Nikolai

 

The first thing I noticed was the ache. It was all over my body, beginning at my jaw and moving outwards in throbs that felt like blood trying too hard to pump through my system.

 

My head pounded, a splitting, blistering headache making it difficult for me to focus on anything else. For a moment, I just had to endure it, let it throb and pound and flood my system with awful, wracking pain. It was dreadful, to say the least.

 

The pain didn’t subside, but as I grew used to it, it became easier for me to focus. I began to attempt to figure out where I was, what was going on, and whether or not it was intelligent for me to move.

 

As I followed the catalogue of my aches, I found that my shoulders were sore as though I’d just come from the gym and worked until I tore muscle. My neck was in a similar state, stiff enough that I wasn’t thrilled with the thought of moving it. I left that still and alone for now, hoping it would ease out a bit with time. Traveling lower, I noticed my ribs were sore—I’d likely been kicked, perhaps when I was unconscious—and below that, I felt stiffness in my legs. They felt less as though someone had kicked them, however, and more as though they’d been left in a single, uncomfortable position for so long.

 

I hadn’t opened my eyes just yet. The pounding in my head, though slowly becoming more tolerable, cautioned against that and I definitely didn’t want to make it worse. I tried moving all of my limbs, making sure there was nothing too badly damaged, and found that everything seemed to more or less be working just fine. Maybe I didn’t feel great, but at least I wasn’t broken—or dead.

 

The thought raced through me, bringing the softest tinge of cold with it.

 

I was a hit man. I wasn’t afraid to die. But that didn’t mean I relished the idea. There were people out there who had a death wish, who stared it in the face, watched it and even waited for it, baited it until it came for them like a raging bull. But that wasn’t me. I liked this living thing.

 

Shaking off the thought of death—well, my death, anyway—I forced my eyes open. They felt grainy and a little rough, like I’d just gotten out of the ocean or been asleep for a day.

 

How long have I been unconscious?

 

As soon as the thought hit me, I snapped my eyes the rest of the way open, ignoring the pounding of my headache. I jerked myself up into a sitting position, realizing just how bad things could be.

 

“Shit,” I said out loud, realizing that it was already dark out. The day had shifted, leaving me behind, and now Logan could be anywhere. Had he been the one to attack me? I had to assume so, though there was a chance it could have been someone else. His buddy, Joshua maybe, or even that asshole Shawn guy who was so interested in my Madeline.

 

I doubted that last one, but acknowledged that there was a possibility for it. I doubted he was involved with Logan and Joshua and their ill-planned heist, but there was a chance he’d followed me while I trailed Logan and tried to get rid of me.

 

Looking around, I took in my surroundings. It looked like I was in a ditch somewhere. Beneath me, the earth was moist, soft, not quite muddy, but not dry either. It smelled almost fresh, like rain had hit recently. Looking past the ditch, or up over the side of it anyway, from what I could see from my seated position, there was nothing but trees surrounding me.

 

I frowned. How far had Logan gone to dump me?

 

Struggling to my feet, ignoring the ache in my limbs and the dull throb of my ribs, not to mention the sharp jabbing pains in my head, I thought things through. Madison was heavily wooded, so there was a chance I was still in town. But if Logan—assuming, of course, he was the culprit—had half a brain in his head, he’d have gone at the very least to the edge of town. Far from him and his truck.

 

Or maybe he’s already moved on from Madison, I thought gravely.

 

I cursed again. I would have to call Sergei back and figure out if the truck was still there. I searched myself and found I no longer had my gun, nor my wallet. My phone was missing, too, which actually made me angrier than the rest. The gun was easy—I had another in my car, which I hadn’t parked at the motel, so it would be safe from whoever attacked me—and I had spare cash, IDs, and credit cards there, as well. But the phone? That was a direct line to Mickey and to Sergei. I wasn’t overly concerned that whoever had taken the phone would have the balls to call either of them, but I didn’t like the idea of not being able to get ahold of them.

 

Especially since I wanted to know where that damn truck was.

 

Sighing in exasperation, I resolved to climb out of the ditch and get a better idea of where I was. The earth was soft, making it difficult to climb, my feet and hands sinking into the moist dirt as I struggled. But eventually, I managed to get out. I found that, while trees had most definitely been directly next to me on one side, the other side was lined with road. At least I wouldn’t have to look for that.

 

I walked in a short circle, trying to get my bearings. It was more difficult with no sun to go by. Then I stopped when I saw the sign. Welcome to Madison.

 

The dipshit had dropped me outside of town, right along the side of the road and just outside a sign that would tell me exactly where I needed to go.

 

I had initially thought it was moronic for someone to leave me so close to Madison, right along a road, with a clear direction of where I needed to go. Then I realized that, though Madison was very small, it was spread out. And since it was so small, there wasn’t a damn car on the road. I was headed in the general direction of my car, but I’d been walking for at least an hour now and it felt like I hadn’t made a damn bit of progress. The only thing different about the scenery was that I could no longer see the sign letting me know I was entering Madison.

 

I hadn’t seen a single car in that whole time and I was starting to realize I was very far behind. Whoever had hit me—my money was still on Logan—was far ahead of me, and even if it weren’t Logan who had attacked me, there was no question that he would be long gone by the time I reached the damn motel again, much less by the time I got to my car and the gun I had stashed there.

 

I had about resigned myself to several more hours of walking, when I saw the lights flash. My first instinct, given that I’d just been attacked, was to run. And run fast. If I dove out of the way, maybe the driver wouldn’t see me. But then I made a quick decision: I didn’t care if they saw me. If they did and it was my attacker, then good. Maybe they’d come after me, get into a car accident, or drive off the road, or maybe just stop to try to finish me off. In that sort of a fight, I would win. They had gotten the drop on me before, but not this time.

 

Standing my ground, I stared at the car that came closer and closer. Car, I thought suddenly, not truck. So, it wasn’t Logan. Maybe his buddy, Joshua. Maybe Shawn. Maybe someone else entirely who just seemed to hate my guts for no reason. But not Logan.

 

The car slowed down, pulling towards the side of the road. After a moment, it stopped completely and the passenger side window began to roll down.

 

I bent forward to see who was inside and found a kindly, if slightly worn face staring back at me. He looked like some middle-aged man from the counter, that small town, open-faced look plastered across his almost dull seeming features. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a farmer. “Well, hello there,” he greeted, his eyes widening slightly. “You look to be in quite a shape, young man!”

 

I glanced down at myself and for the first time really considered how I must look. I was covered in mud from the ditch, my clothing rumpled and even torn in spots, probably from the roll down into the ditch. My hair was likely wild, mussed, and probably dirty, too. I didn’t need to be told that my face likely was already starting to swell with bruises and probably was already beginning to discolor into sickly yellow and plum purple. Gingerly, I touched my lip, remembering that I’d bled there, too.

 

I must look like death warmed over, I thought.

 

Taking a deep breath, I tried to be calm and project a friendliness I wasn’t feeling. I wanted to hurt things, but I somehow doubted this small town man was interested in picking up someone like that. And I instantly had decided that I wanted a ride.

 

Quickest way into town.

 

“I, uh, had some issues with my car,” I said finally. Not even remotely the truth, but I couldn’t exactly explain what had really happened. “And unfortunately, I left my phone in the motel room where I’m staying. I could really use a ride there.”

 

The man’s eyebrows rose, showing wrinkles and spots of gray hair here and there. He considered me a moment longer, his eyes taking in my weathered appearance once more before answering me. “Well, I certainly can’t leave you like this. Where you staying?”

 

“The Market Town Inn.”

 

He smiled, then shook his head. “Well, hell, a good night’s sleep there probably won’t make you feel better, but it won’t make you worse.” He laughed at himself. “Probably looks about as bad as you do. But c’mon in. I’ll give you a lift. Headed that general way myself anyhow.”

 

I offered him a genuine smile, my first in a good while, and pulled open the passenger door. As I slid in, I said, “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

 

“Not a problem, sir. Not a problem. Always happy to help.”

 

I doubted he would feel that way if he knew my profession, but it didn’t matter. I’d already decided I liked the man and would insist he drop me off at the sign before he reached the parking lot, just in case there was going to be trouble.