Valon: What Once Was (Volkov Bratva Book 0) (11 page)

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14

______

Three years later…

Valon trailed along behind Fatos and Bastian as they were led through the mansion where the infamous Besnik family lived. It was grand, bigger than any home Valon had ever seen, but while Fatos looked around in open envy, Valon was unfazed. He didn’t think anything could impress him anymore.

Now that he was known beyond their small circle for what he was capable of—notably for how he lacked emotion while doing it—apparently, he was being offered a job that only someone like him could pull off.

But Valon didn’t believe that for a second. There were plenty of fucking idiots who wanted to do this, kill just because, especially if they were getting paid to do it. But since Bastian wanted him to do it, he had no choice.

“Stay here.”

Valon remained outside the door as Bastian and Fatos disappeared behind it, their voices muffled behind the heavy door. Unlike Bastian’s place of residence, the Besnik family had armed guards everywhere, and none of them looked like they had ever smiled a day in their life.

He couldn’t have been standing outside of the room for more than a couple of minutes before he heard, “Bring him in.”

Remaining silent, he trailed behind the two who were leading him in, digging his hands into his pockets to fight the urge to fidget. He wasn’t nervous, but something about this group of men made him wary.

Bastian’s men were like open books. Give them alcohol and semi-conscious women and they were satisfied. This lot seemed far less obvious.

All eyes were on him as he entered the room. Bastian and Fatos were seated at a table with two other men. It was clear which one was the boss, the other just seemed far too young.

“Valon, yes?” the boss asked with an easy smile, gesturing for him to take the lone seat available at the table. “I’ve heard great things about you. I am Jetmir Besnik.”

That he could kill with his bare hands…and when he was really inspired, he could drag out that death for hours. This trait wasn’t something he thought was great.

Not responding, Valon just waited for him to go on.

“I have a little problem, you see. I have been asked to do something for a couple of friends of mine, the Volkov brothers. Perhaps you have heard of them? And while I would not mind doing it, I need someone with your particular skills.”

Apparently, someone needed to die if he was coming to Valon about it. He had to admit, he was a little intrigued. And he had, actually, heard of the Volkovs, though he didn’t know much about them or their operation. Mikhail and Viktor, he thought their names were.

“Who?”

“A man by the name of Mishca Volkov. He has information that I need to expand my business over in the United States, but he has been unwilling to share this information with my associate, so my associate has come to me to fix it. You can see my problem, yes?”

Valon shrugged. No, he really didn’t.

Jetmir reached into his inside coat pocket, pulling free a photograph and sliding it across the table to Valon. When he picked it up, he studied the black and white image and the man featured in it.

There was not much he could tell from the photo, only that the boy had dark hair and dressed well, and he was a year or two younger than Valon.

Dropping the picture, Valon looked at Jetmir, meeting his gaze. “Why do you need me for this? You have capable men here?” This was an assumption on Valon’s part. Just because a man carried a gun didn’t mean he knew how to use it. Strom was the perfect example.

“This boy you see, he is a captain in the Volkov
Bratva
. You may or may not have heard of them but know that they are deadly, and if one were to go after them, they need to send the best. You are the best at what you do.” His smile was a contradiction to his words. “And you do not know fear.”

That wasn’t right, actually. Valon did know fear. He had felt it many times in his life. It was that he didn’t show weakness in the face of those fears. That was what made him different from each man seated at that table.

“How much?”

Bastian frowned at him, but Valon ignored him. Otherwise, the fat man would help himself to whatever it was Jetmir intended to give him in return for completing this job for him.

“Thirty-thousand U.S. dollars.”

Nodding once, Valon asked, “When do we start?”

____

Having never flown on a plane, or even left the countryside that he’d grown up in for the last twenty-three years, Valon felt out of sorts. Luckily, he had Loki with him, though he had been regulated to a crate during the ride. He had requested that stipulation for this assignment. Bastian had been annoyed by this fact, but Jetmir had readily agreed. With what Valon was doing for him, he hadn’t cared if he brought all the fucking dogs in Albania.

Landing in a place that he had only ever read about, it seemed far busier than he expected. And louder. Everything just seemed almost too bright for someone who was used to the silence of everyday life. But he didn’t mind it. He actually liked it, and if he were here for any other reason than to kill someone, he might have enjoyed it more.

From the plane, they took multiple cars to a brownstone building in Brooklyn—or at least that was what Strom said—and climbed out. Valon opened the gate for Loki to jump out, laughing when he stretched in the way only dogs did, stopping abruptly when Fatos clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Either he didn’t notice the glare or he just ignored it as Fatos said, “We need to go over strategy.”

Shrugging off his touch, he headed into the building, Loki trotting at his heels.

“I’ll drive,” Strom offered as they began discussing what the night would entail. “You two wait in back and surprise.”

Considering Valon had learned how to speak better English in a few years than Strom did after more than thirty, he really needed to do better, but that might have just been because Valon had wanted more for himself after Elena had gone.

It hadn’t taken long before everything was forgiven and things had gone back to normal. When police didn’t show up for those first six months, they’d figured that she was smart enough to just disappear.

In three years, Valon had learned how to drive—though he wouldn’t say he was particularly great at it—and read any book that he could get his hands on. He could be a slave, but at least he would be a smart one.

“He won’t know what hit him!” Fatos exclaimed on a laugh, again looking at Valon as though he would find some kind of camaraderie. There was none.

“Let’s get this shit over with.”

____

Quiet and observing, Valon leaned back against the wall of the van, his ski mask shoved up to bunch at his hairline. The others had been excited about what was going to happen tonight. They were too eager, which meant that they would be prone to making mistakes.

Valon didn’t feel such things.

He didn’t relish in the pain he was going to inflict by the night’s end. He was resigned to it. He definitely felt for the poor bastard who was going to get taken tonight.

They were heading out of Brooklyn, toward the location where the Russian was supposed to be for the night, but before they had gotten far, Strom suddenly exclaimed from the front seat, “There he is!”

Since there were no windows in the back of the van, Valon didn’t know whether this was true or if Strom was just an idiot. If he had to wager, he’d bet on the second.

“Are you sure?” Fatos asked, already reaching to tug down his mask.

“It is, but there is the girl with him.”

Shit. There wasn’t supposed to be any witnesses. If—

“We’ll bring her, too,” Fatos said. “Circle the block so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Valon asked as Strom follow his instruction. “The girl wasn’t part of the plan.”

“If you get squeamish, then I’ll take care of it.”

Fatos laughed as if he was joking, but they both knew he was serious.

Strom suddenly sped up then hit the brakes hard, shouting, “Go!”

Fatos shoved the side door open, jumping out, Valon quickly following behind.

Valon only caught sight of the boy’s face for a second, the shock and fear clear for anyone to see, before he was shoving the girl in the opposite direction and yelling, “Run!”

That struck Valon as odd, not that he was trying to protect the girl, but because he lacked the distinct Russian accent that he was supposed to have. He sounded…well…American.

When Fatos rushed him, the Russian cocked his fist back and let it fly, nailing him in the face that had Fatos cursing him as he stumbled backward. The girl was running, screaming down the street, but Strom was rushing after her, his big body slowing him down.

Valon just waited, watching the fighting. Fatos had recovered quick enough, charging at the boy, sending them both to the ground. They were grappling on the snow-slick concrete, trying to dominate each other, but they were evenly matched.

Strom had finally snagged the girl, restraining her as she struggled.

“Niklaus!”

Valon wasn’t sure whom she was calling for—no one there went by that name—but suddenly the boy looked in her direction, all the fight leaving him. Valon could see the moment when he was going to get away from Fatos to get to her, but he stopped it before he could even move.

With one well-calculated hit to his face, Valon knocked him off balance, watching as he hit the ground, his head hitting harder. But he was still conscious, still fighting to go toward the girl.

Valon admired his tenacity, his resilience.

But they were out of time.

Kicking him in the face, this time he made sure he was out.

Fatos was still struggling to his feet as Valon hauled the boy up, practically carrying him over to the van. The girl was still screaming, though the piece of cloth that Strom had stuffed into her mouth muffled the sound.

Reclaiming his feet, Valon stretched out his legs, folding his arms across his chest. Fatos glared at him, and Valon didn’t pretend not to understand why that was. He was jealous of what he was capable of, but Valon wasn’t going to apologize for being better than he was. Not ever again.

With their two prey in the van, Valon looked at Strom. “Let’s go.”

The address Jetmir had given them led to a large industrial warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Nothing was located in immediate vicinity of the place, so whatever happened inside was unlikely to be heard.

The perfect place for misery and death.

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15

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Standing back away from the others, Valon watched every single person in the room. Sometimes, especially during moments like these, he hated that he saw so much. Just a flicker of emotion in a person’s eyes always gave away their true feelings. And one thing that he had read on every last one of them was just how much they had enjoyed taunting the girl as soon as she woke up.

Valon hadn’t felt moved either way. If she wanted to lie in bed with a mobster, then there were risks that came with that, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy what he was going to have to do to her.

She was pretty, young, and probably had a life outside of all this, and if Valon was in Jetmir’s place, then he might have let her go, just to save himself the headache of a female crying, but the darker side of him knew that the best way to get the Russian to talk was to hurt the girl. Or at least, he hoped that would work. It all depended on what she meant to him.

Turning his attention back to the Volkov boy, he studied him, wondering when he would finally rouse. He hadn’t hit him that hard, but sometimes Valon didn’t know his own strength. Maybe he needed to work on that…

Just as he was about to look away, the boy stirred, a soft sound slipping past his lips as his head moved, jerking fully awake when he realized that he was being tied to the chair. Valon could practically smell the fear on him, but it wasn’t until the boy noticed his lover that he truly began to realize the true horror of his situation. He struggled anew, but he couldn’t break free.

The boy’s eyes went over each of them, lingering on Jetmir for some time. It was an easy enough guess as to who was in charge. Jetmir dressed the part in a charcoal gray suit with a long, black overcoat on top. The rest of them wore variations of jeans and T-shirts.

Jetmir studied him in return, nodding almost imperceptibly. “You did well.”

The compliment was aimed at both Valon and Fatos, for their work in actually finding and bringing him here.

Fatos, ever the eager one, ripped his mask off, smiling down at the boy. “It was nothing.”

The boy visibly paled under the insanity that was Fatos and for good reason. Valon had learned what he was capable of when he was bored. If he were inspired? There was no telling what he would do.

Since the mask no longer seemed necessary, Valon pulled his off, making eye contact with the boy. He wondered what he saw when he looked at him. Did he see the same crazy that he saw in Fatos? Less?
More
? They were two halves of the same coin, but Valon liked to pretend he was better than his counterpart was.

“Were you seen?” Jetmir went on.

“Nope,” said Fatos. “They were alone. He didn’t even have guards on him.”

Which had seemed strange to Valon. If this was the
Bratva
Captain, then wouldn’t there be at least one bodyguard with him at all times? Leaving the compound back in Albania, Bastian had felt the need to leave with at least three, not including Valon. But maybe he had left him behind because of the girl he was with.

Then he was stupid…

“How sure are you of this?”

Fatos readied to answer this inquiry as well, but Jetmir turned his back to him and looked at Valon for an answer. For just a second, there was a flash of fury in Fatos’ eyes before he hid it. Valon wished he hadn’t seen it.

Folding his arms across his chest, he briefly met the gaze of the boy before looking at Jetmir once more. “They were alone. Surprising, considering who he is.”

He hoped to convey that he thought it was strange, but the boy being alone was all that seemed to matter to Jetmir as he snapped his fingers, one of his men wheeling in a tray. Jetmir shrugged out of his coat and jacket, passing them both off to someone else.

“I am Jetmir Besnik, of the Besnik family, but I am sure you already know this.”

There didn’t seem to be any recognition in his eyes, but Valon kept this observation to himself.

“You possess information that I need. If you tell me, then I will release you and your friend here. If you do not, then I will
force
you to tell me.” His gaze shifted to the girl whose eyes widened in fear. “By any means necessary. Have you anything to say?”

The boy swallowed visibly, his eyes darting around the room as though he might find sympathy in one of them. Once, he might have found it in Valon, but that pity had been ripped from him the day the one closest to him took a knife to his back.

“I don’t know who you think I am, but if this is about money, I’ll give you everything I have. We—”

Jetmir sighed, shaking his head as though he was disappointed in the boy, but the boy was too afraid to do anything more than beg some more, not even when Jetmir reached for a pair of knives sitting on the try, turning them over in his hands as he stepped forward, and closer until he was just inches away.

“Please, make this difficult for me. I want to enjoy this more.”

Valon could see it in the boy’s eyes, the need to beg to get free. He remembered how he’d felt when he begged Bastian for anything, the weakness that consumed him. And though he pitied the boy for what he was about to endure, he didn’t pity his weakness.

In the blink of an eye, Jetmir stabbed the boy, just below his collarbone, a scream ripping free from the boy’s mouth as he tried to lurch away. Jetmir didn’t pull it free, just left it embedded in the boy’s chest, and before he could recover from that first assault, he stabbed him again, parallel to the first on the opposite side.

“Bleed for what you believe in,” Jetmir said in a low voice. “By the end of your time here with me, you’ll die for it as well.”

Jetmir stepped away, having said all he needed to say. As he turned his back on the boy, he looked to Valon, telling him everything he needed to know with one look.

It was his turn, and before Jetmir came back, he was meant to break him. By any means necessary.

Valon, for his part, kept his expression neutral.

There was a hook bolted to the wall, one Valon knew could hold the weight of the boy. If he was going to do this, then he might as well get started.

It took seven minutes to get the boy from the chair to the wall, binding his wrists together, and then stretching them out above him. Valon didn’t bother removing the knives Jetmir had left in his chest, merely cut through the back of his shirt until the material split and he had unrestricted access to the length of his flesh.

While Valon headed for the tray of tools, Strom stood next to the girl, the smile he sent her way making renewed fear spark in her eyes. Fatos…he stood back, watching Valon’s every move. He would undoubtedly join in on the fun soon enough, but he seemed content to just observe for the time being.

Picking up a blade that was at least six inches long with a cold, steel handle, Valon turned it over in his hand, getting used to the feel of it. He’d never had much of a predilection for knives until one was used on him. But now? Now, he liked them more than his own hands.

These cold, inanimate things could do more harm than his fists could any day. This knife was an extension, something that was not quite a part of him but made up so much of who he was.

“What are you doing?” Fatos asked in Albanian so that the boy wouldn’t understand.

Valon picked up a bottle of vodka that had been left behind, dousing his hands and the knife in the liquor.

“Wouldn’t want it to get infected,” he muttered, too busy concentrating on his task to pay Fatos much attention.

Spinning the knife around in his hand, he went back over to the boy, leaning back against the wall so that he could see him. His eyes were on Fatos as he spoke, but his words were low enough for only the boy to here.

“Tell them what they want to know,” he ordered, for his sake as much as the boy.

Sometimes his self-control even surprised him, but Valon didn’t know what he was capable of when he used a knife, and after what he had suffered because of one of them…he wasn’t sure he could rein himself in before he did more damage than he meant. Maybe he could end this before it even began.

The boy’s eyes darted frantically, but when he couldn’t offer a response, Valon couldn’t wait any longer.

Pushing off the wall, Valon circled him until he was at his back again, staring at the wide expanse of his skin. Using the very tip of the blade, he ran it across the boy’s skin, following a pattern that was all too familiar to him.

He pictured what he was going to do first, each line he was going to carve…

Before he could check the impulse, he dug the blade in, watching as it sunk in easily, cutting through his skin with ridiculous ease. Pulling back after a second, he watched the blood drip down his skin, the red coloring stark.

A shudder rippled through him as he felt the ghost of a knife going through his own back.

“Do you have an answer?” Valon asked, ignoring the shaking of his own voice.

He desperately wanted the boy to answer now, just so he could avoid what he had to do next. With just one careful line, he felt that familiar draw, the need to hurt someone else the way he had been hurt, but he rationalized it in his own head by thinking he was giving them an out, something he hadn’t been given.

Valon liked to believe he gave him a chance to answer before he started back in, but he didn’t remember because once he made another cut, he was lost.