Page 17 of Claim Me (Dmitriyev Bratva #2)

K azimir

There were several basic principles I used when hunting down an enemy. One included knowing everything possible about the person prior to deciding on how best to handle an interrogation. Another was leaving all thoughts of remorse somewhere else.

My father had no conscience. I’d suspected my older brother and the current Pakhan didn’t either, although recently, I’d seen otherwise.

While I’d been trained, or what some would call indoctrinated in the old ways of the Bratva, my younger brother and sisters knew little of the explosive danger that was possible.

Although in recent months, they’d seen and heard enough given our issues with the Irish clan out of Los Angeles.

What continued to weigh in the back of my mind was that in butting heads with another Bratva, bloodshed and deaths could increase exponentially.

Once started, rules of decency and humanity were tossed aside, the old methods of handling business the only acceptable way forward.

However, if the person stalking Marissa was from the Popov Bratva, I didn’t have time for a heavy interrogation. Instead, a message needed to be sent.

I switched off the headlights before making the turn down her street. In the slenderest of moonlight, I noticed a car parked on the side of the road. With no silencer, if a kill was necessary, I’d be a polite neighbor and use a knife. There was nothing wrong with making this very personal.

With the hunting knife I always carried secured in my pocket, I turned off the dome light before exiting. It was a little trick I’d learned from Mikhail years before that even the best of assassins often missed.

I kept my distance, easing to the curb. With my weapon in hand, I exited the vehicle, crouching low as I jogged toward the dark sedan. Given this was a residential neighborhood, I’d need to be extremely careful in how I handled the situation.

When I was only a few yards away, the driver’s door was slowly opened, a man easing onto the pavement as quietly as possible.

I’d been correct in my assumptions. He’d forgotten to turn off the dome feature.

In the brief seconds of the light remaining on, I gathered a decent view of the perpetrator.

Six foot two. Dark hair. Muscular build.

Dressed in all black and carrying a weapon with a silencer.

All the markings of an assassin.

Remaining quiet, I waited to confirm my suspicions. He moved to the front of the vehicle just as I shifted to the back, crouching low as I peered around the corner. Killing him from this angle would be easy, but far too messy, not only with noise but in case my assumptions were wrong.

They weren’t. He jogged across the road toward Marissa’s house, disappearing into the tree line seconds later.

Remaining as quiet as possible, I followed his trail. The moment I was close, I pointed the weapon at the back of his head, with just enough light to see what I was doing.

“I suggest you drop your weapon.”

He threw his arms in the air as if he was going to comply. I wasn’t fooled. He tipped his head to the side.

“ Tebe pridetsya prinyat’ eto ot menya .” His deep voice was gravelly, the poor man spending much of his hard-earned cash on booze and cigarettes.

You’ll need to take it from me.

His answer brought a laugh up from my throat. “Gladly.”

The moment of tension was short lived.

I bolted toward him as he took off running toward the forest surrounding the neighborhood.

Within seconds, I was enveloped in darkness.

I kept moving as my eyes became used to the shadows.

A solid snap of a thick limb grabbed my attention.

Stopping short, I held the gun in both hands as I listened for any sound of where he was headed.

There was nothing but the sound of night creatures. He was doing the same thing as I was, which meant he’d been well trained in the art of assassination.

I slipped one hand into my pocket, finding the Swiss army knife I kept with me. Included on the ring was a small yet powerful flashlight half the size of a fountain pen. With it in hand, I continued moving through the trees, constantly scanning the thick foliage.

It was impossible not to step on fallen limbs and underbrush, the constant cracks and crunches from my shoes matching his heavier footsteps.

I moved behind a tree, concentrating on what I was hearing. With the flashlight in my hand, I shifted to the right, immediately flashing the beam.

The asshole had anticipated my move. As soon as the beam hit his face, he attacked, smashing the weapon against the side of my head. I was pitched backward, dropping the flashlight while keeping my fingers firmly wrapped around the gun.

The light bounced once and landed, keeping the beam illuminating the fight, and momentarily blinding my opponent. How convenient.

The split second of confusion bought me some time, enough I issued a brutal kick to his upper torso. Not only did he lose the weapon, he took a savage tumble backward, slamming against the tree.

There was no time to rest on my laurels. I lunged forward, throwing two hard punches, one to his throat and the other to his gut. When he cursed in Russian, I almost laughed. It had been a long time since I’d been called a traitor.

His exclamation provided me with more detailed information than he understood. He believed me to be fully Americanized yet knew I was Russian, Maybe the element of surprise was what had spooked him. As if it mattered.

What did was the reason he was here and there were two of them, the main one being to hurt or kill Marissa. The other? To hunt me down. That allowed me to know for certain which side of the fine line between good and evil the detective was on.

Another puppet likely in a long line of them for Popov.

He managed to issue a brutal punch to my kidney.

Grunting, I was pushed back, immediately swinging my weapon against the side of his face.

Tossed a couple of feet into the air from the force used, he crumpled onto the ground.

That meant nothing. With two long strides, I dropped onto one knee, punching him in the face several times.

I wiped my face, realizing blood was trickling down my cheek from the earlier hit.

Huffing, I noticed the duffle bag he’d been carrying and dragged it closer.

With a hard yank, I pulled out the contents.

A blindfold. Zip ties. Rope. All the makings of a kidnapping kit.

When my fingers wrapped around something else, I hissed, pulling it into the light.

A goddamn syringe.

Anger turned to rage, the rush of adrenaline burning my blood.

With the evidence laid out in front of me, the rage began to increase even more than after learning of Charlie’s death. I snapped my head toward the assassin while twisting my fingers around the syringe.

When the fucker started to come to, the anger became uncontrollable.

I ripped off the protective tip and lunged toward him.

The moment I plunged the needle into his neck, he wore a look of shock that amused the fuck out of me.

Without bothering to remove it, I rose to my full height, watching the fucker squirm.

He slapped at the syringe, trying unsuccessfully to pull it from his skin.

I took a deep breath and grabbed the flashlight, shining the beam into his eyes.

“Well. Well. What do we have here? A Russian pig I assume. Are you one of Popov’s lackeys?

You don’t need to answer that. In fact, if I were to guess, I’d say the liquid inside that syringe was meant for the beautiful and talented Marissa Valentine. ”

I watched as his body began to shake. I’d had experience with various drugs including those used to render an enemy paralyzed. As I flashed the light from his body to his face, his muscles were already contorting.

His throat was closing, an expected side effect and his arm dropped to his side. It would appear my assessment was correct.

“Yes, I’ll also venture an educated guess the serum was meant to render her immobile so you could easily take her to wherever your puppet master wanted. I thought providing you with a taste of your own medicine was a much better plan.”

I placed the flashlight on a piece of wood a few inches away before pulling the knife from my pocket. Unsheathed, the strangled glow from the LED provided a perfect illumination as I twisted the blade back and forth. The shimmer was magnificent and reminded me of the old days.

Times when a pair of dice had been replaced with my weapon of choice. I chuckled inwardly from the thought.

“I know succinylcholine very well. A useful neuromuscular blocking agent. Almost instant. I can see by the hard twitching of your muscles I’m correct.

That leaves us plenty of time to have a discussion.

And don’t worry, I’m not looking for you to answer any of them.

Given where you are and that you’re Russian, I have almost every answer I need. ”

Just for kicks, I checked his pockets, shocked to find a wallet.

The fact he’d been carrying any identification meant he wasn’t a pro, merely a soldier within the Bratva given the task.

Kill me. Kidnap Marissa. As I flipped it open, I heard a dog barking.

Maybe I would need to hurry this along. I certainly wouldn’t want an innocent pup to happen onto the party.

“Victor Kierkov. A good, solid Russian name.” I shoved his wallet into my pocket, curious what other goodies I’d find. “Well, Victor. Here’s how we’re going to play it. I’m going to venture a guess you were assigned to kill Charles Valentine. You can blink to confirm.”

I’ll be damned if he didn’t. At least I knew.

“Oh, good boy. Maybe I won’t make your death as painful as I’d thought before.”

With the knife in my hand, I crouched down beside him, immediately plunging the blade into his stomach then twisting.

“Oops. I lied.”