Page 35 of Twisted Prince
14
GLEB
Three Years Later
Keeping my back pressed firmly against the red brick wall, I glance toward Pyotr behind me. His deep frown tells me he doesn’t like this any more than I do.
But I’ve spent every waking minute of the past three years hunting this bastard down.
Tonight’s the night we catch our rat.
And I want Pyotr to see it with his own eyes because I’m still struggling to believe it myself.
It’s nearly nine o’clock, several hours after Val’s shift at the Veles house ended. He stopped for a drink and meal at one of the finer Brooklyn Heights watering holes. Now, he walks with casual confidence down the promenade, heading toward the bridge. It’s nowhere near his Queens home, which means he’s not taking a stroll on his way.
He’s meeting someone.
If I didn’t know better, I’d almost suspect it must be a lady friend. It’d be the perfect setting for a clandestine tryst. The reflection of the City lights twinkle on the water, casting an almost romantic atmosphere on the crisp early May night. And the couples that pass, heading in the opposite direction, are linked arm in arm, their smiles wide from having enjoyed an evening out.
Sticking to the shadows of the trees along one side, Pyotr and I stay nearly a block behind the stoic bodyguard. Val’s lingering limp makes him easy to distinguish from here. And when he finally settles onto a bench in the Fruit Street Sitting Area overlooking the bay, we duck behind a thicket of bushes.
Pyotr keeps his eye on our target as I dig in my leather jacket pocket for the earpieces connected to the receiver I tucked under Val’s peacoat collar. Handing one to Pyotr, I tuck the other into the shell of my ear and activate the device. Then I ping Lev and Denka, dropping our location so they’ll be here the second I signal them.
They have no clue what the hell’s going on. No one does. Because I wasn’t about to trust a soul with my mission. It’s taken us years to put an end to the steady annihilation of Veles men. And in that time, I’ve slowly narrowed my sights onto the culprit who has cost us countless good soldiers.
I’ve already confirmed it. Men stopped dying as soon as we started feeding Val bad information. And that means tonight’s meeting is high stakes for him. I have no doubt he’s sweating because Mikhail is not a forgiving man. And by now, Val must suspect we know. Still, I want to catch him in the act. I want to hear the words from his lying, treacherous mouth.
Val lights a cigarette, and I can hear the slow inhale as he takes a long drag. A moment later, a lanky figure approaches from the opposite direction. His collar is turned up, hiding the lower part of his face, but I would recognize Captain Zmeya anywhere. There are few men I’d like to kill more than that animal. But tonight’s not the night. It would be too public, too messy.
We have one mission. Val.
“You’re on your third strike,” Zmeya states as soon as he settles onto the far side of Val’s bench. Getting right to business, I guess. Though he pulls out his phone and pretends to scroll.
“I need permission to pull out. They’re catching on. I’m no use to Mikhail if?—”
“No names, you fucking invalid,” Zmeya hisses.
Val falls silent, but I can see the vitriol in his sidelong glance even from this distance.
“I’ll talk to the boss,” Zmeya says flatly after several seconds of silence.
“I don’t think you’re hearing me. I’m not going back. I’ve stuck my neck out far longer than the time we agreed upon, and I may not have one tomorrow if I go back,” Val’s growl crackles across the line.
Pyotr and I share another look, and this time, I see my fury mirrored in his gaze. Too bad for Val he caught on a hair too late. He won’t make it past tonight. I’ve already sent the signal to my men.
“And you’ll continue to stick it out until the boss says otherwise,” Zmeya states. “Go home. Have a stiff drink. Maybe start thinking about how you’re going to get back on his good side after these last two major fuck-ups. Then we can talk.”
Zmeya stands without another word and raises his phone to his ear as if taking a call. And with a cool indifference, he continues on down the promenade, fading into the deep shadows.
“Blyat,” Val hisses.
He goes to stand. But my weapon’s already drawn, the massive bodyguard locked in my sights, and with a soft thwump, the tranq dart buries itself in his thick neck. His hand slaps the exposed flesh, knocking the dart free, and he grunts.
A van door slides open behind me, and in a flash, Pyotr and I join Lev as we make our way quickly across the sidewalk to Val’s bench. He groans as we sling his arms around our shoulders and haul him to his feet. It takes all three of us to steer the large, stumbling, sedated man to the van opening, and we manage to do it without drawing any suspicious glances.
“What the fuck?” Denka asks, casting a glance over his shoulder as he pulls back onto the street without hesitation. “Is that Val?”
The van door slams shut as we make a beeline for one of the waterfront warehouses Pyotr owns under a shell company with no association to his name.
