Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva), Nicole Fox [life changing books txt] 📗

He does not respond.

I fall to the tile floor of the bathroom and stare out the window, wishing I’d thought to pack a parachute in my handbag. Of all my stupid ideas in life—sneaking out in tenth grade to go with Robby Wilgeiler to my first coed party; my ill-advised trip to Sturgis with wannabe motorcycle boy Jay Porter after college; any adventure with Lila that took place after seventh grade—sneaking into this hotel room and trying to spy on a man who probably actually knows double agents and real-life spies and might have more than a few of them on his payroll probably rates eleven out of ten on the stupid scale.

This tiny bathroom seems to be getting smaller, closing in. I go to the window and try to push it open, on the off chance that it’s actually not sealed shut. No dice.

Slipping off one heel, I grab it tight by the sole, wind up, and swing for the fences. Dink. It makes a tiny little indentation. That’s encouraging enough to swing again.

Dink. Dink. Dink. I swing until my hand aches and my breath comes in sharp spurts.

Then, finally, a breakthrough. The spiderwebbing cracks and explode outwards. Houston, we have liftoff!

I use the heel to knock out the remaining shards, then try to haul myself up. It takes a few jumps and a wiggle before I am able to start getting my body through my makeshift escape route.

I see a fire escape about a story below me. It might hurt, but I doubt it’ll do any lasting damage if I drop down onto it. As I’m about to work up the nerve to take the leap, it occurs to me that I need my voice recorder. Aside from costing me more than a hundred dollars, it might have something important on it. Evidence, or whatever you might call it.

But as I’m halfway in and halfway out, the bathroom door opens.

“Miss Lowe.”

“Mr. Rusnak.” I fall back inside and retreat until my back hits the tile wall. I’m wary. Up close, Yelisey is pleasantly good-looking in a less dangerous way than Kostya. His eyes aren’t as dark. He’s not as big. His expression not so serious. But he’s still a picture of what not to invite into a dark alley.

“What did you plan to do with this?” He holds out the little silver contraption I’d pinned all my hopes on. When I don’t answer, he throws it against the wall so that it shatters into a few dozen unfixable pieces.

“Did you play baseball? Because … wow. Good arm.” I’m stalling because right now my life is flashing before my eyes and it just started getting good a few weeks ago. This isn’t the way I want to go out.

“Charlotte.”

When I said Kostya was more dangerous, I might not have given Yelisey enough credit. “I need to know, Mr. Rusnak. For my sake. For his daughter’s sake. I need to be able to protect her.” Shamefully, while looking down at the floor, I add, “And for myself.”

He helps me stand and looks down at my bare toes. “With no shoes?”

Not a point I can refute. “I didn’t expect to have to do any of it today. I just wanted to sneak in, find out what Kostya is up to, and then decide what to do later. But not today.” I shrug, hoping the truth is enough to get me out of this.

“He’s angry.” He circles me. “I told him I would …” That long pause tells me all I need to know about Yelisey. His charm and good looks are a façade. He’s more than dangerous. He’s also ambitious and the combination is lethal. “Make this all go away.”

His smile makes the words all the more ominous.

“Go away?” I don’t feel like joking anymore.

“You’re lucky. His daughter likes you.” Before he can finish telling me my fate, the door opens again. This time, Kostya walks through.

His body is rigid and his mouth is set in a hard line. “They’re waiting for us.” I watch as he flips the sofa over and pulls a rifle from underneath as Yelisey opens the storage compartment on the coffee table and yanks a big black duffel from inside. He pulls out one rifle, then another, and a third along with four handguns and several clips.

“What do we do with her?” Yelisey asks.

Kostya doesn’t even look at me. It hits like a blow to the chest. Like he wants nothing to do with me anymore. “I am not yet done interrogating her. She comes with us.”

“She will be deadweight, Kostya. We might not get out alive if we bring her along.”

“Then give her a gun.”

Yelisey is balking, I can tell. I haven’t taken a breath as I’ve watched this whole negotiation go down. I know without understanding how my life hangs in the balance here, somehow. I can only hope the right man wins. Which one that is, I have no clue.

“You trust her with a gun?” Yelisey says finally.

Kostya turns and, for the first time since he locked me in the bathroom, makes eye contact with me. “If she tries to misuse it—kill her.”

I blanch. Yelisey nods.

He looks at Kostya one more time, then me, and holds up a Glock. “You know what to do with this?”

I swallow past the knot in my throat, then pull back the slide, take a clip, and jam it in place. I pull the slide again and check the sight. Yelisey and Kostya are staring, curious. “I used to go to the gun range with my dad,” I say by way of explanation.

“Whelans are on every floor and at the exits.” Kostya is calm as he pulls more guns from behind the television armoire.

“Ublyudki.”

I know the word from hearing it so often at Kostya’s office. Bastards. My heart is so loud in my ears I can’t hear anything but the pounding of my own pulse even as they make plans.

“Why can’t we wait here until more of