Anika:
I park my Ducati on the outside of the chain link fence. Back in the place where it all began so many weeks ago, I pull the external hard drive from my bag, and walk to the gate where I enter the code that was given to me. The metal creaks and groans as it slides in its tracks and I walk through, not bothering to avoid the murky puddles in the gravel lot.
The large door to the warehouse slides open and Braxton walks outside. His usually cocky expression is gone, and has been replaced with something much worse. Fear. He whispers something to me, but he’s still too far away for me to hear. I don’t want to give anything away, so per the usual, I school my face into a mask of neutrality and continue forward. He shakes his head slightly, and this time only one word comes out and I hear it loud and clear.
“Run.”
I begin to turn and do as he says, but a single shot rings out, echoing off land and metal and I hear a soft splash behind me. Turning I find Braxton face down in a puddle at my heels, the blood from the gaping hole in his head, already staining the ground beneath him. I’ve dreamt of doing that a million times, but seeing it happen only fills me with unease.
“What? Not even a scream or a shocked gasp?” A smooth voice calls, and it isn’t long before I spot its owner.
“I wasn’t much of a fan,” I call, looking down upon Braxton’s lifeless form. Something inside of me flip flops, and I push the fear down, trying to ignore it.
Lance Jennings casually walks out in his designer suit carefully adorned with an American flag pin on his left lapel over his heart and a shotgun slung over his shoulder as if it were an umbrella. He sees me eyeballing it. “I’m an avid outdoorsman. Did you know?” he asks like it’s a joke. His cold gray eyes study me like I’m his next favorite toy.
“Oh, you do look like your mother. Pretty little puppet.” he steps closer, and I study him back.
“What the fuck do you know about my mother?” I ask him in Russian, and his eyes twinkle. They fucking twinkle in excitement.
“Oh, your mother and I go way back. Didn’t you know? Your mother was one of my whores,” he says casually in Russian, as if he’s discussing the weather.
“That isn’t true.” I switch back to English. I refuse to believe it.
“How do you think she got into this country, Anika? Through the network I helped to build, and your father took her away from me. She was always a little prudish, so it was probably for the better even though I loathed your father for losing me one of my top earners. I must say, it was fun watching him rot in fear for years, but that’s neither here nor there. I want to discuss you. Walk with me.” he starts to move and stops when I don’t move with him. “Or if you wish, you could end up like your friend, Mr. Fortner here. But I have bigger plans for you, so please, walk,” he says it as if I have an option. I place one foot in front of the other. I could reach into my shirt and put a bullet in his brain, and I should… I want to, but the curious part of me needs answers to all of the questions that have been burning inside of me. The main one… why? Part of me knows he’s telling the truth. The way my mother would pray for her sins put everyone else to shame, and I want to cry for her and the sacrifices she had to make. It helps me understand so much more about my parents and put those pieces back into place that never made sense.
I follow him into the warehouse, memorizing the locations of the men that are strategically located around the room.
“Search her,” Lance says and two severe looking men descend upon me, patting me down. Immediately they find my gun, and although I knew it was coming, my heart sinks. They thankfully don’t check the insides of my boots. One gets a little grabby, and I lash out, landing an elbow to his nose, spewing blood everywhere. He backhands me across the cheek, sending a white-hot pain through my skin.
“Maxim. Control your temper and keep your hands to yourself,” Lance says with an air of boredom. I hand the other man the drive with all of the files on it, and he stares at it like it’s a bomb – which in hindsight wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.
“It is what I’m here to deliver, dumb ass,” I say and he sends me a menacing look and passes it along to Lance.
“Good girl. Glad to see you held up your end of the bargain. I like that.” he hands it off to another man. “Plug that in and make sure we have what we need.”
The men release me and I step forward. “Let’s sit.” Lance gestures towards a shitty folding table and chairs. The kind of cliché thing you see used for poker games in the back room of a mob operation.
“I have a proposition for you,” he states, and I feel my eyebrows raise. He doesn’t exactly seem like the type of man that is willing to strike a deal on any terms other than his own.
He continues when I don’t say a word. “Ah, the silence. You must get that trait from your father. Your mother was more of a talker if I remember correctly.”
“Go fuck yourself, Jennings,” I spit, and he chuckles.
“You remind me of my niece, Lennon. She likes to talk back, but she wasn’t as feisty as you.” he says, and I vaguely remember digging something up about his niece Lennon aka, Leni Taylor Collins. She lived with Lance for most of her adolescent life, but ended up marrying the lead singer of some metal band a few years ago. From the research I’d done on her, she is completely detached from him in every way. Smart woman.
“What is your proposition?” I ask with overly sweet sarcasm.
“You work for me, and I contract you out to my various teams as needed. We could use your skills,” he says in all seriousness, and now it is my turn to laugh.
“That’s a hard no from me.”
He stands from his seat across the table, circling it until he’s towering over me, leaning down so close I can smell his spicy scent mixed with cigar smoke. He reeks of money, control, and narcissism.
“I don’t think you have a choice, my dear girl. The way I see it, it is this, or you can follow in your mother’s footsteps. Would you like that? Go back to our mother country and get fucked just like your whore of a mother?” he grabs my hair roughly, and I punch him right in the base of his throat. He lets go of me and coughs, but the look of fury burning in his eyes might only match my own.
“You will pay for that,” he seethes between coughs.
“It seems that I’ve already paid enough, wouldn’t you think?”
“It was business.”
“Business? IT WAS MY FUCKING FAMILY! You ruined my life,” I explode, pushing up from my chair as I stare eye to eye with Satan himself. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? How long I’ve waited to hear what your final words would be? Why would you think that I’d ever work for you willingly? You’re a monster.”
“And you’re not?” he questions.
“I am a monster, and it would do you well to remember that,” I seethe.
“We’ve got everything we need, boss,” the man calls from the corner where he’s plugged in the drive.
“Let’s go,” Lance says, and the men begin to move. Everything happens quickly and with practiced skill as two men flank me, and take me by the elbows ushering me towards the back of the building where a fleet of blacked out SUV’s sit in wait.
Thinking quickly, I bend at the waist and back step, effectively removing myself from their grip, and I shove my hands into the sides of my boots grabbing each of the matching blades by the handles and swinging up catching them both in the throat with the blades. Their blood flows in hot rivers over my hands before I can retract the blades. Their looks of shock mirror Lance’s as he turns towards the commotion.
“Fucking hell,” Lance curses, and another man stands off with me, waiting to strike. He’s able to dodge my blade and land a solid blow to my jaw, causing me to only waver slightly. Unable to get close enough to land any hits I slide my knife down in my hand, raise my arm, and with a lightning quick motion I throw the knife catching the guy right in the tender part of his stomach. He lets out a howling pain, and just as I am about step up and finish the job, I hear a click behind my head.
“Drop it,” Lance says in a deathly calm voice. The second knife clatters to the concrete floor, and as I slowly turn, we hear police sirens and the faint thumping of air, as a helicopter approaches overhead.
Before we are able to even make a move, someone yells, “FBI, freeze!”
No one freezes. In the scramble, Lance grabs me, still with a gun to my head and pushes me towards one of the SUV’s. I hear gunshots behind me and yelling. I reach up, grabbing Lance’s arm and I twist, but it isn’t enough, and I can’t get to the other knife that is still in the strap inside my boot. The door opens and I’m shoved inside. I land a few kicks, and maybe a punch or two, and don’t stop until I feel a heavy blow to the back of my head that sends my world spinning.
“SeaTac,” I hear Lance say, and then I drift into the dark.