Page 27 of Tangled Vows

“I would rip the fuckers to pieces,” he admits. “But we’re not talking about me. Please, try not to lose your shit. I know I would.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him, my tone softer. “You should worry about Kevorkian. That old-timer’s been a gangster all his life. He won’t crack easily.”

“He’s on the move.”

Dmitri’s muted voice on the intercom puts an end to our discussion. I turn to Vladimir and Boris and snap my fingers, an air of anxiety blowing through me. Kevorkian is almost sixty years old. He wouldn’t still be alive if he ratted out his comrades. He would have been long gone and branded as a traitor.

With my men jumping out of the van, I keep my eyes to the right. Ivan and I are looking out the passenger window, tall bushes on either side of a footpath. Sure enough, a white dog on a black leash emerges just seconds later. Its owner is in a red robe and sandals, strolling behind his dog.

Having moved around the trees, Boris and Vladimir fill my view. Much taller than our target, they’re onto him fast. Boris throws his arm around Kevorkian’s neck from behind and locks him in the crook of his elbow. He presses the barrel of his Beretta into the older man’s temple, the leash falling from his grasp. The dog runs away from his boss and into a nearby bush. Vladimir jogs up to Boris and holds his gun against our target’s stomach.

Ivan and I kneel behind the driver’s seat, my friend just inches from me. Neither of us wants that Armenian bastard to identify us, so we’ve come prepared. We pull black ski masks down over our faces before I click a small flashlight on. Boris tosses Kevorkian into the cab. The van’s back dips for several moments as my men settle back in. Kevorkian rolls across the floor; he squints and groans under the beam of the flashlight.

“Relax, Kevorkian,” I taunt as Vladimir yanks the backdoor shut. “I’m sure you’ve been in this position plenty of times.”

“Who the fuck are you people?” he squeals, raising his hand to shield his eyes. “What do you want from me? My Rudy is going to get run over if I don’t get back to him!”

Ivan presses his knee into the Armenian’s chest. He produces his pistol and jams it into Kevorkian’s cheek. “I wouldn’t worry about my dog if I were you.”

“I’ll ask nicely once.” I speak in a stiff tone, leaning over towards him. “Someone put a bomb in Leonid Kovalev’s car the other day. Did you give the order?”

“Ha!” Kevorkian exclaims, smiling with his eyes shut. “I enjoyed that, although those losers fucked it all up.”

“My friend asked you a question,” Ivan snarls, jerking his free arm back. His fist meets Kevorkian’s face, and our enemy’s cry rings in my ears.

“I didn’t give the order!” he claims with a shout. “Car bombs are not our style anyway.”

“Maybe you decided to evolve,” I say, spotting a small cut across his cheekbone.

“Bullshit,” Kevorkian grumbles. “I told you. We don’t blow up cars. Let me go, you assholes!”

Ivan looks at me, and I can see the doubt in his eyes. He’s torn as to whether we should believe him or not.

Frankly? So am I. A beating and a few threats won’t crack him; I’m sure of that now. Kevorkian needs the special treatment reserved for every enemy of the Bratva.

“You’re going for a little ride with us, motherfucker,” I tell him, lifting my gaze to Dmitri. “Tie him up.”

At that, I click the flashlight off and turn around to resume the driver’s seat. Normally, I leave this to one of my men, but I’m just too upset to stay in the cab. I’m much too tempted to beat the shit out of Kevorkian. Ivan had a point earlier. I could lose my temper just by being close to this son of a bitch.

I turn the key in the ignition, the diesel engine roaring into life. I slam on the gas, causing the rear tires to screech. I bang my fist into the steering wheel in my frustration, understanding that we didn’t make any headway. We may have an Armenian crime lord, but we don’t have what we came here for. A name. The name of the man responsible for the attack against me and Clare.

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Clare

I like my new surroundings.

The house may be old, but it’s been kept up. There are no creaking hinges on the doors. No faucets are leaking. The aluminum windows are fairly new. I enjoy the view out the window, unlike in the first safe house. Those rose gardens were nice to look at for a day or two, but after that, I got bored of them.

This particular view consists of the endless ocean, along with a few boats on the surface. I even caught a glimpse of sea foam yesterday due to the strong wind. At night, hundreds of city lights are sparkling in the distance.

In all honesty, being alone up here sucks. One would think that talking to my guards would be a good solution to my problem. It’s not. For some reason, they just won’t engage in conversation with me. I understand that they’re burdened with guarding me, but this is ridiculous. For instance, whenever I ask them when Leonid or Ivan will be coming, their answer is, “I don’t know.” That’s it.

I really thought I would be wasting my time if I asked them to bring Dr. Yuschenko over. They’re not up here to do me any favors; that much is clear. Happily, I was wrong. Mikhail, the guy I told this to, nodded and said something like: “In an hour or so.”

His prediction was quite accurate.

I never thought I’d be so excited to see someone I knew so little about, but in this case, I am just thrilled. Mikhail escorts Dr. Yuschenko in and then goes back out without even addressing me. Just as well; I’m eager to have a word with a man with manners.

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