Until the End (2 page)

This hadn’t been part of her schedule, but she had to play the part so he wouldn’t suspect anything. It had already been hard enough to spike his drink with all of his men hovering and his insistent need to watch his food.

She gave him a slight push, climbing on top of him, kissing his neck, then his chest and slowly down his body. His hands immediately went to her hair, pulling tight as her fingers traced the edge of his boxers. Just as she was pulling them down, his hold on her loosened.

Waiting a few moments, Naomi peeked up at his face, making sure he was out before she smiled. Glad that she hadn’t needed to perform, she quickly redressed and crept out of the room.

Her clothes and the rest of her belongings had already been shipped out, small amounts at a time. The last of it was stashed in her car.

Just as she’d thought, Sebastian was the only man in the room.

Quickly running a hand through her hair, Naomi stepped out of the shadows, drawing his attention to her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Naomi said, fingering the front clasp of her dress.

He cleared his throat, stepping away from the case to walk over to her, his eyes immediately drifting down  to where her breasts were exposed.

She beckoned him closer with a crook of her finger and he was none the wiser to the Taser she held behind her. As he was leaning down to kiss her, she struck, shocking him with enough voltage to drop a three-hundred pound man.

She caught him as his body seized, easing him to the ground.

Now, there was nothing preventing her from taking the one thing she sought. She was the best at what she did and she had no fear of the consequences of her actions.

Her arrogance afforded her that luxury.

She stepped over Sebastian’s body, knowing she only had a few minutes left. They might not have believed in security, but one of the Albanians’ men would be coming down shortly to retrieve it and her window of opportunity would be lost.

Peeking around the corner, she checked one last time to make sure she was truly alone before hurrying over to the case, slipping on a pair of gloves to remove the glass.

And there it was.

Naomi smiled in satisfaction as she stared down at her newest possession, plucking the stone from its bed of velvet. What little light there was in the room glinted off the diamond, a rainbow of color splashing against the floor.

Not wanting to push her luck, Naomi wrapped it in a cloth, tucking it away into her cleavage as she sauntered out of the mansion.

Now that her work was done, she would be on the first flight out of the country, making her way to South Africa where she knew another score awaited her. She had no regrets about the men she had used to gain her latest possession, she pitied them.

With them, she hadn’t tried hard at all before they crumbled in her hands.

The Catacombs

Albanian Stronghold

Seven days later…

Beneath the mansion was an underground passageway leading to a narrow opening of a place that the Albanian Mob affectionately deemed The Catacombs. Like most underground tunnels that bore the name, the slightly damp under space was littered with the remains of human bodies, their bones—especially the skulls—used as decorating ornaments.

Except this place was anything but a place of religious practices.

It might have been medieval in design, but Jetmir Besnik preferred it this way. It gave his macabre acts a more theatrical feel.

It was in this decrepit place of despair that Sebastian—Naomi’s other lover—kneeled on the ground, sharp rocks biting into his knees. His body was racked with shivers, his clothes long since torn, his blood darkening the fabric.

One eye was swollen shut, the other had been hit so brutally that the blood vessels inside it burst, turning the white startlingly red. He had already soiled himself, fear paralyzing him as he faced the men that would soon take his life.

Jetmir didn’t know what he was more upset about: the fact that the
zuskë
had stolen from him, or that this
gomar
had disrespected him. Either way, the rules were in place for a reason, and anyone that broke them would pay the price.

Grabbing the can of gasoline himself, Jetmir poured the contents all over Sebastian’s head, turning deaf ears to his cries for mercy. He’d even begun to whisper a jaunty tune, one that even made his colleagues glance at each other warily.

Jetmir didn’t bother saying anything more, it was beneath him. He didn’t have to announce that this was a lesson  to the men surrounding him.

They all knew.

Striking a match, Jetmir tossed it onto the doused man, watching in grim satisfaction as he burst into flames, his cries growing louder as he writhed helplessly on the ground, his skin slowly melting off.

The stench of burning flesh filled the cavern and as Sebastian stopped moving, Jetmir clapped his hands together, turning to face the men that stood at his back, the burning man behind him providing a gruesome backdrop.

“Find her.”

They were the only two words he needed to speak.

Naomi Le Feuvre’s fate was sealed.

May

It was a cool Monday afternoon, the sun was shining, the shielded petals of new flowers blooming, but as Lauren Thompson sat in the interrogation room facing a murder charge, it was hard to see any beauty in the world, especially the one she had found herself in. Months ago, she had stood on the other side of the glass, staring in at the man that helped murder her father.

Now, the only thing she could see was her own reflection.

Long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, eyes the shade of warm honey, bloodshot and tired. Overall, she looked sickly, like she had been to hell and back, and in some ways…she had.

Not many took on the Russian Mob and lived to tell about it.

Though to be completely honest, she didn’t know why Mikhail—the Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva—had let her leave that room. Sure, he had given her a warning and she knew the consequences of what would happen if she ever talked, but realistically, she was still a loose end.

That was what Viktor’s murder was about. He wasn’t killed just because he ordered a hit that the Pakhan didn’t sanction. He was killed because of the problems he brought down on their organization. He could not have known that by killing Lauren’s father, he would start a domino effect that would take place fifteen years later, but he let greed and power blind him, along with the lure of a beautiful woman.

Lauren had no idea what had become of Anya and frankly, she really didn’t care. Anya played her part in the destruction of not one, but two families and deserved whatever fate came to her.

She had been conflicted at first, feeling guilt over Viktor’s death and what Alex—Mishca’s sister—must have been going through, but that guilt soon turned to resentment and the longer it stewed inside of her, the less she felt bad about it all.

The only one Volkov that made her feel anything other than burning hatred was Mishca. With him, she felt…anger…betrayal…unequivocal shame…but the final part of her, the part that refused to go away, felt the love that had been building since the moment they had bumped into one another at the café.

“Miss. Thompson?”

Lauren was torn out of her thoughts by the two detectives entering the tiny room. She eyed them warily, searching for the signs she knew were coming. She was raised by a homicide detective after all and knew what to look for.

“Call me Lauren.”

The shortest of the two, with a receding hairline and beady eyes, smiled gratefully, like he had assumed she wasn’t going to cooperate. He took a seat at the table, his partner standing off by the door with his arms folded across his chest.

“I’m Detective Stifler,” the short one said. “Detective Baker. We just have a few questions for you.”

She nodded, matching his relaxed pose because she knew they were only questioning her about Viktor’s murder, which despite all Viktor had done, she wasn’t the one to kill him. “Okay.”

“Tell me, what was your relationship with Viktor Volkov.”

Lauren met his eyes, not showing fear. “We didn’t have a relationship. He was my boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—uncle.”

“Isn’t it true that you came in a few months ago*, claiming that Viktor Volkov was allegedly involved with…” He flipped through the folder on the table, reading from a sheet of paper inside that Lauren was sure he had already memorized. “…The murder of a Doctor Cameron Thompson? That’s your father correct?”

“Yes, that’s my father, but no I didn’t accuse him of it, Anatoly Stonosky did.”

With police, especially during interrogations, it was important to be literal, ensuring that words couldn’t be twisted and shaped to fit an alternate meaning.

“But you gave a statement saying you heard Viktor Volkov’s voice the night of the murder. Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“And you learned that he was the one to kill your father?”

“I guessed.”

“You guessed?”

Lauren shrugged. “I was five, locked in a closet for I don’t know how long. My statement isn’t very reliable.”

That was another reason why she chose not to wait on the justice system to do something about it. There was no physical evidence connecting Viktor to the crime, nor were there any remaining witnesses. So maybe, no matter how she tried to deny it before, had wanted Viktor to die.

“And did you ever see Viktor after that day.”

Now they were venturing into dangerous territory. “Yes.”

“When was that exactly?”

“End of February, maybe March.”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“Not really,” she said honestly.

“And where were you on the night of April twenty-fifth?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” asked Detective Baker joining in, sounding terribly disbelieving. Guess he was bad cop. “How can you not know?”

“Considering it’s May, don’t you think if I had a ready alibi, that might look suspicious?”

“But you do have an alibi for that night?” He reiterated.

“Do I need an alibi, detective?”

He looked annoyed with her word games, but she was begging truthful. She really didn’t know where she had been that night, and it wasn’t going to matter much because Amber had been gone from the apartment for the last two weeks. Which meant, Lauren had no one to corroborate her statement.

“I didn’t think I needed one,” she went on before he could respond. “Am I under arrest?”

“No. We’re just trying to get some answers.” Detective Stifler tried for a disarming smile, but Lauren read right through that. He leaned close, close enough that only she would be able to hear him.

“Let me tell you what I know, Lauren. I know you got involved with a known mobster. You might not have known what he was then, but there’s no reason for you to be protecting him now. You find out that his family is behind your father’s death, I can understand why you would be a little angry and might want to take the law into your own hands. A jury will understand that, and if you cooperate with us, I’ll put in a word for you with the DA.”

Lauren opened, her mouth, ready to tell him that she wanted a lawyer when the door was pushed open, a woman in an expensive beige suit stepping in, her heels clicking on the floor.

“This interrogation is over,” she said in a no-nonsense voice, carrying herself like she was used to her orders being followed. “Lauren, don’t say another word. Detectives, I have surveillance photos and a formal statement from the cab driver that picked up Lauren on her way home on the night in question.”

She dropped her packet on the table, turning her nose up at them smugly. Lauren was speechless, much like the detectives, but she had no idea who the attorney was or who had hired her.

“Let’s go, Lauren.”

Not questioning it, Lauren made to stand, the detectives following suit though they looked less than pleased. What more could they say? Until they ran whatever the attorney had in that file, they could no longer hold her.