NINE
Empty fields span as far as the eye can see. I don’t even know if there are any neighboring houses. A mountain range looms to the south, and a gravel drive leads into the vast nothingness.
The first order of business when I step outside and survey the house, is locating a vehicle. The house itself is inconspicuous and looks like any other ranch home out here. You would never know the kind of depraved things that happened in that basement.
Which is likely why it was chosen.
No one to hear you scream.
No one to question your coming and going.
No one to watch you dig the fucking graves.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Tarek had this place all set up just for when he found me. Or he may have been using it since I left for all I know.
A large building to the side of the house looks promising, and I make my way across the gravel driveway. The crunch of the stone under my borrowed boots reminds me a little too much of the sound the bolt cutter made going through my finger.
The two black SUVs parked inside the out building have keys in the ignitions.
Thank fuck.
The soft leather hugs my overly sensitive body. Everything fucking hurts. I managed to throw a few stitches into the wound on my right side. It looked like a through and through, but fuck, does it hurt. Coupled with the pinky situation, and all the other things done to me, I’m in rough shape.
When the engine roars to life, a wave of relief washes over me.
One more step closer.
A search of the GPS for my location has me slamming my good hand against the steering wheel.
Jesus fucking Christ…we have to be 100 miles from anything even resembling a town.
The cell phone I took from one of the idiots in there doesn't even get service. Not that I'm sure who I would call at this point. I don't know who ratted us out to Tarek or who is on our side. The best course of action is to head toward the nearest city with an airport and start making my way east…
I eat up the miles racing across Montana toward Billings.
There's only one person I can think to go to for help who hates my brother maybe as much as I do. One person I can maybe, possibly, potentially, somewhat trust.
They always say the enemy of your enemy is your friend.
I hope that's true because, otherwise, I'm walking into a fucking lion’s den while I’m weak and bleeding.
***
The flight to Chicago is excruciating. There weren't any pain meds in the torture chamber, and frankly, I probably wouldn't have taken them anyway. I need to have my wits about me when I talk to Saban.
There's a 50-50 chance his men will kill me as soon as they lay eyes on me. If I make it past his guards, and he actually listens to me, that chance may go from 50-50 to 70-30, but it's still not great odds.
I don't have a choice, though. I don't have any resources, and almost all the money I got off the assholes back at the house was used to pay for this airplane ride. It was pure luck I even found someone with a plane willing to fly me halfway across the country at the drop of a hat. Cash talks though, and I found a lot of it at the house. I probably paid his plane off for him. Plus, I think the pilot must have smelled my desperation and taken pity on me.
Seven hours, including a refueling stop in Minneapolis, later, we finally touch down in Chi-town. The old mechanic at the airport is kind-hearted enough to loan me his vehicle in exchange for the last of my cash. It’s not like I can rent a car with no I.D.
So now, it’s time to beg, something I don’t do.
Information…that’s all I need. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask, but when we’re talking about Saban Gashi, it might as well be asking for the world.
I just pray the tentative truce Tarek and Saban have had for the last few years was just smoke and mirrors, and Saban still wants to latch on to any opportunity he has to get rid of Tarek. It’s really my only hope at this point.
As soon as I'm in my borrowed car, I hit the streets of Chicago and wind my way to the southwest side where Saban’s headquarters are. It's been a long time since I've been here—at least five years—but it doesn't look like things have changed much.
Armed guards mill about outside Pasha, the restaurant they use as a front. Saban will be holed up in the back in his office, probably with at least two or three additional guards near him. If I can get in there without killing anyone, I'll be happy. I don't want to start a war with him and have to watch my back even after I get rid of my brother. Let's just hope he's receptive to visitors.
The car door slams behind me, and I slowly make my way across the street, my eyes never leaving the guards. When the big guy in front of the restaurant door finally notices me, he immediately goes for his weapon.
I raise my hands as I step onto the curb and stop a few feet from him.
“Stop right there.” The barrel points directly to my chest. His voice is strong and steady. He’s not afraid to use that gun if he needs to.
“I’m here to see Saban.”
His eyebrow shoots up.
“And who the fuck are you?”
I grin and snort. He must be new.
“Konstandin Morina.” My name draws the full attention of the other two goons out front, and they immediately draw their weapons and point them in my direction. At least they've heard of me. “I'm unarmed.” I raise my shirt and turn, then I lift up my pant legs. “I just need to talk to him.”
The guards are understandably skeptical at my request. They wouldn’t be doing their jobs if they weren't. After a beat, the big guy lowers his weapon.
“I'll be right back, keep your guns on him.” He disappears into the building, and I keep my hands raised. The neighborhood is quiet. No one reacts to the pulled weapons. Not even the patrons inside the restaurant, who can no doubt see what’s happening through the front windows, seem to be paying any attention. My guess is it’s a common enough occurrence around here, people don’t even give it a second thought anymore. Either that or they are too afraid to acknowledge what’s happening around them.
I send the guards a friendly grin. “Guys, this is really unnecessary.”
They both chuckle, and one steps forward. “What kind of idiots do you think we are?”
I grin again. “You probably don't want me to answer that.”
Before either of the geniuses can register my insult, the door opens and the big guy returns. “He says he'll see you.”
Good. I'm able to at least get inside without any bloodshed. Let's just hope it stays that way. The last thing I need is more enemies.