Page 5 of Ruinous Need

VIKTOR

THE KIDNAPPING WILL be easy.

Even after that night when the Irish almost got her, when I told her to be more careful, Lisette is oblivious.

She’s so unaware of her surroundings, it’s like she lives in a different world.

She’s always listening to music, giant black headphones over her white-blonde hair, leaving ruffled indents when she takes them off.

On the train, in the park, while she takes her breaks from teaching. She likes to walk around the city. Waltzing through public places where anyone could attack her.

I’ve been observing her movements in preparation for the kidnapping.

Semyon wants her locked away, and he doesn’t think she’ll go willingly.

The only issue is me.

My physical reactions. Something that has never been a problem before.

I don’t get nervous. I don’t react. I am stone-cold. I’ve been tracking targets since I was a teenager. And never before have I seized up the way I did when I tailed Lisette.

When I shot the Irish bastard, she looked up at me with those sea-green eyes, leaning away from me as though I was the picture of evil.

The world went dark except for her.

My pulse started to flutter in my neck. It fucking fluttered.

My fists clenched involuntarily. I could hear the blood rush in my ears. My heart thudded against my chest again and again like it wanted to be set free.

I sucked in a ragged breath and got nothing but the sweet cinnamon scent of her shampoo. Flooding my senses. Consuming my thoughts.

A heart attack. That’s what it was, I decided. Any second it would be over. I would be on the floor, heart stopped, like all those other bastards I’d put in the ground.

But the seconds ticked by, and my heart continued beating. I was expecting everything to fade away. Instead, when I looked at her, everything was sharply defined.

Her. Lisette. She was what was wrong with me.

Still is, judging by the way my fists are balled at my sides again.She might be a full decade younger than me, and then some, but I can’t stop staring.

Her straight blonde hair swishes around her bare shoulders when she takes off her grey woolen coat.

The pale yellow silk dress skims over her curves, leaving little to the imagination. The fabric’s not even thick enough to hide the line of her panties on her hips.

So this is what she wears on a date.

I suck in a breath and move my thoughts elsewhere. I’ve checked out the bar staff. They’re vigilant but not hyperaware. They won’t notice a thing as long as we keep the procedure outside to under a minute.

All Markov and I need to do is time it right so that they’re serving customers while we deal with the lovebirds. And they will be — a difficult couple seated at the bar have been bribed to make complaints about their drinks the moment Lisette and her date step outside.

The side street is quiet enough late at night that we can take her quietly, with no witnesses. Her date will collapse to the ground from the sedative that we give him, but it’ll look like he’s had too much to drink.

Alcoholics are not unusual in New York. Even ones in designer suits.

I can’t help but bring my laser focus back to Lisette. Her date is late. She arranges herself on a bar stool facing the door and orders a drink while she waits, tapping her ankle against the table leg.

He greets her with a sheepish apology. Fifteen minutes after they agreed to meet.

A muscle ticks in my jaw as he bends down to kiss her cheek. Asshole.

Focus. You have a job to do, Viktor.

The bar is one of those modern places with minimalist decor, hardwood floors and expensive drinks. Not owned by the Bratva, though that would have been convenient.

It faces directly onto the street, giving us a perfect view of what’s happening inside.

Even as he leads her into a booth a little further back, so I can only see the sweep of her neck and the blonde swirl of her hair.

She lets him guide her to her seat with a hand on the small of her back and pretends not to notice the way he ogles her legs.

I wonder why she wanted to go on a date.Maybe she wants to taunt Semyon by seeing another man. Maybe he’s into that. I don’t know shit about their relationship.

All I know is that she downloaded the dating app immediately after our encounter and the phone call from Semyon. She had the date set up within an hour. Semyon’s had her phone cloned for years, but it seems I’m the only one who’s bothered to use it.

The guy is a business major named Damien. He’s not the kind who expects his dates to think for themselves. His face reddens and he seems flustered because she’s already ordered herself a cocktail.

I wonder once again whether my remit to protect her extends to killing the asshole she’s on a date with. My car is out front and they’re in plain view of the street. It would be an easy shot, straight out the passenger window.

I chuckle at the thought.

A smarmy, straight-laced asshole like that wouldn’t know what had hit him. He wouldn’t even notice the marker appearing, the red dot, before everything went black. My fingers itch for the sniper rifle that lies beneath the passenger seat.

“What is it, Viktor?”

That’s Markov. My right-hand man. The only bastard in the Bratva more dangerous than me. What I don’t know about him could fill a book — he arrived here ten years ago from Russia and doesn’t talk about his past — but I trust him all the same.

He’s so attuned to my emotions that it can feel like he knows me better than I know myself.

I wipe the smile off my face. I won’t tell him about my murderous thoughts. Markov is here to stop me from over-reacting where Lisette is concerned, and to make sure I don’t freeze up like I did the other night. He doesn’t need to know how out of control I’m feeling.

“It’s nothing. This will be straightforward. We know the plan.”

He nods and we lapse into silence.

The wait is agonizing. Lisette is more energetic than I’ve ever seen her, practically vibrating with movement.

From my week of observations, I know she’s never still, always tapping her fingers or gently swaying to music, but this is a new level of energy even for her.

For a second I wonder if she can sense that she’s being watched. She turns her head to look right out the window and into the driver’s seat, as though she knows I’m there. Then she shakes her head as though focusing and arranges her face into a polite smile at whatever her date is saying.

I get the feeling she’s not enjoying the date nearly as much as she’s pretending to.She’s forcing laughs at Damien’s jokes and even letting him wrap his arm around her shoulders.

I try not to let the tension show on my face as I think about how easy it would be to take the shot.

Although I’d get blood all over her pretty dress. It wouldn’t be the best introduction to my new roommate.

After the second drink, they wait out front to hail a taxi together. They’re holding hands loosely, side-by-side. Lisette shifts in the cold, her breath clouding in front of her face.

A group of rowdy teenagers walks past, leaving the pavement clear for us to approach them from behind. The bar staff are successfully distracted by our difficult couple asking for the manager.

I nod at Markov.

Go time.

We exit the car silently, needles in hand. As much as I’m fantasizing about putting Damien in the ground, tonight we’re only using sedatives.

Markov spikes the guy first and supports his body weight for the half-second it takes for me to reach Lisette.

As I approach, she turns and fixes me with those sea-green eyes again, like she knew I was going to be here.She doesn’t look surprised, just defiant.

I refuse to hesitate this time. I’m already close enough to jab her shoulder.

She looks like she’s about to say something, clenching her jaw with anger, but she’s too late. I wrap my hand over her mouth, muffling her scream as the needle enters.

The protest fades away as the sedative makes its way through her system. Her face slackens, and I scoop her up into my arms, depositing her on the back seat of the SUV.

I try not to breathe deeply, but the light sugary smell of her hair and perfume is already filling the confined space.

I cough it out. Markov gives me a strange look. He drags the guy over to the front steps of the bar, where he’ll just look like an idiot who drank too much.

It’s over, clean, and done within seconds.

I hand the keys to Markov, and he drives us to the apartment.

That’s for the best.

I’m far too distracted to drive right now.

I replay the events in my head. Zeroing in on the way her face hardened when she saw me. The way she was trying so hard to clench her jaw and look tough, as if someone so insubstantial ever could.

Markov’s talking through the plan when we arrive. He thinks we’re putting her in the cells, like Semyon ordered.

I shake my head. “Not there. I’ve made up the guest room.”

“What do you mean?” He shoots me a sideways glance before fixing his attention on the road again.

“We’re not putting her in the cells.”

“Viktor.” He gives me a hard look. This is the first time I’ve asked him to go against Semyon’s wishes. I know it’s a lot to ask. While I’m untouchable, Markov is not. “The Pakhan said the cell.”

“He can believe that if he wants. But we’re not putting this girl in a cell. She’s his fiancée, for fuck’s sake.”

That’s a convenient excuse for my uncharacteristic display of weakness.

I file it away for later. The Pakhan wouldn’t have wanted us to disrespect his fiancée by throwing her in the cells, I can say if anyone asks questions about the living arrangements.

I can sound outraged about it. Then he’s the one who looks like the bad guy.

Behind us in the car, Lisette’s blonde hair spread out in a fan on the backseat, her face relaxed. She seems even smaller here.

Pretty. Innocent. Obviously not a threat.

Markov pauses for a second, his eyes on the road. “I don’t like this.” I know he doesn’t mean only the disobedience.

“I know.”

We fall into silence for the rest of the drive, but it’s not a comfortable one.

The whole situation feels off.

The Irish have been on our case lately, and I don’t doubt they’re collecting intelligence about the Pakhan’s fiancée. But nothing about the timing makes sense.

They sent one of their best assassins, Alfred Jameson, the man with the scarred face, after her. Knowing that it would rile Semyon. Knowing that it wouldn’t be worth the cost.

Even if she’s engaged to Semyon, there are many more valuable targets for the Irish.

I’ve been assigned to protect Lisette, but from what I’m not sure.