Crooks & Kings: A Wild Bunch Novel Read online

  Christophe moved to stand beside her, though his attention never strayed from his handler. There, at the corner of his jaw, she could see a bruise forming. When had he gotten that?

  “We got his attention.”

  “This still doesn’t explain how the Russians knew enough about you to put out a hit.”

  Christophe tucked his hands into his pockets. “A Russian, actually. Feliks Sokovich. I met him out of my gear when he came around looking for Mariya.”

  “I was with him,” Invictus spoke up.

  “It wasn’t Sokovich who placed the order,” Nix said, surprising Mariya.

  Thanatos looked confused. “Then who the hell—”

  “My grandfather,” she said, knowing she was right even before Nix nodded.

  “He wants it handled as quickly and as quietly as possible,” Nix went on, “but more curious is that he happens to have a price on his own head, though nearly double what he’s asking for you, Fang.”

  A startled laugh left her. “That’s not possible. No one would dare put a hit on him.”

  “Because of his status as a Russian mafiya boss?” Nix asked, though not unkindly. “Despite how fearsome a person may seem, there’s always another who doesn’t hold such fear.”

  “Feliks is arrogant, but he couldn’t be that stupid.” If anyone ever found out, he would be a dead man.

  “It’s often that arrogance and stupidity go hand in hand,” Nix replied.

  The sudden weight of Christophe’s hand on her back had her looking up at him. Even with all that Nix was saying, including that she was the reason his life was in danger, he still thought to offer her comfort.

  “How’d you find out about it?” Christophe asked.

  “Friends of friends of enemies—you know how that goes.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb flying over the screen as he read a message that made him smile a moment before he tucked the thing away again. “But it was only after I learned about yours that I did a bit of digging into Alexey. His contract came through the proper channels. The one Feliks placed on him was more local.”

  “Makes sense,” Invictus said, folding his arms across his chest. “Feliks must be desperate to clean up loose ends. If Alexey gets rid of you, and Feliks gets rid of him, then there won’t be anyone left to protect her from him.”

  “We can use that to our advantage,” Christophe said with a nod. “He doesn’t know the file was corrupted, but with this, we won’t need it.”

  They could just go to Alexey with the evidence of what Feliks was planning, and that would be more than enough.

  “Tomorrow,” Nix said standing, “I’ll send you a time and address. Do try not to kill everyone.”

  Instead of heading for the door, he came over to her. “My apologies that we had to meet under such circumstances. Perhaps, next time will be better.”

  She smiled and nodded, but she wasn’t sure if there would be a next time.

  Much later, after Nix had gone and the boys had finished another strategy session that had gone right over her head, Mariya had gone back to her room, only to find that everything she’d brought along was missing.

  There was only a moment of wondering where it all could have gone before a thought popped into her head.

  She took the path back to Christophe’s room. Knocking twice on the open door, she didn’t bother to walk inside, looking in instead.

  Christophe turned in her direction, but didn’t speak. If he wasn’t ready, she couldn’t force him to be.

  She started to walk away, but his voice stopped her.

  “Her name was Aidra. She was what brought me to Brooklyn.” He was quiet for so long she thought he was done speaking. “She was ultimately what brought me to you.”

  “Chris—”

  “We were together off and on for seven years. I won’t lie and say she didn’t mean everything to me because she did.”

  Mariya didn’t speak again, wanting to listen to whatever he said, even as it hurt to hear.

  “We were on a job for Nix and the man we were after, he didn’t just stop at taking Nix’s wife, he also made it a point to take Aidra. Winter told you that she died—what she didn’t tell you was how. She was in a reinforced glass tank that slowly filled with water, and by the time we got there, it was nearly full.”

  Her hands were shaking as they came up to cover her mouth. The truth was far worse than she could have ever imagined.

  Christophe didn’t blink, nor did his voice change as he spoke. He sounded devoid of any emotion entirely. “I watched her drown, unable to break into that fucking tank in time.”

  If she had ever had to watch someone she loved die in such a horrific way, she didn’t think alcohol would have been enough.

  “I needed time off because I wasn’t … handling it well, even after I killed the man who’d turned that fucking water on.”

  It was at this that she asked her first question. “Was this the man you told me about?”

  “Hmm?”

  He didn’t remember. “We talked about revenge once, and you said something about cutting a man up and feeding him to pigs.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah. I tortured him a little bit, cut him up into pieces, and definitely fed him to pigs. An eye for an eye.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “for telling me this, and I’m sorry you lost her. No one deserves that.”

  “No,” he said with an absent nod, “she didn’t, but it’s part of the job.”

  “You don’t have to try and convince me, Fang.”

  “I’m Fang again?”

  “You’ve always been Fang,” she said with a shrug. “It’s rare you ever shared Christophe with me.”

  “Are they so different?” he asked as he walked over to her.

  She wished he wasn’t so close that she felt like she couldn’t think. “I think so.”

  “They both want you,” he said, “so they can’t be too different.”

  Closing her eyes, she wished she could believe that, but after everything he had shared, she wasn’t sure it was true. “I think you honestly believe that.”

  He came closer still, and she was too lost in him for a moment to notice what he was doing behind her until she heard the click of the door shutting.

  “Now you think I don’t know what I want?”

  “You thought it was your fault what happened to her, that you could have saved her. Now you want to try and save me as some kind of atonement.”

  “That’s not it at all, Mariya. It’s not.”

  “I don’t want you to only want me because you lost her,” she confessed softly. “I want you to want me because it’s me.”

  “Maybe I haven’t made myself clear enough for you then. I want you.”

  “You were nearly drinking yourself sick for five months, Christophe. I was there, remember? This isn’t—you haven’t had time to make peace with it. And don’t tell me you have because you wouldn’t have freaked out at the thought of me being in this room or the other one. You still love her, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but I don’t want your feelings to get confused because I’m here. If you …” She swallowed, trailing off, not able to finish the thought.

  She knew if he ever walked away because it hadn’t meant to him what it meant to her, it would crush her.

  Three little words were trapped in the back of her throat, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. She didn’t know if she’d ever get the chance. “You need time, Christophe.”

  “Jesus fuck, I’ve had time. Plenty of it.”

  “Sober. You need time to deal with it while you’re sober. Maybe if you did—”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I’d know for sure. That I’m not her replacement.”

  “How long do you think I need?” he asked, taking a step back from her. His face had gone blank again.

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “What do you want from me, Christophe?”

  H
e was so close she could just see the gold flecks in his eyes. “I want whatever you’re willing to give me.”

  “Two months,” she blurted out. “When all this is over, I want you to walk away, and if you come back in two months, we can go from there.”

  After a heartbeat of just staring at her, he scrubbed a hand down his face and took a step back. “It’s late.”

  “I’ll—”

  “Stay in here,” he finished for her. “I need to get shit ready for tomorrow anyway.”

  When she stepped from in front of the door, he opened it and stepped out, closing it behind him.

  He hadn’t agreed to what she suggested, but he didn’t fight it either.

  Time would tell.

  Chapter 15

  July 31, 2017

  There was nothing quite like the smell of gunpowder.

  Christophe could still remember the first time the scent of it hit him back at the orphanage. His instructors there, they had never used guns, preferring more archaic methods of torture and intimidation.

  No, the first time the burning scent of gunpowder overtook his senses was the day Nix had come to the school for the first time.

  That day, he could taste the blood in the air, feel the terror and thrill on his skin, but the only thing that made his heart skip a beat was that wondrous smell.

  To him, it smelled like freedom.

  Now, it was his turn to offer that same freedom to someone else.

  Shifting his mask into place, Christophe looked at each of his brothers in turn before he stepped out of the truck.

  The street was mostly vacant, and considering the men who owned the restaurant they were preparing to enter, no one would be calling the police anytime soon, even when the bullets started flying.

  The Russians had almost made it too easy for him, but he was thankful for it.

  He relished a challenge, but the easy jobs could be ended with less fuss.

  His hand on his gun and his gaze focused straight ahead, Christophe took a breath then a second one before tapping his fingers against his side, feeling the calm overtake him as he prepared to enter the building.

  Men would die this evening whose names he wouldn’t learn until later, but as he started forward, Christophe didn’t think he cared.

  Once the last set of boots fell silent behind him, he held up a hand and splayed his fingers as he counted down from five.

  When he reached one, he shoved the door open.

  The first guard at the door looked up in surprise, his eyes widening as he stared at them. It was the masks, Christophe knew, that always caught them off guard.

  Before he could reach for his weapon, Christophe put a bullet between the man’s eyes.

  The others didn’t move nearly as slowly as their comrade, but they weren’t prepared for them, not when this was what they had been trained to become.

  Walking weapons capable of destruction the likes of which they couldn’t comprehend.

  Minutes were all it took before the Russians were neutralized and Christophe’s path was clear.

  Once only three men were left in one piece in the restaurant—Alexey, the brother-in-law whose gaze darted to a gun near his feet, and the other.

  Had he not been off-limits, Christophe might have at least put a bullet in his shoulder to prevent him from getting any ideas, but instead, he gestured for Tăcut to keep him immobilized.

  But Akim refused to stay on his knees, boldly glaring at each of them as he got to his feet, daring them to do something about it.

  Thanatos and Invictus grabbed a knocked over chair and set it right before each grabbing Alexey and moving him to it, standing like sentinels behind him.

  Once everything was in place, Christophe holstered his weapon and stepped forward, grabbing a chair of his own, and he placed it right in front of the pakhan.

  Carefully, he removed his mask and pushed the black covering off his hair, shaking out his sweaty hair.

  Alexey’s eyes widened in recognition. “You.”

  Christophe didn’t think he had ever seen such rage in a man’s face before as he did in Alexey’s. If there was a chance for him to reach a weapon, Christophe was sure he’d be a dead man, but for now, the old man didn’t risk it.

  “Ty che o’khuel blyad?—Are you fucking crazy?”

  Adjusting the front of his vest, Christophe shrugged. “Jury’s still out on that, but the way I see it, I’ve done you a favor.”

  Alexey’s gaze cut to one of the men bleeding out on the floor near them, half his face missing from the shotgun blast Thanatos had given him. “How is that, exactly?”

  “One of them,” Christophe said, his gaze scanning the floor, “came here to kill you.”

  Alexey laughed, just as Mariya had. His disbelief that someone might have targeted him was clear in his tone as he said, “I cannot guess how you do business, Romanian, but that is not the Russian way—that is not my way.”

  This was what Mariya had feared—his arrogance. He didn’t doubt Christophe’s words simply because he was the one who said them. He doubted because he didn’t believe anyone would ever act against him.

  But Christophe had accounted for that—a man of Alexey’s stature didn’t get to his position without thinking he was untouchable.

  This was why, beyond Alexey and Akim, they kept one other alive.

  “Would you like to ask him yourself?” Christophe asked, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the man Invictus was now dragging over by the collar of his shirt, blood dripping from his mouth and the wound in his chest. “In my experience, pain makes you more honest. He’ll probably tell you all his secrets if it means no one will be carving into his stomach.”

  The man’s eyes widened so far that Christophe was tempted to laugh, but today wasn’t about his amusement.

  Smoothing the front of his suit jacket, as though he were the one still in charge, Alexey studied Christophe for a beat before turning his full attention to the man now kneeling at his feet, pained whines escaping his mouth despite his attempts to remain quiet.

  Even dead men could be brave in their last hour.

  “Speak, Arseny,” Alexey commanded, but despite the words, there was no heat behind them. It was clear he didn’t truly believe what Christophe was trying to tell him.

  Though his eyes glittered with unshed tears—he wasn’t weak enough to let them fall quite yet—Arseny did his best to hide his fear as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

  “He lies, Pakhan.”

  “About which part, exactly?” Christophe asked. “That you were given the task of killing him, or that it was you who also killed his beloved son?”

  Ah, that was what he’d wanted.

  The fear.

  Mariya had thought they’d reached the end once she found the thumb drive had been corrupted and the file lost. Christophe might have agreed with her—though he would have found a way to make Feliks confess if he had to torture it out of him—but Nix had offered a unique opportunity that made his plan come together.

  Now, all he had to do was bluff.

  “As much as I would enjoy going into a whole spiel about betrayal with fancy metaphors and shit, I don’t have time. Go on, Arseny, confess while you still can, or would you prefer I play back that conversation you had with Feliks Sokovich.”

  Christophe pulled the USB from his pocket, flashing it for the man to see. He didn’t have to know there was nothing viable on it.

  But just the sight of it had the man shaking.

  “What is this?” Alexey demanded. His gaze was now on Arseny, and he didn’t look nearly as confident as he had moments ago.

  Arseny opened his mouth, but no words came out, and the longer he remained silent, the angrier Alexey got.

  Eventually, Arseny got his voice to work. “Prosti, Pakhan.”

  No, Christophe thought, apologizing wouldn’t help him now.

  If Arseny thought not actually confirming what Christophe was implying would help him in
some way, he was mistaken—an apology was just as damning as an admission of guilt.

  But Christophe didn’t have time for chance.

  Removing one of the knives from his belt, he stabbed the man in his side, twisting the hilt until he cried louder. “A nod will suffice.”

  Arseny didn’t hesitate to jerk his head up and down.

  A myriad of emotions crossed over Alexey’s face as he regarded the soldier in front of him. Despite his age, he moved considerably fast as he pulled his gun free, aiming and firing at the man’s head before he could plead his case any further, but once he was done, he tucked it away.

  “Now, you. Give me the drive and tell me of this plot since you seem to know so much about it.”

  “There’s nothing on it,” Christophe said easily. “But your man there didn’t know that.”

  What man would confess to something if there was no truth to it?

  “How am I to know you are not responsible for this?” Alexey asked, leaning forward in his chair, fingers tapping his knee. “You’re capable, I’m gathering.”

  “True, but if I wanted you dead, I would have killed you long before now. You might be a shit grandfather, but Mariya loves you, and I don’t want her to hate me for killing you.” She was already angry enough with him. “You’re a problem I don’t need.”

  Alexey’s expression didn’t shift. “You speak of my family as though you have any right.”

  “Mariya’s mine, and the moment she was, her problems became my problems, and Feliks is every single one of them.”

  “You expect me to believe my best soldier would betray me. Why?”

  “Do you really need me to spell it out for you? Think. Who’s benefitted the most since the death of Temuri? You gave him his territories, no? He was practically gifted the new position before Temuri could even be buried.”

  Alexey didn’t interrupt again, but he didn’t have to—Akim spoke up.

  “Mariya mentioned knowing something important the night of the party.”

  Christophe didn’t blink, even as he knew the man was lying. Mariya had never mentioned speaking to Akim, and he doubted she would have left that detail out.

  She had mentioned he cared about her as if she were his sister.