The Dark Duet (7 page)

Who was that? And why do I get the feeling this isn’t the first time the figure in the trees has visited me?
I’ll find out, because I’m pretty sure it was a guy. He’ll be back. And I’ll be waiting for his return.

CHAPTER 9

~
Nikolai~

The opening act for Maleficent, the production I’ve chosen as Inamorata’s debut run, should go over well with the audience. The show will be sexy, colorful, and feature an evil female villain, a role sure to appease the attendees’ insatiable need for the wicked.

Paolo leads the dancers through the first act—performing routines that defy standard notions of what the human body can do—while I teach them how to put the work together, a group of several bodies working together to perform and create the illusion of a single body.

Our new musical director, a man called Crow, one of the other twelve boys who escaped Vladimir’s ring, has decided to join me. His real name is Yuri Romanov, but he has earned the nickname of Crow because, like myself, he targets specific nerve points on the human body when disarming his opponent. An orphan like the majority of the other boys that were in our group, Yuri had dreamed of becoming a professional dancer like our idol, Mikhail Barishnykov.

On nights when neither of us could take the despair and fear of not knowing what cruel or degrading assignment we’d be shuffled off to next, we spoke of our dreams and the crowds we would win over once we managed to break free from Vladimir and our house leader, a man we called the Master Phoenix. Shortly after Alek and Katerina broke up the Phoenix’s ring of youth assassins, Yuri was able to return to his homeland of Romania and began a new life studying arts and music at University. Meanwhile, he continued to develop the one skill he was most utilized for during our time in the order ... his natural ability to either hack into or decode any operating system using a unique string of binary codes.

The position here in Inamorata serves as an alias for him since he’s nowhere close to Alek’s level of skill at being a conductor, but I will need my allies when the time comes to break free of Burkenstein and his hold on the theater.

Luckily, today’s rehearsal isn’t nearly as frustrating as the first few times we practiced to the score Crow chose. Demonstrating the moves for the lead in to the third act turns into something of a side show. The symphony has gathered in the pit one level below the stage, which means I have to deal with a curious Alese Ballentine sitting in the third row from the front while I attempt to concentrate on what I’m doing. Who am I kidding? I can’t think at all. I’m completely distracted. When she takes center stage to rehearse the harp solo she’ll be performing in Act Two, I all but stumble my way through my part.

Before I ruin the show for everyone else, I snap, “Take a break. We’ll begin again in five minutes.” I leave the stage and head over to the sound room, a small box of a thing situated in the far right hand corner of the auditorium. I pull my BlackBerry out of my pocket, firing it to life.

Me: Do you like to watch?

Alese: What????

Me: You have been staring at my ass throughout practice. I cannot concentrate.

Alese: I have not!!!! Wow, what an ego.

I turn in her direction and smile. She’s shaking her head and pretending to be focused on her harp, yet she keeps stealing little glances at me. The text message alert goes off on my phone.

Alese: Now who’s staring at who, Sir Belikov????

For some reason, the texting makes me think of Adriana and the times we would flirt in this same manner, and a pang winds through my chest the same way it always does when I think of her.
Stop this, Kolya. She is the means to an end. That is it. Remember what happened the last time you allowed yourself to focus on a woman this way.

Adriana once called me a selfish bastard. She said I did not want her, but I wanted to make sure no one else could have her, either. She was right. I am always reaching out for something I do not deserve. Shame slams into me as I think of the way I left Alese lying inside of that room back in Burkentstein’s laboratory. She needs to hate me. One day she will, I am sure.

With a great deal of effort, I turn back to the dancers. “That will be all for the day.”

“But, Signor Belikov, it’s too early. We are just about to finish learning the end scene,” Paolo says, his dark eyes pleading.

“I said we are done,” I repeat, reminding him I’m the one in charge.

“We’re nowhere close to perfecting Act 1,” Paolo chides. He has his hands tossed out to the sides and his dark features are all screwed up.

“It can wait until tomorrow. Now deal with it,” I scold, gathering my laptop and heading toward the hallway leading to the offices upstairs. I need a drink. Something strong. Something hard. Although I won’t look her way, I can feel Alese staring at me.

Crow catches up to me as I leave the auditorium. “Everything all right, Kolya?” he asks.

“I’m perfectly fine. Never felt better,” I lie, slapping his shoulder and then moving on.

I storm through Inamorata’s exit doors and head out to the Audi, my mind wrapped in rotating visions of Adriana and the woman formerly known as Alestasia Broussard, an ex-CIA agent with a mind fucked over by a madman.

Why a woman? Why now? Or maybe I should be asking myself why this particular woman? The one holding a sledgehammer, even though she doesn’t realize she holds the weapon, the only one that could tear down my house ... or in this case, everything I’ve worked hard to achieve.

I head back to the penthouse and prepare a glass of the strongest White Russian I have ever concocted.

~Nikolai~

As soon as I walk through the penthouse’s doorway, I sense something different, a presence in the air. Two men step through the doorway leading into my kitchen area, drinks in hand as though I invited them over for a friendly discussion on my dime. It’s Gash and an unknown accomplice. Assholes. Nothing pisses me off more than feeling like someone has violated me in some way or other.

“Gentlemen, do make yourself feel at home,” I say sarcastically as I set my belongings down and head toward the bar they’ve turned into a personal retreat.

“Well, don’t you look precious standing there in your skirt?” Gash teases, cracking his knuckles and laughing as he does so. The partner—one of those types who remind me of Mickey Rourke during his earlier days—chimes in, laughing too hard in his efforts to support his Gash’s stupidity.

“Shut up, Sparky. It ain’t that funny,” he says to the second man, and his laughter fades at once.

I know they’re here to check on my progress with Alese, which frustrates me. I’m not accustomed to being babysat. However, I also know Burkenstein is using her and there’s a deeper reason for choosing an ex-CIA agent, but I can’t figure out what it is. I will take Burkenstein down, but I have to find a way to get more information about his boss first. This visit, although extremely annoying, has ripped my mind back to the original goal: to find Vladimir.

“Did I just hear you call him Sparky? Oh, this is too good. Sparky and Gash,” I repeat, unable to control the laughter bubbling up from inside of me.

“Yeah, what’s so fucking funny about our names?” Sparky asks, bristling up. I glance his way. He’s young, probably in his early to mid-twenties like Alek, Crow, Alese, and me. “I know some funny shit, too. Something about your name, and why they call you the Phantom.”

Apparently, he’s full of himself, overconfident in his newfound company of killers; enough to believe he can challenge a psycho like me. I turn around slowly to face him.

“Careful, Sparky,” Gash warns.

“What do you think you know, wet boy?” I ask, all traces of my grin gone now. Sparky straightens up and steals a quick glance at Gash. I can tell he’s thinking of a comeback. He’s about to lose face in front of his mentor, and in this world of bad blood and debts that’s something worthy of getting your ass kicked over.

An oily grin crosses his lips and his beady eyes light up. “Yeah, well, I might have a fucked up nickname, but at least I know what I am. What are you, pretty boy? Male, female, or both?”

Hell, here we go. That point I reach with all men at some point, the ones who want to test the pretty boy dancer who has a face that would make some females jealous if they weren’t caught up in my spell. I’ve narrowed my eyes and can feel the beast inside of me, the animal I found long ago, the one that would protect me against any number of crazed patrons I was sent to entertain on a regular basis.

“Why, he’s so pretty, Gash, I don’t know whether I should fight him or fuck him.”

I’m across the room before any of us can blink, my mind focused on my prey. Wrenching Sparky’s right arm around and behind his back, I tremble from the effort it takes to restrain myself.

“What the fuck?” Sparky gasps, his head bowed toward the floor. “You’re gonna break my fuckin’ arm, man.” I deepen the angle of his arm and he cries out even louder.

“Tell me, wet boy,” I begin, hissing in his ear, “does it feel as though you are in the grasp of a man or a woman? Answer carefully.”

“Fuck you, asshole freak!” he hisses.

“Wrong answer.” I deepen the twist until I hear the muscles crack.

Up until that point, Gash had been laughing, but I’m almost certain he can tell I’ve entered the zone, that place where all killers retreat into just before they make a claim on their prey.

“Easy, Belikov,” Gash’s voice says without reaching the part of me that has retreated into the recesses of my mind. “We need Sparky’s arms for our run in a couple of weeks.”

“One arm should suffice,” I say without looking at Gash. Sparky cries out. “Now. Answer. The. Question.”

“A man. You’re a man! Fuck!”

“Belikov!” Gash hisses.

I release Sparky and run my hands through my hair, grasping fistfuls of it as I close my eyes and focus on the calm I always experience inside the darkness of my soul. No one touches me in this place. I am a memory of myself, a deadly nemesis. I am a phantom.

A wheezing gasp of a laugh cuts through the silence that follows. Opening my eyes, I turn and find Gash practically bowled over in laughter.

“Not a damn thing is funny,” Sparky snaps, rubbing his arm and glancing at me. “Crazy bastard.”

“In this line of work, crazy is a good thing, my friend,” Gash says, placing an arm across my shoulder. I take one look at it, remembering the way he used that arm to punish Gemma for assisting me while we were back in Switzerland, and meet his gaze, pouring every bit of hate I can muster into the look I give him. Right away, he clears his throat, moves the arm, and walks back over to stand beside his partner. “Yes, crazy is good. But there’s nothing like the power of loyalty. Which brings me to why we’re here tonight.”

“I cannot wait to hear this.”

“You’re slipping, Belikov. The boss is wondering if maybe you’ve lost sight of the goal. To prep his new assassin, and keep your hands off his goods except for training purposes.”

“I should think Ms. Ballentine hardly considers herself to be a commodity item,” I respond, holding his gaze, even though he’s now closing the distance between us. “At any rate, I do not feel the need to explain myself. My time belongs to me, not Burkenstein.”

“I think maybe you’re confused about some things. Last I checked, my boss owned that shiny new building you’re renting. Plus, he’s paying for all of that sexy pussy you love so much. What’s the name of those two redheaded numbers, Sparky?”

“The Tomzcak sisters,” Sparky answers, grinning wide and cradling his arm. “I hear those two know how to give an unforgettable wax job. Do I still get a taste when this is all over, boss?”

“Shut up, you stupid idiot,” Gash snaps.

So they’ve been watching me. How else could they know about my adventure with the Tomzcak sisters? The thought of it pisses me off.

“Get out of my house,” I say in measured words, “or Burkenstein might find himself minus two employees this night.”

“Keep your eye on the goal and your hands off the goods, Belikov,” Gash snaps, pointing a thick finger at me.

I scoff a light laugh. “I neither want nor need a keeper. Send that message back to Rudolph. If he wants his female assassin to be trained properly, then he plays by my time and my rules.”

“Nobody tells the boss what to do. Just ask Gemma,” Gash replies, turning around and following Sparky as they head out my front door.

“Of course.” I smile just before slamming the door in his face. I make a mental note to change the lock to a deadbolt, and to find the right color scarf to use when I strangle the life out of Rudolph’s faithless assistant.

Thinking of the way Gemma was treated gets me heated and strengthens my resolve. Both Gemma and Alestasia Broussard are only one of many innocents who have suffered at the hands of Vladimir and his minions. Because of his twisted ambitions, my friends and family have suffered, and I can no longer return home to Mother Russia without fear of being hunted down. I betrayed my family and lost my brother.

Heading toward my bedroom, I check underneath my pillows, feeling for the cheese cutter—a palm-sized knife that never leaves my side—making sure the handle lies in a position where I can easily access it. Finally, I flop my body down, an aggressive energy stimulating my aching muscles, and close my eyes. Alese’s face drifts into the darkness, a light shining over my black heart. Her face haunts me more and more each day. I cannot allow myself to become distracted this way.