One at a Time
- DOMINIK -
One of the things I love most about living in this area of Northern California is quick access to both the coast and the beautiful, dense forests. Los Angeles has glamour. San Francisco has tech startups and a small town feel. But Winship Harte has the bay to the west, redwoods to the east, and the ability to just… disappear.
It's also the reason why so many criminal organizations build their bases here. The Ricca family isn't even a blip on the Bratva's radar these days when there are drug cartels hidden all over these mountains farming cannabis, running drugs, trafficking people, and killing absolutely anyone who steps in their way.
I would like to say the Bratva is better than those groups. To a degree, we are. Or we were.
The Bratva doesn't leave nearly the trail of bodies that the cartels here do. While illegal, our cannabis operations are responsible and respectful of the land. And for the longest time, we never engaged in human trafficking. Obviously now that has changed dramatically, as has my own sense of identity and regard for the only family members I have left in this world.
Ancestors from my mother's side were at least wholesome, peaceful people. They were among the first to establish cannabis farms in this area before they were run out by the newly industrialized, legalized, commercialized industry.
That's why I have a remote, hard to find cabin in the woods to begin with. It's been in the family for a long time, and it's one of the remaining vestiges of an almost idyllic existence up here in redwood country. But then cartels moved in, government seizures happened, and people like my father and the Volkov brothers made it a dangerous place to be. People like me, I should say. I'm a Volkov, too.
The loss of my parents to violence isn't unique in this area. It's a common story, even for those who aren't members of organized crime. Despite all that, and despite the fact that I have found yet another killer among us who is now bouncing around in my backseat, the natural beauty here takes my breath away.
I can't regret living in this area or living at all when I'm standing at the base of a redwood, staring up at the ancient mammoth and feeling so in awe of existence. Even with evil being ever-present and growing here, the breathtaking swell of nature's beauty gives me hope that this life is worth it. Somehow, some way, if it's only one shipment of trafficked women or one deranged predator at a time, the role I play here is worth it. It will make a difference. It has to.
After taking the rough back roads that wind through my memory, guiding me where to go, I finally pull up to the cabin and grab Jimmy from the back. Something obviously changed on the drive, because he's not avoiding my eyes anymore.
Maybe the area makes him feel more alive, too, and he's realized he doesn't want that life to end. Or maybe it's just where he feels the wildest, because he tries scrambling and twisting and lurching to the side to pull out of my hold.
"I don't have time for this," I growl, shoving him forward and wondering why the hell I even bothered to come this far. I should have just dumped him off the side of the road. But that would be sloppy. Sloppy is never smart, especially when it's a crime not sanctioned by the Bratva.
Instead of taking him inside the cabin and coming back later, I decide to just get it over with now. The longer this takes and the more times I have to return, the more lies I'll have to tell to Ivan. I'm already waist deep in lies as it is.
Despite Jimmy's fervent attempts to get free, I drag him around the side of the cabin to the back and force him on his knees. He flinches when I pull the gun and point, but the murderous abyss of his eyes doesn't dim or lessen. It can't. It's where his soul lives.
With light pressure on the trigger, I cock the gun and then my head too when Jimmy erupts into a bunch of garbled, incoherent words. It takes him a moment to realize I'm not firing.
"Yes, Jimmy?"
He stares, apparently dumbfounded that I'm speaking.
Another notification buzzes the phone in my pocket, and I sigh. Ivan is impatient. Thankfully it's too loud in the club for him to call.
"Jimmy, is there something you'd like to say? I'm late for a meeting."
"I'm sorry," he mutters. "Whatever I did."
"You don't know what you did?" I ask patiently.
"I don't." He shrugs, nearly falling over since his arms are tied. "I mean… was it…" His mouth opens and closes, but no words come.
"Was it…" I repeat, encouraging him to finish.
"Someone you… care about?"
"Someone I care about?" My brows thread together.
"That's all… that's all I can think of. One of 'em yours?"
"One of who?" My lip nearly curls back with this question, because I understand what he's getting at.
"The women I took." It's such a rough grumble, it's hard to make out. And any guilt that might have had me circling back to this moment wondering if I had killed an innocent man vanishes.
"How many women have there been?" The question scalds my tongue. That's what this anger feels like. It's acidic and bitter, and my finger twitches where it rests on the trigger.
Jimmy doesn't reply this time. It seems like a question he's not interested in answering.
"Why are you targeting Vanessa?" I ask instead, an anger that I rarely have a problem with spreading. Tonight is different, and I don't understand why.
His expression twists into the enraged version I glimpsed at the bar. "We are alike." His voice is perfectly clear now. It's like a switch has been flipped. "She has a monster inside that's not afraid of my monster inside. We're soul mates."
"Soul mates?" A sputter of laughter comes out, but fire licks up my chest at the very same time.
"She was dressed like a whore tonight," he goes on, gaze distant and voice rolling on an angry snarl. "Showing everyone what's mine. I'm going to teach her. Tie her down in that nice car of hers and then take that thick ass over and over until she remembers exactly whose she is. They never survive it, though. It takes too long for them to remember. Before I know it, they're bleeding all over my co…"
Three bullets. Out so quickly.
When I lower the gun, my arms are shaking. Pure rage unlike anything I've ever felt is tunneling through me like a live wire, blinding me to all other thoughts and emotions, except one. Vanessa wouldn't have survived the night without my unplanned, spur of the moment visit. Or, worse still, maybe she would have.