Chapter 1
Daymon
I’d arrived the night before from Moscow.
My knuckles were raw, and my fingers tingled. I still wanted to hit something or, in this case, someone.
Drawing one leg over the other, I adjusted the rubber apron I’d placed over the top of me and turned toward the source of my ire.
His face was already a bloody, unrecognizable mess.
I’d punched him six times. Hard. And yet he still wouldn’t crack.
His nose cracked. I was sure that his cheekbone had fractured as well. I looked at his mandible, that was going to be next.
Mikhail Mernov sat slumped over the metal table. Being the strong man he was, his forehead hadn’t touched the cool surface yet. He’d vowed never to give up the whereabouts of the money he’d stolen from us.
But as his upper body began losing its elasticity, I could see that it wouldn’t be long before he sought the support he’d get from resting his head on the table before him.
I looked at my bruising knuckles and returned my rings to their signet side. The imprint in Mikhail’s flesh was satisfaction enough that I’d done well to wear them for this.
Mikhail was a low-level hustler who had fought his way up the ranks to become an essential installation in the Canadian Russian community. A politician by any other name, he asserted political sway over the area in this part of Toronto that contained our central money laundering operations for North America. There wasn’t a municipal councillor or other elected representative, provincial or federal, in this country that didn’t fall under the purview of some influence by Mernov. He was that connected.
And yet, he was, sitting in a steel chair in this cheap motel just north of the city, his face ruined as the runoff of his life’s blood pooled on the ground at his feet.
My rubber apron made an ominous sound as I moved once again.
The warning was clear to return the money. It wouldn’t have staved off the repercussions, but they may not have been as final.
“Arggggghhhhhhhh!”
I watched as the initiate I’d brought handled the blade with ease that impressed, leaving just enough of the handle visible atop the pant leg protruding from the thigh that the initiate had just penetrated.
It was an Olamic fixed blade that I only used on special occasions.
“Mikhail,” I sang out his name in a low taunt. “This only ends one way,” I said in our mother tongue.
Leaning forward, I ensured he was looking me directly in the eyes, which was a difficult task as his right eye was swollen completely shut. “And when you’re gone, I will find the money. And I will find her,” I added, ensuring I punctuated each of my last words to him.
His countenance suddenly changed. Mikhail had been a literal rock until I mentioned his daughter.
In truth, I had no intention of meting out any revenge on his offspring. I didn’t kill indiscriminately.
My lethalness always had a purpose and was only reserved for the darkest souls.
But I fed off the fear I now saw in his eyes, and I knew that his breaking was only a matter of time now that I’d finally reached a level that he understood.
“No, nyet…nyet…” he voiced his resistance with some effort, but his response was hindered by the blood loss over his lips and a tongue that he’d undoubtedly bitten multiple times under the barrage of my fist.
The initiate was poised once again to strike as he placed his hand on the handle of the blade, ready to draw it upwards, but I signaled for him to freeze.
I wouldn’t say I liked working with a partner ordinarily, but I had an event to attend later and didn’t want to sully my tuxedo too much, especially not with this rat’s blood.
As more of Mikhail’s betrayal had come to light, he intended to bring down the entire operation in Toronto. He’d been offered a higher price and had been too afraid to come to us with an enormous ask. So not only was he stealing from us, but he also had the goods to set up several high-ranking members to do some hard time. He’d benefited for decades, living and spending lavishly on the avails of the riches we provided to him and hadn’t batted an eye at the double-cross.
It didn’t surprise me. From Russia, I had yet to be made privy to much of what was going on in North America, but I’d heard of Mikhail before in certain circles during my travels, and it always elicited the same sentiment. This man had too much power.
I rose to my feet. I was done for the evening and needed to head out if I was going to make it to the gala on time.
Straightening my lapel with my clean hand, I started to move towards the door.
“Okay, okay….just stop,” he gasped.
Turning, I watched as the initiate bent at the waist and placed an ear closer to him to hear what he would say. When the initiate fixed his eyes on me, I knew we finally had the information we’d sought.
Giving him a simple nod, I knew he’d deftly handle the rest of the work that was needed.
“Promise me,” was the only thing Mikhail managed to say before I heard the familiar gurgle of a promised ending.
Had he been referring to his daughter?
No one would ever know.
Besides, I didn’t make promises like those. And I didn’t take orders from Mernov, so I had little time to assess whether his last words were a plea or a command.
He’d received the justice he deserved.
I took long strides as I walked out of the room to an awaiting SUV.
Ayanna
“Brie, if you don’t stop playing around in there. How long can it take to get ready for a night class?”
I was still standing in the hallway of my condo apartment, waiting for my little cousin Brie to exit the bathroom. She was visiting or rather sleeping over tonight because the night classes she was taking on a weekly basis took place on the downtown university campus in the evenings. The rest of the time, she lived with her parents and attended classes at the campus in Mississauga.
I regretted having volunteered to let her stay after about the third week of me nearly being late because she hogged the bathroom.
“Brie, I’m serious! I have a shift that starts in an hour. You need to get out of there.”
The bathroom door suddenly opened, and a gush of cool air mingled quickly with the residual steam from her forty-five-minute shower. Dammit, she’d left the window open again. I’d repeatedly told her to use the overhead fan, but she refused to listen.
“Geez, cuz, I was nearly finished anyways,” she said with an eye roll as she sashayed out of the bathroom, looking perfectly unflustered in tight jeans and an equally tight top. I don’t think there was a stick of makeup that she hadn’t used in the big pink makeup bag she was carrying.
Oh, to be eighteen again.
Actually, what was I saying? I much preferred the life that I was living now. I was an attending at the number one trauma hospital in the nation, St. Michael’s, in downtown Toronto.
The medical school and residency journey had been challenging, with unmatched long days and nights, but now that I’d been attending a few years, things were beginning to feel like old hat to me. There wasn’t much in the ER that I hadn’t seen at this point.
Most wouldn’t understand my fascination with patching up the gore of mangled flesh that resulted from gunshot or stab wounds, but I’d had a strong constitution since I was very young, and a part of me always wanted to help heal people.
“You’re supposed to be back here by 1 a.m., no matter what, okay?” I warned her.
Her class ended at 10 p.m., but I knew the deal and was young once upon a time. I knew that one of the reasons she’d chosen to take a night class downtown was because she’d wanted to get some freedom.
I couldn’t begrudge her that, but I’d damn sure make it, so she stayed safe. She’d return to my aunt and uncle in one piece.
And we had a very open relationship, so she’d talk to me about almost everything.
“Ayanna?”
“Yes,” I answered cautiously as her tone told me there was an ask of some kind coming.
“You know that guy Devon, the one from my class?”
“Um, mmm,”
“Well, he wants to take me to this club he heard about. His cousin and some friends run it,” she finished.
“I’m not going clubbing with you,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Ewww, gross, no. Could I stay out a little later than 1 a.m. tonight?
My sigh was heavy, but she was a good kid most of the time, and I wanted her to experience what it was like being a young adult now so that she didn’t fight against the boundaries set by her parents so hard that she made a mistake.
It wasn’t my place to parent her, but it was my duty to watch for life’s roadblocks that may end up in her way and give her a little more street-smarts.
“Okay, but home by 3 a.m.,” I’d barely reached the bathroom when I felt Brie wrap her arms around my waist.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“And I mean it, Brie. 3 a.m. Don’t make me worry, okay,”
“Got it. Don’t worry. You won’t; I mean, I won’t make you worry. Promise,” and with that, she was off.
I turned towards my task for the evening.
Shit! I groaned, glancing at my watch. I was going to be late.
If I was being honest with myself, there really was little effort for me to get ready.
I could wake up and be sharp as a tack in pretty much any situation. Residency had ground the coward out of me.
So, as I parked my compact car in the employee garage and ran through the rain towards the ER entrance for staff, I knew that I needn’t worry about ruining my makeup or hair. I rarely wore any makeup, especially not to work, and my hair was always in a messy bun with a pen stuck just inside the elastic, holding it together for ease of access.
“Ayanna, did you hear?”
Stacie was the assistant nursing manager and was a joy to work with when she was on duty, which was most nights.
But she could be a barracuda when it came to anyone trying to abuse her staff, and she took shit from no one.
“Hmmm… what’s up?” I turned towards her as I dusted the rain from my raincoat. I’d barely even made it through the door.
“A huge Russian big wig arrived not too long ago. And it looks like said VIP got jacked up pretty good,” she whispered.
“This is the ER; why are you whispering about an injured patient? Patients should be here,” I tried to hide my smirk. Stacie loved the dramatics of the job and often contributed to it.
But she was the reason this ER operated as effectively as it did.
“No, it’s this guy,” she said, pointing to a picture of a heavyset man with his arm around the Premier of Ontario.
I kept forgetting the name of our premier, but the big man I’d remember anywhere. I’d seen him on the news a lot for his philanthropic endeavors, and I knew that our hospital foundation for donations heavily courted him because I’d been required to attend those events as part of the medical team.
Those were the times that I wore makeup. Blah.
“What room is he in?”
“A108,” there were police guarding the door, and Emerson did his vitals. We’re awaiting the results of the head CT, but I hear that the hospital CEO is on his way in from the burbs to handle this case personally,” she finished.
Now, to that last statement, I rolled my eyes internally. The last thing I wanted or needed tonight was to be escorted into the ER by some finicky executive questioning every shot that was called.
I needed to find Emerson.
I grabbed the patient’s chart and headed toward the ‘A’ hallway.
Upon arrival, I didn’t see any police outside of the door to the room housing our VIP patient.
Strange.
And when I peeked through the door window, I saw nothing but crumpled-up bedsheets with large amounts of blood on them.
There was blood on the railings of the bed and the floor.
Leaving all good sense behind, I hurriedly pushed open the door to see if the patient had somehow gotten out of the bed and reinjured himself. But the room was empty.
When I pulled the curtain from around the bed, I saw the blood trail led towards the bathroom.
I was on high alert, but someone was in need, so I pressed forward.
But as I reached for the handle, I felt a presence inside the room. And before I could turn to see who it was, a hand swiftly covered my mouth, and an arm ensnared me around my waist.
Pulling me roughly up against his chest, even if I wanted to scream, the force he’d drawn me towards him knocked the wind out of me.
I tried to struggle, but the brute force that held me in place was immobilizing.
If I weren’t careful, I’d have some broken ribs.
As stealthily as possible, I was pulled out of the hospital room and into a stairwell and, from there, out a side door onto a sidewalk around the side of the building. If this had been broad daylight and lunchtime, there would have been more than a few smokers in the area to see what was transpiring. Not a lot of smokers worked the night shift.
The sidewalk and the adjacent seating area were empty.
I’d resolved that someone would see what was going on at some point and attempt to intervene. Still, I hadn’t counted on my captor knowing the only route out of the hospital with no surveillance cameras, save for one, which he’d avoided once we’d exited the hospital.
And now he was dragging me towards a waiting vehicle—a blacked-out SUV.
My inner unrest was now at an all-time high. If I let this guy put me in that vehicle, I may not come out of this alive.
So, I attempted to bite the hand covering my mouth, but even the threat of broken skin didn’t move this intruder. And I hated the taste of his salty hand over my mouth.
Throwing my left foot backward to try and hit a kneecap, I fell short as he tightened his hold and growled something not in English into my ear.
“Don’t scream,” came the words dripping with all the warning intended.
Removing one hand from my mouth, I was getting ready to risk it all when he opened the door to a bloodied man lying across the backseat.
My mind immediately went from shock to work mode.
Was this the Russian VIP?
“Oh my God, let’s get him inside,” I told my captor, but the steel-like armbar around my waist didn’t budge.
“Nyet…help him here,” he said through gritted teeth.
I couldn’t turn around in his arms, so I just began to rattle off some medical realities about treating whatever was wrong with this man from the back of an SUV.
“Do you want him to die?” I threatened.
“If he does, then so do you,” he replied with a terrifying calm.
There wasn’t much more to discuss. I pulled myself into the vehicle to at least examine the patient. But no sooner had I gotten onto my knees beside the badly hurt man than my captor shut the door behind me.
Suddenly, the vehicle lurched forward so quickly that I had to not only brace myself against the door but also stick out my hands to keep the injured man from falling over.
Then I recognized that, one, this man wasn’t the heavyset Russian VIP, and two, that the bloodied man in what looked like a tuxedo had wrapped his arms around my torso, hanging on for dear life, and had placed his head between my breasts.
