Chapter 31: Chapter 31

Kir

Evie looks up at the sound of her name and when she spots us, her face horrified at the vision of her sister in hysterics, the cops step aside and let her run to us.

She collapses into Charleigh’s arms, just about matching her sister’s wailing.

“Oh my god,” Charleigh screams, “I thought you might be… I thought you were in the car.”

“I’m sorry, Charleigh, I’m so sorry,” Evie cries. “I’ve put you through so much. I promise to stop, I promise to behave. Please forgive me,” she begs.

I get to my feet. We’re now surrounded by three officers who want to know what the hell is going on.

But first things first.

I step closer to the two men and one woman in uniform and lower my voice. “Are there… is there any chance of… survivors?”

I choke on this last word, so close to the conversation I had when I lost Clara in the accident, words I never thought I’d have to utter again.

The female cop grimaces and shakes her head sadly. “Sorry, sir, I’m afraid not. Do you know the person who was driving? Was she a… friend?”

Ugh. Papa always taught us to share as little as possible with the police. Every little bit of information leads to more and more questions.

So I tread carefully. “That’s my brother’s car. We loaned it to one of our employees who was picking up her little boy at school.”

One of the other cops takes notes. “What did you say her name is, sir? The victim?”

“Um, Stacey. Her name is Stacey. It was Stacey,” I say, the flames now under control thanks to the fire department’s water hoses.

“Stacey what, sir?” he asks.

Shit. I have no idea of her last name.

“Uh, I’m not sure, Officer. I mean, I’m kind of rattled right now, and her last name isn’t coming to me. I’m sorry,” I lie.

Charleigh looks up from her sister huddle and glares at me. She knows I’m full of shit. “Jones. Her last name is Jones,” she calls.

“Right,” I add. “Jones.” Like I actually knew all along.

Jesus Christ. One of our employees just died and I have no freaking idea what her last name was. What a douche I am.

“Do we know how it happened?” I ask, hoping to redirect the conversation.

They gesture toward an older gentleman who pulls off his trucker hat and runs his fingers through his thinning grey hair. He’s talking to another cop.

He looks oddly familiar.

Do I know a truck driver?

The officers and I approach him and the other officer questioning him.

“She ran a light. Officer, she ran the light,” he insists.

His rig is mostly fine, and he’s completely without injury himself, but his hands shake violently, and he keeps looking down, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

I watch quietly as he answers questions with brief yes’s and no’s.

Interesting. He’s not avoiding everyone’s gaze. He’s avoiding mine, I find, as he makes eye contact with the cops.

What the fuck is going on here?

The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and I discreetly pat the side where my firearm is holstered. The last thing I want to do is alert the cops that I’m carrying, but when my instincts tell me something isn’t right, I can’t help but check.

“Okay, we get that she went through the light, Mr. Michaels, but I don’t think that would cause such an explosion. Are you sure you didn’t see anything else?”

The officer’s right to ask. A car doesn’t explode like that without some sort of help.

“Nope. No, sir,” he insists, glancing my way but looking back down before our eyes meet.

Something here…

No.

No fucking way. No.

Is this the man who…

I can’t even think it.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wander back to the worst day of my life, one I have not willingly revisited in a long, long time.

When Clara and I crashed, we were T-boned by a big rig.

They hit her side of the car and killed her. I was injured but not badly. Not badly at all. But when they pulled me out of the car, there was a man, a truck driver, who kept insisting we’d run a red light…

Holy fuck. It’s the same man.

What are the chances that the same guy driving a big rig T-bones one of the Alekseev cars several years later…

That’s when my phone rings, startling me out of my reverie. I see Charleigh and her sister now sitting on the sidewalk curb, clutching each other. I grab the call, thinking it’s one of our security guys.

“Yeah?” I snap.

I shouldn’t take it out on them. This is beyond their control. And yet, if we can’t avoid what I suspect was a simple car bomb, why are we spending so much on security? Someone’s dead in spite of all our efforts, and that someone could have been any of us. Or Charleigh. And her sister.

For a moment, there is no sound but breathing on the phone and I figure it’s a wrong number or fucking solicitation. But just as I start to hang up, someone finally speaks, slowly and deliberately. “I hear things are getting a little hot in your part of town, Kir. Sorry I didn’t manage to fire up the right people.”

Fucking Dimitri. He tops off his vile joke by cackling like the sick person he is.

I turn away from the crowd and lower my voice. The last thing I need is to give the cops any tips that would lead right back to me or my brothers.

“Dimitri, I have two words for you. You’re dead.”

“Kir,” he says, tsking his tongue. “That’s not really two words. It’s more like two and a half.”

Oh that he were right in front of me at this moment. It would be his last, alive.

“I don’t know where the fuck you are, but you know your days are numbered. You can’t hide forever. And when we do find you, you’ll know a slow, excruciating death, which is probably better than you deserve, but which my brothers and I will enjoy immensely.”

“Challenge accepted, my childhood friend,” he singsongs.

I should have beaten the fucker to death when I had the chance, back when I was ten years old and I could have lied and said he hit his head on the playground and oh well.

But that’s okay. We’re grown-ups now and finishing him off will be much more satisfying than it would have been twenty-plus years earlier.

***********

Charleigh

“Come on,” I say, helping Charleigh to her feet.

Evie takes her sister’s other side and, avoiding her sore shoulder, steadies her. The adrenaline flood driving her earlier may have ceased, but she is still shaking.

“Where… where did the truck driver go?” she asks, craning her neck. “Isn’t he responsible? Aren’t they arresting him?”

“They took him to the station, sweetie. Are you sure you can walk? I can get someone to pick us up,” I say.

Myself, I plan to get to the station as quickly as I can. I have some questions of my own for the man.

Charleigh shakes out her neck. “Let’s walk. It will be good to catch our breath.”

She’s right, especially since I have some questions and want these two as my captive audience.

“Evie, what happened? How is it that Stacey was… in the car, and you were sitting there on the sidewalk?” I ask.

She looks afraid, but Charleigh pulls her close.

“Tell the truth, Evie. Tell Kir exactly what happened.”

She looks nervous, as she should. She blew off her sister’s instructions to stay put and went and left the club like the punk teenager that she is. Good thing she’s not my sister. I’d be dragging her by the ear at this moment. Then I’d lock her in a room until she learned her lesson. But this is Charleigh’s rodeo, and I have to let her run with it.

“I... well, Char told me I couldn’t go with Stacey. I ran after her anyway when no one was around. The club is so boring and creepy with those men and that gross old lady. So, I was running to catch up at the red light. And then it happened,” she says.

I stop walking, so they do too.

“Wait a minute. Stacey didn’t run a red light? Then how did the truck hit her?” I ask.

Evie shakes her head no, and now looks more afraid than ever. “She was stopped at the light. I was catching up to her and she saw me in the rear-view mirror. She waved at me like she was going to wait, and the next second the truck plowed into her. Like he lost control or something. Right in front of me.” She dissolves into sobs. “It was… so horrible.”

Jesus Christ. It was intentional. I knew it when I recognized the driver. He lied about Stacey going through the light. What if my accident with Clara had been planned, as well? All these years, I thought it was plain rotten luck.

But if someone was out to kill me, they’re now aiming for Niko? Or was it Charleigh who was the target?

The mood back at the club is solemn. We had Dominika ask the guests to leave for the day so we could make arrangements for our deceased employee. We locked the front doors for safety reasons and the security team checked every nook and cranny of our other cars. We also sent all staff at the compound back to their own cottages while sweeps were made of the main house as well as anyplace where a weapon or explosive device could be hidden.

This debacle caught us unaware. Completely. There could easily be others.

Charleigh and Evie are in one of the club bedrooms trying to relax, while my brothers and I pace Vadik’s office.

Well, I’m pacing. Vadik is sitting at Papa’s desk looking like he might explode, and the more serene Niko has his eyes closed like he’s meditating.

I knew he was into that shit, even though he denies it.

Weirdo.

“How in the fuck did this happen?” Vadik demands of no one in particular.

We’re all wondering the same goddamn thing.

“This is what I think,” I start, then take a pause before saying the heavy words I am about to. It’s all too similar to what happened to Clara and me. And then there’s that fucker of a truck driver. I’m heading to the station in a minute to get my hands on him. One call to a friend there, and they agreed to keep him until I arrived.

I continue. “The explosive was planted, who knows when. But it would only detonate when hit by the big rig. It wasn’t a huge explosive, but big enough to kill the people in the front seat and start a fire to hide most if not all of the evidence,” I explain. Then I told them about the call from Dimitri, taunting me, and really, all of us.

Niko’s gaze snapped in my direction. “Holy fuck. Do you think…” He trails off.

“Yeah. I do, Niko,” I say.

He doesn’t need to finish. We’re on the same page.

“So someone was watching the Audi and mistook Stacey for Charleigh?” he asks. It’s more a statement than a question. We already know the answer.

Vadik nods. “They were watching and let the truck know where the car was headed. Easy target.”

“He’s dead. He’s so fucking dead,” I say of Dimitri.

“What do you think of sending Charleigh and Evie out of town for a while? To protect them?” Vadik suggests.

It’s not a bad idea, although I feel better having them close. On one hand, it seems the best way to protect them, but on the other, keeping them here hasn’t fared so well, given Charleigh’s kidnapping, and now the car explosion.

I’m used to being in control of every situation around me, just like my brothers. Sure, we have rivals all over the place. But they rarely strike, much as they might like to. They know our return fire, so to speak, will be ten times what they initially sent our way. But these unrelenting hits are showing cracks in our systems. We have to be better. More vigilant.

It’s been a fucking hard lesson to learn.

This is when I wish Papa were still here.