something, but it was bullshit. Just bullshit. I played them.”
“No, Alexi, they played you. And you lost.”
“I’ll talk to Sergei.” When he backed up, the second man moved—fast for his girth—trapped Alexi’s arms behind his back.
Fear lived on his face, and in fear he spoke in Russian. “Don’t do this. Yakov, we’re cousins. Our mothers are sisters. We share blood.”
“You’re a disgrace to your mother, to your blood. On your knees.”
“No. Don’t.”
The second man shoved Alexi to the ground.
“Don’t. Please. We’re blood. Give me a chance.”
“Yes, beg. Beg for your worthless life. I would let Yegor break you to pieces, but your uncle said to show mercy, for his sister’s sake.”
“Please. Have mercy.”
“This is your mercy.” Korotkii drew a gun from the small of his back, pressed the barrel to Alexi’s forehead and fired.
Elizabeth’s legs gave way. She fell to her knees, her hand clamped over her mouth to trap the scream.
Korotkii spoke softly as he put the gun to Alexi’s temple, fired twice more.
His expression never changed, held like a mask as he murdered. Then it sharpened as he looked up and toward the kitchen.
“I don’t feel good, Alex. I need to lie down, or maybe we should—Who are you?”
“Ah, fuck your mother,” he muttered, and shot Julie twice, where she stood. “Why didn’t we know he had his whore with him?”
The second man walked over to Julie, shook his head. “This is a new one. Very young.”
“She won’t be older.”
Elizabeth’s vision grayed. It was a dream. A nightmare. Because of the drinking and being sick. She’d wake up any second. Huddled in the dark, she stared at Alex. There was hardly any blood, she noted. If it was real, wouldn’t there be more blood?
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
But the terror only spiked when she saw Ilya come in.
They’d kill him, too. The man would shoot him. She had to help. She had to—
“God damn it, what have you done?”
“What I was ordered to do.”
“Your orders were to break his arms and to do it tomorrow night.”
“The orders changed. Our informant got us word. Alexi went to bed with the cops.”
“Christ. Motherfucker.”
Elizabeth watched in horror as Ilya kicked the dead Alex, once, twice, three times.
One of them, she thought. He was one of them.
Ilya stopped, pushed at his hair, then saw Julie’s body. “Ah, fuck. Was that necessary?”
“She saw us. We were told his whore left with another man.”
“It was this one’s bad luck he was looking for fresh meat. Where’s the other one?”
“Other?”
The beautiful dark eyes went to ice. “There were two. This one and another—short, black hair, red dress.”
“Yegor.”
With a nod, the big man drew a knife and started up the stairs. Ilya gestured, and, following orders, Korotkii moved toward the kitchen while Ilya walked to the terrace doors.
“Liz,” he murmured. “It’s all right, Liz. I’ll take care of you.”
He slid a knife out of his boot, held it behind his back, flipped on the outside lights.
He saw her shoes, scanned the terrace, rushed to the rail.
“There’s no one here,” Korotkii told him from the doorway.
“There was. Find her.”
4
S HE RAN BLINDLY, EYES WIDE AND GLAZED, BREATH RIPPING out of her lungs in sobs and gasps. She couldn’t release the scream clawing at her throat. They might hear. If they heard, if they caught her, they’d kill her.
Like Julie.
She fought her instinct to run for the street. There could be more of them, more like Ilya. How could she know the car she flagged down wasn’t one of them? How could she know if she beat her fists on the door of a house, one of them wouldn’t answer?
She had to run, get away as far and as fast as she could. She had to hide.
If there was a fence, she climbed it. If there was a hedge, she pushed and fought her way through. When the ground scraped and tore at her bare feet, she choked back the cries of pain. She
“No, Alexi, they played you. And you lost.”
“I’ll talk to Sergei.” When he backed up, the second man moved—fast for his girth—trapped Alexi’s arms behind his back.
Fear lived on his face, and in fear he spoke in Russian. “Don’t do this. Yakov, we’re cousins. Our mothers are sisters. We share blood.”
“You’re a disgrace to your mother, to your blood. On your knees.”
“No. Don’t.”
The second man shoved Alexi to the ground.
“Don’t. Please. We’re blood. Give me a chance.”
“Yes, beg. Beg for your worthless life. I would let Yegor break you to pieces, but your uncle said to show mercy, for his sister’s sake.”
“Please. Have mercy.”
“This is your mercy.” Korotkii drew a gun from the small of his back, pressed the barrel to Alexi’s forehead and fired.
Elizabeth’s legs gave way. She fell to her knees, her hand clamped over her mouth to trap the scream.
Korotkii spoke softly as he put the gun to Alexi’s temple, fired twice more.
His expression never changed, held like a mask as he murdered. Then it sharpened as he looked up and toward the kitchen.
“I don’t feel good, Alex. I need to lie down, or maybe we should—Who are you?”
“Ah, fuck your mother,” he muttered, and shot Julie twice, where she stood. “Why didn’t we know he had his whore with him?”
The second man walked over to Julie, shook his head. “This is a new one. Very young.”
“She won’t be older.”
Elizabeth’s vision grayed. It was a dream. A nightmare. Because of the drinking and being sick. She’d wake up any second. Huddled in the dark, she stared at Alex. There was hardly any blood, she noted. If it was real, wouldn’t there be more blood?
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
But the terror only spiked when she saw Ilya come in.
They’d kill him, too. The man would shoot him. She had to help. She had to—
“God damn it, what have you done?”
“What I was ordered to do.”
“Your orders were to break his arms and to do it tomorrow night.”
“The orders changed. Our informant got us word. Alexi went to bed with the cops.”
“Christ. Motherfucker.”
Elizabeth watched in horror as Ilya kicked the dead Alex, once, twice, three times.
One of them, she thought. He was one of them.
Ilya stopped, pushed at his hair, then saw Julie’s body. “Ah, fuck. Was that necessary?”
“She saw us. We were told his whore left with another man.”
“It was this one’s bad luck he was looking for fresh meat. Where’s the other one?”
“Other?”
The beautiful dark eyes went to ice. “There were two. This one and another—short, black hair, red dress.”
“Yegor.”
With a nod, the big man drew a knife and started up the stairs. Ilya gestured, and, following orders, Korotkii moved toward the kitchen while Ilya walked to the terrace doors.
“Liz,” he murmured. “It’s all right, Liz. I’ll take care of you.”
He slid a knife out of his boot, held it behind his back, flipped on the outside lights.
He saw her shoes, scanned the terrace, rushed to the rail.
“There’s no one here,” Korotkii told him from the doorway.
“There was. Find her.”
4
S HE RAN BLINDLY, EYES WIDE AND GLAZED, BREATH RIPPING out of her lungs in sobs and gasps. She couldn’t release the scream clawing at her throat. They might hear. If they heard, if they caught her, they’d kill her.
Like Julie.
She fought her instinct to run for the street. There could be more of them, more like Ilya. How could she know the car she flagged down wasn’t one of them? How could she know if she beat her fists on the door of a house, one of them wouldn’t answer?
She had to run, get away as far and as fast as she could. She had to hide.
If there was a fence, she climbed it. If there was a hedge, she pushed and fought her way through. When the ground scraped and tore at her bare feet, she choked back the cries of pain. She
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