.”

I sit down, and Orloff comes around, unlocking my handcuffs and letting my arms free. “Aren't you worried that I'll try and fight you?”

Orloff chuckles and shakes his head. “You have no chance. The door is locked, and you can’t get to the gun before I could put two knives in your body. Which I would prefer not to do, it is a fine body indeed. So now, I will tell you what will happen. You will sit, I will call your father, and he will have a conversation with you. After that, we see what will happen.”

“Before you do, I have a question,” I say, rubbing my wrists. Delay, Andrea, delay. Who cares if you're talking to a total sociopath, keep him talking, keep the clock ticking. “Why the knives?”

Orloff looks at the knife in his hand, and in a movement so fast that I can't even track it, he whips his hand down, the knife burying itself in the floorboards at my feet, and another knife appears in his hands. “Because they are elegant. They are the tools of the warrior and the killer since our ancestors, the Cossack and the samurai respectively, were spreading death in their lands for all to fear and obey. The gun is a peasant's weapon, the weapon of the foolish and the arrogant, who think that size matters, and that spirit is no longer important.”

“I think you're lying,” I reply, sitting back and crossing my legs. Talking, keep him talking. “I think you just enjoy getting close and the blood. Guns are too clean for you.”

“Perhaps,” Orloff says, chuckling. “Speaking of guns however, I have to get ready for our visitor later.”

Orloff backs up and lifts a jacket off a hanger that's on the bedroom door, never taking his eyes off of me. It looks like a warmup jacket, but it's thick, a lot thicker than I would expect a jacket like that to be. “What is that? It's still early fall, you don't need the warmth.”

“Insurance. My employers agreed to hire me to Peter DeLaCoeur, but they do not trust him. I don't trust him either. However, let us give him a call.”

Orloff takes a cell phone from the counter and sets it on the table next to me. “How long has it been since you spoke to your father?”

“Since the day before he went to jail,” I reply, grimacing at the thought. “Not long enough, in my opinion.”

Orloff's smile doesn't waver, and instead he chuckles in amusement. “Well, perhaps he will be nice to his princess. Let us see.”

Orloff dials a number on the phone, putting it on speaker as the call is picked up quickly. “You did the job?”

That's my father all right. I can still hear the self-indulgent whine and casual cruelty in his voice. “Mr. DeLaCoeur, such a nice afternoon. I hope you are enjoying it as much as I have.”

“Cut the shit, Russkie. Did you do the job or not?”

“Partially,” Orloff admits, still smiling as he sits down on the table, far enough from me that I can't reach him, his knife still casually in his hand. “I killed Nathan Black, and have your daughter here. Unfortunately, the others were more... difficult than I thought. It will take more time on them.”

“You have Andrea?” Peter asks, and I can hear hope and anger in his voice. “Let me talk to her.”

“I do believe that's your cue, Andrea,” Orloff says, gesturing with his knife. “Say hello to your father.”

“I don't have a father,” I reply, forcing a smile to my fear-frozen lips. “If you mean say hello to the fuck on the other end of the line, well... hello, Peter.”

Orloff's smile spreads, but on the other end of the line, Peter sputters in rage. “You spoiled little bitch. How dare you!”

“What, Peter?” I ask, turning my wit and tongue on him. “For nearly twenty years, you really think I haven't noticed the way you treated me and the rest of your family? So what did you think would happen now, that I'd just open my arms wide and say 'Hello, Daddy?' You want that, go hire some whore who can play schoolgirl for you.”

Orloff applauds silently, the flat of his knife tapping his left palm, and I find I'm enjoying this. From the age of two until the day I left his house, I never truly told Peter DeLaCoeur how I felt about him. Well, no time like the fucking present. “You ungrateful bitch. I am your father,” he says coldly, regaining some of his composure.

“
Anta wa boku no chichi zettainai yo!”
I yell back, but it's a cool yell. I learned it after watching some Japanese female pro wrestlers do their promo work in a video. It was for learning Japanese, I swear. Even if they were cool as hell.
“Totemo debukutei baka oyaji chinko desu!”

“Cut that shit! I've told you...” Peter yells, then takes a deep breath. “Fine. I was hoping there'd be a way to reconcile between us, Andrea. I really did.”

“Oh, is that why you sent your buddy the psycho Russian to try and kill us all?” I ask, dropping back to a sarcastic but calm voice. “No offense.”

“Not a psychopath, a sociopath,” Vadim says conversationally, waving it off.

“So what are you going to do? Or I guess it would be better to say, what are you going to have Vadim do?” I ask, pretending to be bored. “I know you don't have the balls to actually do anything yourself. I lived in your house for too long, remember? You're good at throwing things and acting like a spoiled preschooler, but in terms of actually doing any heavy lifting, the most you're able to do is lift that gut of yours over your belt.”

Peter's huffing on the other end, and I wonder if I can actually talk the man into a heart attack. It'd solve some of my problems, for sure. Instead, he takes a deep breath again, calming himself. “So be it, then. You betrayed me, you will pay the penalty. Vadim, I'll be there in a little while, I have some things I need to take care of here. When I get there, you can have your fun.”

“Is that so, Mr. DeLaCoeur?” Vadim asks, a cold pleasure in his voice that I can't help but shiver over. “All of it?”

“All of it. Andrea, if you didn't know, that means that Vadim is going to torture you with his favorite knives, and you better hope you die quickly. Because afterward, he's going to fuck you, either your corpse or until you die.”

It takes all the strength I have in my soul to not tremble, and to keep my voice with that same level of unconcerned bored that I've been using with him in English for a while. “Is that so? Well, if that's the case, tell me something. It can't hurt you anyhow, and I've wondered for years. Were you involved?”

“In what?” Peter asks, confused.

“In Aiko Mori's death. Did you pay the men who threw her off that roof?”

Peter's harsh chuckle tells me everything I need to know, but he answers anyway. “It was cheap, actually. A single business deal.”

I nod, not surprised, but it still hurts. “Why?”

“Because she broke it off with me,” Peter says simply. “She said that there was no way she'd ever let a man like me have her daughter. Nobody does that to me.”

“I see,” I reply, trying to not let my anger take over. At least I know for sure now that my mother died honorably, and never gave up on me. “Well, I guess that's all I needed to know. So, are you going to enjoy watching? A little bit of a daughter fetish, you fucking pervert?”

“It'll be satisfying, although I hope you won't be dead. I want to hear you scream in pain as he tears you up.”

I fake a mock sigh, and look up. “It'll be nice to know at least there's going to be one man with a hard-on at my death. Vadim, did you know that before he went to jail, Peter went through a box of Viagra at least once a month? I wonder how much he needs now? I wouldn't call him the Don of the Delta, but the Emperor of Erectile Dysfunction.”