Wayward, page 4
I leaned forward, head in my hands. “We both know what happened. Why are you recounting it?”
“Basically, at that point, because he was insured, the horse was worth more money dead than alive,” Vanya continued, ignoring me.
“Just—”
“What was it? Forty million or something?”
“Could you not—”
“You and Pasha show up to check on your father’s latest crazy, though legitimate, business venture the day before he’s supposed to collect on his first stud fee, and they’ve got this thoroughbred champion tied to a fence and these guys ready to break its leg, which will effectively end its life.”
“Why are you—”
“Because Pasha wanted to let them go,” he reminded me. “And you thought, if they’ll do it to one horse, a great champion, they’ll do it to foals and mares and all those horses no one ever sees. They’ll hurt the most vulnerable.”
I still remembered the horse’s wild, terrified eyes, and the utter terror I could see it was experiencing had enraged me. “Why is this important, Vanya?”
“Because it shows how you are and how you work, and no one can really see it.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“To your father, it looked like you went there with only the stud rights and came home with a horse farm in New York that now allows him to show up at Churchill Downs every year and rub shoulders with the rich and famous. But I know, because Pasha told me, that you had the guy who owned the horse farm sign it all over to your family, and then you put him on his knees and shot him execution-style in the back of the head.”
“People who hurt animals deserve what they get.”
“Isn’t a man’s life worth more than a horse’s?”
“I think it depends on the man, and why are we talking about—”
“It’s what you do, Maks! You move in the shadows, with your father and all the rest of those fucks thinking you’re the devil incarnate, but you’ve really just invented this darkness because you’re a good man where it counts,” he murmured, smiling at me. “You protect horses and your junkie whore cousin.”
“Knock it off.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got too much blood on my hands to ever be called a good man.”
“I would argue that to keep the many safe, you have killed very few.”
I didn’t want to argue with him; it was far too late. “Don’t go spreading it around that I’m soft, right? That will not be good for business.”
“Neither would your father or anyone else knowing you’re gay.”
I stood, walked around the coffee table, and took a seat next to my cousin, holding his gaze.
“I know you told me in confidence,” Vanya said softly, “and I would never remind you about it, except that it’s gotta be eating you up inside, and if you ever need someone to talk to, I want you to know I’m here.”
“Van—”
“You can’t keep hiding that you’re doing good things in a bad business, and you can’t continue living in the closet.”
“If I come clean, I’ll lose everything,” I said gruffly, the words grinding out of me, scraping my throat. “I’d lose my family, my home, my place in the world if anyone ever found out beyond those people I trust with my life.”
“But shouldn’t your family be the people you—”
“You know better than that,” I said dejectedly, and I was sure that Vanya heard at once the deep well of sadness in my voice and saw the resignation on my face. “It’s not an option.”
Getting up, I walked to the window, looking out at the city lights and the darkness that was Lake Michigan beyond them.
“Hey.”
I turned to look at him.
“You know it’s crazy that in our whole family, you’re the only one with the dark hair and eyes like dedushka’s. The rest of us are all shades of blond, except you.”
I shrugged, thinking of the grandfather I’d only ever seen pictures of. He’d been gone for years before I was born. “Just lucky.”
“Tell me why you told me. How come I’m one of the guys you trust with your life?”
“Because like tonight when you got confused, I wanted to make it clear that you being gay doesn’t mean anything to me,” I rasped, needing Vanya to hear me. “It’s the poison you put in your system that makes you do stupid, careless things that makes me sick. I don’t want you to think I care about who you sleep with.”
“Well, thank you for confiding in me, and just so you know, I would never tell.”
“Even when you’re high?” I asked because I was in a foul mood.
“Maks,” he said, sounding crestfallen.
“Yeah, fine. I know that,” I said, rubbing my eyes and the bridge of my nose.
It was enough sharing for one evening, no more soulful revelations were necessary for bonding, and so Vanya took the opportunity to blessedly return us to innocuous pleasantries. “What time did you get up this morning?”
“Right around five,” I answered, letting my head fall back gently and bump the wall behind me. “Or maybe just a bit earlier.”
“Jesus,” he huffed out. “I’m sorry.”
“Just get better and we’ll call it even, all right?”
“I’ll really try this time.”
“It’s all I can ask for,” I said, giving him a trace of a smile.
An hour later, Vanya was safely checked into the rehabilitation center, Nara was inside helping him set up his room, and Stas and Adrian were briefing Eva Ganz, one of three people outside of my regular circle whom I trusted to step in when we had to deal with delicate situations. She would be staying here, in the suite with Vanya, as his protection. God help anyone who tried to hurt him on her watch. The woman was deadly and dangerous and unwavering in her loyalty to my family. Nara had liked her right away.
Waiting outside the facility for Stas and Adrian to bring the car around, my eyes burning from exhaustion as I’d been up nearly twenty-four hours by that time, when the sleek Lexus LX SUV slid up to the curb, I didn’t have time to react before I saw the dark snub of a pistol trained on me by a flat-nosed man I didn’t recognize. A thought ran through my mind that it could be Burian trying to take revenge, but for one, that would be too quick, and for two, Flat Nose and the other men were not familiar in the least. I knew all of Burian’s guys, I had to. It was how I survived.
“Fuck,” I spat, raising my hands. Two men leaped from the SUV and patted me down quickly, finding the Glock 26 holstered in my shoulder harness.
The henchman handed my gun to Flat Nose, whose revolver was leveled at me. “This kusok der’ma is what you carry?” the man sneered. “Given your fancy suits and car, I expected more. My wife’s piece has more balls.” I had never gone in for chrome or gold plating, pearl handles, or engraved anything. I was a fan of dependability, something that fired quickly and reliably. And God keep me from guys who had to comment on everything. I’d much rather be taken by silent thugs. Remaining quiet, I checked for the weak link, listening and observing, the wheels turning for any chance of escape.
“Get in the car, Maks.” The thug gestured with the revolver.
There was no gentility as they shoved me in the back seat of the Lexus.
The ride downtown, near the Loop, was a short, silent one, even with three other men in the car with me, and my plan was to stay calm and try to talk my way out of it, offer them more money not to kill me, offer them jobs even though anyone who knew me at all could be certain that was a lie. Any person who could turn on his or her old boss could turn on a new one just as easily. Once a traitor, always a traitor was one of the many truths I took to heart. Another I lived by was that the longer you were held hostage, the less chance you had of survival. When we made a turn and the men started talking, certain we were far enough away not to be followed, I knew I had only one chance.
It was risky because no one had said who they were taking me to. But it wasn’t to talk—they would have said that right off. Wherever I was going, I would be killed. That much was obvious. They were showing me their faces, unconcerned that I’d be able to identify them later. I was a dead man, and I was outnumbered, and everyone had a gun, but it was better to be shot than tortured at the hands of God knew whom. At least if I’d seen an enemy I knew, I would have been prepared. A new player was just bad.
“You’re bein’ awfully quiet there, Maks. Lev says you love to talk, but now you’re all fuckin’ quiet.”
It took a second for that to register, since I was absorbed with escaping.
Lev said?
My brain stuttered on the name.
Lev said?
“He promised us this would be more entertaining.”
Lev. My best friend. Lev had told them that kidnapping me would be fun?
“Sorry?” I barely got out.
I couldn’t wrap my brain around the words. There had to be some mistake. What the hell was happening? Lev and I had been inseparable for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t begin to wrap my brain around whatever this was.
“He told us you would fight, and we’d get to hurt you, and—”
We were hit then, broadside. The car spun around and around, and then another car hit us and we flipped over. It was strange, everyone floating in space for seconds before we hit the ground and there was glass flying everywhere.
Once the car came to a full stop, I saw the guy who had been in the passenger seat was now embedded in the windshield, half of his body in the car, the rest outside.
There was so much blood. I was covered in it. Glancing around, the others were either dead or unconscious. I couldn’t tell which. It felt like years went by as I sat there.
“He’s alive!” I heard Adrian yell, and then there were pops I knew was a gun with a suppressor. I was familiar with the sound. I’d fired one enough times myself.
I was terrified that Adrian would be killed because I was certain there was a second car, following us, and now he and Stas would be murdered as well.
“You said they’d kill him so we wouldn’t have to,” Adrian called out, and all at once I was gutted. I could actually feel the air leave my lungs. Between Lev and him…I had no idea how I could have been so wrong. And Lev was one thing—more a brother than anything else—but I’d thought, since my father put me in charge at eighteen, that my men and I were friends. I’d always counted them as such.
“Just leave him in the car,” Lev answered him. “He’ll bleed out in seconds. I can see the glass in his side.”
“It’s not enough,” Stas argued. “The old man wants to be sure.”
The old man.
My father.
I turned my head, trying to see any of them, but my left shoulder exploded and I fell back, too weak to move, eyes staring up at the lights of the buildings I could see out the window. There was a flash, which I knew was someone taking a picture, proof for my father.
“You didn’t shoot him in the face, did you?” Adrian asked. “They have to be able to identify the body.”
“No,” Lev answered. “Look. I stopped his heart, but he’ll be good in the coffin.”
Lev had been the one. He’d leaned inside and killed me.
My best friend.
I heard them walking away, the sound of leather-soled shoes scraping over asphalt. I was freezing, inside and out, losing blood fast. And I was in pain, but as dramatic as it might sound, it was my soul that was bleeding the worst. I hurt down deep.
Years of trust and friendship, and then Lev had seen me, in pain, dying, and made the choice to rush me to the grave with a final bullet. The betrayal, his apathy, should have killed me right then and there.
All three of them, Lev, Adrian, and Stas, had left me to spend my final moments alone. As the veil of darkness swallowed me, I saw them drive away through the now fragmented windshield.
The why was thundering in my head. What happened when I wasn’t looking? How had I failed them so badly that they would turn on me? Why were they compelled to leave me to die?
It was quiet, so quiet. Faintly, I heard sirens, and then I was jostled hard, shards of pain tearing through my body. My scream was barely a whisper.
“Good,” Sava said gently. “Alive is good.”
But I wasn’t sure that was true.
It was the last thought I had.
THREE
It was bright when I opened my eyes, but not from hospital lights. Sun filtered in through gauzy ivory curtains.
Glancing around, I realized I’d never been in this room in my life. It was lovely, warm, with one brown wall—the accent wall—where there was a large gilded mirror and pictures of hunting dogs flanking it. The other walls were more of a bisque, and the covers I was under were in various shades of brown. No one who knew me would have thought I could even describe those colors, but my mother was a painter and always spoke to me about ecru, never beige or off-white. It was chartreuse or celadon, never simply green.
Looking to my left, I saw a woman I didn’t know, but since she had scrubs on, I was guessing she was a nurse.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. She turned from her phone at that same time, took her right AirPod out of her ear, and smiled.
“You’re awake, dorogoi,” she greeted me. “Let me get you some water and I’ll call him in to speak to you.”
I really needed to know whom she meant, but my voice was not cooperating. I needed a gun, something to defend myself with, but then I realized, I was alive for a reason. Whoever had me, hopefully wasn’t making me well just to murder me.
She got up and left the room, and I had what felt like an hour to contemplate my fate, but in reality, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. When the door opened again, she came through first with a huge tumbler like the ones from Starbucks, with a cover and a straw sticking out. Behind her, right on her heels, was Sava.
I wasn’t as relieved as I would have normally been, since just recently my best friend had left me to die in a crumpled car in the middle of the road.
“Very good,” Sava greeted me, walking around the bed, carrying a laptop. He leaned over and kissed my forehead, then took a seat in the chair beside my bed. “This is Sherry. She’s the one who’s been taking care of you. Lucky for us, the glass in your side hit nothing important, and the doctor who examined you sewed you up and said you will recover well.”
I tipped my head sideways to my shoulder.
“The bullet went in and out, nothing to worry about,” he said like I shouldn’t have even brought it up.
But it was trauma to my body that had already lost so much blood. I wasn’t so sure of his diagnosis.
All my focus went to Sherry then as she bent, got the straw in my mouth from the tumbler she’d carried in, and told me to sip slowly. As I did, my throat coated with liquid, and I realized it was the best water I’d ever had in my life.
“Speak,” I pleaded, and Sava nodded, then turned to his side and moved one of those rolling hospital tables that fit above the bed over to me. He placed a laptop there, opened it, and then sat me up with more tenderness than I’d ever seen from him. Gently, he leaned me forward as Sherry set the tumbler down I’d been drinking from before stuffing pillows behind my back.
It didn’t hurt—I was guessing the IV in my arm was responsible for that. What I did realize when they moved me was that I had a catheter in me.
“We need to take that out,” I told him, and of course, he knew what I meant.
“In a bit, just…look at this first.”
He had whatever he wanted to show me queued up already so all he had to do was hit Play. There was a news report from eight days ago about a car accident downtown. The fire was a surprise.
“The hell?”
“Fire is always good. Makes things final.”
It certainly did. “I’m dead?” I asked him.
“To most. Not to Pasha. Him, I told. Your father, Galina, Lev, the maggots you called your friends, and everyone else—to them, yes.”
“Okay,” I said, a million questions running through my head.
“First, because I know you would worry, Pasha agreed to care for Vanya,” he said and showed me a new video. Pasha visiting Vanya in rehab, and there was a team of reporters with him. “He’s gotten a huge popularity bump with caring for his cousin after losing you, his brother. I understand that he is beloved on Twitter.”
I glanced at him.
He shrugged and shook his head. “Maria, my oldest, she says this is important.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “I knew that wasn’t something you were on top of.”
“No,” he agreed, grinning. “But so you see, Vanya will be safe, yes?”
“Yes,” I replied, sighing deeply. That, at least, was positive. It meant that Vanya now lived under Pasha’s umbrella, which meant that he, like my brother, was untouchable. It was smart of Pasha to do that, to make everything public so Vanya couldn’t simply disappear.
“Your funeral was nice. Many people came.”
“Great,” I said flatly.
There was more video to watch. Shots of my father, my stepmother, and Lev, all crying, with Pasha the only one who appeared truly broken. A reporter spoke to Galina, who said she was leaving for Paris, that she needed to get out of the city since it reminded her of me.
I scoffed.
“Wait,” Sava said, grinning as he pointed at the screen.
Whoever had done the report had tracked her there, in the city of lights, at some café, where she was shown sipping champagne and laughing. As soon as she saw the reporter, she shrieked that she was in mourning.
I glanced at Sava.
“That part is my favorite.”
“You’re a sick man,” I assured him as Sherry lifted the tumbler of water off the end of the table and offered me some more.
“Can you hold that yourself and put it back?” she asked me.
Once I gave her a nod, she smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Shall I tell you the story now?” Sava asked me.
