My high horse czar, p.14
My High Horse Czar, page 14
I just don’t want to.
They lied.
I pick a fight with my Yandex Taxi driver on the way to the airport. I practically come to blows with a passenger who tries to tell me that I’m boarding too early. And then, when the person next to me spills orange juice on my new shirt, I’m so angry that I shake.
Clearly I need to get myself under control.
By the time I get home, I’m doing much better. I’m not fuming for no reason. When my mom gushes and gushes that I’m back, and complains that I should never leave for so long without word again, I don’t get annoyed or snappy.
I’ve let it go.
In my life, I’ve had plenty of experiences to prepare me for Mirdza, Kristiana, and their two boyfriends lying. It’s not like I really even know the guys. At the end of the day, people will always lie when they feel like it will help them get what they want. It’s just what humans do.
No biggie.
After I get things settled, I decide not to put off finding Nojus. I have the money, so I have nothing to worry about. I mean, twelve of his men died. I’m a little nervous, but I didn’t kill them, and he’ll surely know that. I’m many things, but a killer isn’t one of them, and I wouldn’t even know where to begin with burning a person to cinders.
It takes me forever at the bank—it’s complicated when you’ve done two transfers in two days—but finally I have the cash, and I brace myself to face what will surely be a very angry Lithuanian. I stand outside the door to his place for several minutes.
The paint’s peeling. There’s a line of ants tracking from the corner of the door to the spigot for the hose on the porch. There are loose boards on the porch, and there’s a cracked windowpane I don’t recall seeing before. Spending time at Aleksandr’s mansion didn’t improve my opinion of Nojus’s house.
For someone who makes a bloody fortune, pun intended, exploiting others, why does he live in such a run-down pile? I suppose when you don’t put any effort into maintaining what you have, it doesn’t take long before it looks like this. I almost turn around and head back home. I haven’t heard anything from the inside of the house, so maybe this is a bad time. It’s not stupidly early, but still, he might be asleep. I could come back later today or tomorrow.
But this will just keep hanging over my head, and that’ll be horrible in its own way. I rap on the door, and then I force my hand to grab the loose handle and turn. “Nojus?”
Only, no one’s here.
I’m not surprised it’s unlocked. Anyone who might steal from an unlocked home would know not to steal from here. But also, in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen the main room in the center of his house empty. There’s always someone playing poker at the card table, drinking something at the bar, or arguing over what to watch on the television.
He had at least two dozen henchmen, and he found more regularly.
Sure, losing twelve of them was probably a significant blow, but it shouldn’t have cleared everyone out. Where did they all go? I try again, calling out a little louder this time. “Nojus?”
Walking into his house is one thing—it’s always had a bit of a revolving door. But I’ve never barged my way into his bedroom or really any of the rooms down the hall. That feels. . .different. “Nojus? It’s Adriana. I have your money.”
Still, nothing.
I’ll have to come back later. I pivot on my heel and turn toward the door just as it opens. Nojus barges through, slamming the door so hard that it hits the wall and bounces back. He nearly plows into me.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. I came with money.” I hold up the bag.
“You did.”
I nod.
That’s when I notice that Nojus isn’t alone. The two men with him walk in slower, eyeing me strangely. One’s shorter than Nojus, which is hard to do, really, and the other’s much, much taller. They both look about his age, and they’re both glaring at me.
“I told you I’d get it, and I did. It’s all here.”
“A half million?” He arches one eyebrow.
I nod and hold the bag out.
He takes it, his nostrils flaring. “Where are my men?”
“I had nothing to do with that,” I say. “That man kidnapped me, and I’ve been stuck in Russia. It took me forever to escape.”
“What man? What happened?” Nojus looks desperate.
I really thought he’d already know. I mean, their ashes were right there. “His name’s Leonid Ivanovich. They threatened me, and he—he burned them.” Even saying it makes me feel sick, because I can’t forget the image, the smell, and my horror.
Nojus’s face twists. “No one could have—”
“He did it in a park,” I say. “He’s sadistic, but I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“The man who took you killed them,” he says. “In my book, that makes it your fault.”
“Interesting,” the man behind Nojus says, the man even shorter than he is. “So you think that, because the men you sent to kill her were killed by the person who took her, that’s her fault, not yours?”
Nojus freezes.
My eyes slide sideways to the man who terrifies the Lithuanian arms dealer. He’s not big. He doesn’t look very scary. It’s almost impossible to look scary when you’re wearing a simple button-down shirt and jeans, but the short man also has no tattoos, no special markings, and he’s not very muscular. “You think it’s not your fault that your enforcers were all killed—you’re blaming her for their deaths?”
As Nojus swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs.
“I’ve been here for days, and all I’ve heard are excuses. None of them help me clean up the mess you’ve made.” The short man looks sideways at the tall man next to him. “Is this the woman who owed him money for more than a year?”
The tall man nods tightly. “He kept offering to let her repay him in the bedroom.”
Apparently they’ve talked about me.
Nojus isn’t moving—when a tiger holds very, very still, that means there’s something even scarier in the room. I’m just not sure why this man’s it. Is he from the tax office or something?
“I’ve heard enough.” The short man pulls out a gun and shoots Nojus in the back of the head.
Blood spatters all over me as his entire face explodes. I can’t breathe, and I drop to my knees.
I’ve seen men killed before.
Heck, I saw twelve men burn to death at once, but they weren’t eighteen inches from me, holding money in a bag that was still warm from my hand. The unassuming man who just shot him sticks his gun into a holster on his back and rucks his shirt up over it. He steps over Nojus and walks past me, too. “Clean that up.”
Does he mean me? My brain rejects that order.
But my hands begin to twitch. If I don’t start cleaning, will he shoot me next? He looked so casual, so unaffected by it.
Before I can decide what to do, the tall man sets to work, wrapping a blanket from the sofa around Nojus’s head and dragging him out the front door in broad daylight.
The short man collapses onto one side of the small sofa between the kitchen and the family room. “Your name.” He isn’t asking. He isn’t even turned to face me. He’s just telling me that he wants my name, and expecting with absolute faith that I’ll give it.
“A-a-adriana,” I stammer.
“Adriana what?”
“Strelkova.”
“You killed a dozen of our best men?”
Our? Who is this? “I didn’t, sir. The man who captured me did, because they kept telling him to release me and threatening to attack him.”
He shakes his head. “What a waste of resources.” He turns to face me. “You know, most people think that there are predators and there are prey, but it’s much more complicated than that. In fact, if you study patterns in nature, predators are often eaten by other, larger predators. There are even instances of predator-prey reversal where the larvae of beetles have been known to eat the very amphibians who pursed them. As the species evolved, they would even draw those amphibians to them specifically so they could consume them. A one-time defense mechanism changed a creature’s essential makeup.”
What’s he talking about?
He shifts to the edge of the sofa and points at the chair opposite it. “Let’s chat. I’d like to know a little more about you and your predilections.”
I never heard Nojus use a single word as large as that one. Not ever.
Seeing as I don’t have a choice, I sit, but I also say, “That bag has all the money I owe Nojus.”
“It may contain what you owed him two weeks ago,” he says. “But you didn’t pay him two weeks ago.”
Nojus was a known quantity. He would’ve taken the money—I’m sure of it. I would’ve been square, finally. He knew the sum he demanded was already far, far above what I had borrowed. But as he just said, that was two weeks ago, and that was Nojus.
Who’s now dead.
“My brother was always the one people watched,” the man says. “He fought better than me. He intimidated and impressed other men much more effectively than I ever did. I was the nerdy, nose-in-a-book little brother. But my brother wasn’t ever very smart, God rest his soul.”
Is he Nojus’s brother? Because. . .he just shot him like it was nothing.
He steeples his fingers in front of him, pressing his index fingers against his lower lip. “Most people would’ve seen him as predator and me as prey, but one little tool takes that edge away. One bullet, and I’m the predator.” He inhales slowly and smiles. “Unlike my brother, I’m not rendered idiotic by a pretty face, even when it’s spectacular.”
That gives me even more heebie-jeebies than I got when Nojus tried to compliment me.
“He’s left our family business in a shambles, and I’m stuck cleaning up his mess. I suppose you could say that, seeing you here, this little tiny girl, and realizing that he trained his men so badly that they didn’t flee from an alpha predator and lost their lives. . .” He tsks. “It helped me finally see that only his death could turn our image around.”
He murdered his own brother, and he doesn’t even seem upset.
“The real question is, do you also have to die?” He drops a hand and taps his lip with just one finger. “I can’t honestly think of another use for you. I’ll be able to tell people that both the cause of the problems and the incompetent leader during the disaster were dealt with.”
He reaches behind his back, and I realize he’s going for the gun again.
“Wait,” I say. “I’m a jockey. Your biggest rival is—um—” Why am I blanking on that Belarusian mobster’s name. “It starts with an R. Radzivan!”
“What about him?” He’s frowning, but he stops going for his gun.
“He’s got that Akhal-Teke Thoroughbred cross he’s been bragging about for months.”
He frowns. “So?”
“I can pay my two weeks’ interest by winning a race against him. Nojus has a new thoroughbred filly that’s been clocking better than that cross—he had a guy who was sending him times from Radzivan’s operation.”
“Thanks, but I can pay for a jockey.” He stands.
I stand, too. “Why pay for a mediocre one when I’m the best?” I hate the quiver in my voice. “If you kill me, you’ll be out whatever you’d pay a trainer and a jockey leading up to the race.” I pause. “And you’ll lose.”
He’s thinking about it. He sighs. “When’s the next race?”
“It’s—” I’m not sure. I’ve been gone too long.
“Three weeks from tomorrow,” the tall man says. “Jurgis said that yesterday. Nojus already paid the entry fee on a horse.”
“And you’re positive this filly of my brother’s will win?” He lifts one eyebrow.
Who’s ever positive a horse will win, really? No one, unless they’ve fixed the race. “Of course,” I lie. My other alternative is a bullet through my brain—I’m not dumb enough to say I’m not sure.
“I’ll give you a three-week reprieve. If you win, we’ll be square. But if you lose, I’ll kill you and someone you love.” He turns toward the tall man. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
The tall man shakes his head.
“Mother?”
He nods.
“Great. You and your mother.”
I would not have agreed to that. “Whoa—”
“You clearly need to put something more at risk. Your life’s already forfeit.” He tilts his head as he reaches for his gun again. “If you don’t want a deal, I can just wrap things up now.”
My heart races. I want to be the kind of person who wouldn’t ever risk her mother’s life. I want to be as brave as my sister. But at the end of the day, I’m not Mirdza.
Surely if I tell Mirdza what’s going on, she and Grigoriy can keep Mom safe, right?
No.
However much I may fear this man and his trigger-happy finger, I can’t do it. I can’t kick the soccer ball down the field and hope I don’t kill my own mother.
“Just shoot me,” I say.
The man steps toward me. “The Americans have taught us the importance of motivation in this life. When you dangle a prize in front of people, or wave a gun behind them, they run faster. That’s what capitalism is all about.”
I’m not sure that’s quite true. “I don’t accept your offer. I’d rather die now.” I close my eyes.
“But surely you must understand that there must be a deepening of stakes. Otherwise I do have to shoot you.”
He should have done it already—that means he’s vested now. He wants to win. But he needs a way out. That means I have to offer him something nearly as awful as killing my mother.
There’s a special seat next to the devil for this man.
“What’s your counter offer, Adriana?”
“I can get you another eighty thousand—”
He scrunches his nose. “Don’t offer me money. The damage you did when those men died, it wasn’t monetary. I have a reputation to uphold. Weak predators become prey, remember?” He tilts his head, examining my face.
“I have a few horses,” I say.
He shakes his head again, and then he circles me, his eyes studying me. “My brother was obsessed with her?” He looks at the tall man.
The tall man clears his throat. “He was. For years.”
“But she always denied him.” He grunts. “How about this? You put what my brother wanted on the menu for me, willingly, if you lose. Instead of killing your mother if you lose, I’ll just kill you when I’m done.”
If I had a knife or a gun, I’d murder him right now. “Sure.” I grit my teeth, the words coming out clipped and flat. “It’s a deal.”
“We’ll need witnesses in the event that you lose, of course.” He smiles. “What fun would it be without people to watch?”
“I’ll need daily access to the filly, to work her, to control her feed, and to make sure her vet care’s up to par.”
“Done.” His smile broadens. “I think it’s going to be a pleasure to have you working for me.”
I hate him. Like, I really, really hate him. Maybe even worse than Leonid, who at least never demanded anything filthy. I force a smile. “Absolutely.”
I’m shaking when I walk out the door. I’m halfway home when I realize that I didn’t even ask his name.
That afternoon, when I show up at the track to run his filly, Nojus’s trainer Lukas meets me in the parking lot. He walks me through the basics of how they’ve been preparing for the race, including feeding schedule and workouts.
“I heard you just got back into town,” Lukas says. “I’m surprised you came today.”
“Your new boss motivated me,” I say.
“He’s. . .”
“Right behind you,” I whisper.
And indeed, the murderer’s nearly reached us, still wearing the same button-down as earlier. I’m pretty sure the stain on the collar is blood. “Mister Rimkus runs a tight ship,” Lukas says. “He does seem to inspire people’s energetic efforts.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be here,” I say.
“You’re upset I came,” Mr. Rimkus says. “That’s okay. I don’t expect employees to love me.”
How magnanimous. “Let’s see what she can do.”
“Minnie,” Lukas says. “Her name’s Minnie Meteor.”
“That’s cute,” I say. “I like it.”
“But is she fast?” Mr. Rimkus arches an eyebrow.
“Let’s see.” I walk to where one of the grooms is holding her—she’s dancing, which could be from excess nerves. Some of the best mounts I’ve had have been stressed-out disasters before the bell rang. After warming her up, I breeze her for a few laps, and then I stop her. She moves alright, a little jumpy perhaps, but her muscle condition’s alright.
“She’s usually a front runner the whole race,” Lukas says. “Pulls a little when someone’s ahead, but she’s more of a hand ride. Doesn’t like the crop. Her ears go back and she slows up if you use it.”
That’s good to know. “How’s she look up against that Akhal-Teke?”
Lukas frowns. “No way to know since they haven’t gone up against each other.”
“Take her for a lap at her top speed,” Mr. Rimkus says.
It’s not really going to help him, not without any other horses to compare, but I tend to listen when lunatics talk. At least, when they’re threatening to injure me, I do.
Lukas is right—she moves way better when I scrub my hand on her neck than when I pull or when I crop her. I’m optimistic when I put her away, until I look down and notice something very, very concerning. Mr. Rimkus has already left, but Lukas is talking to the groom.
“Hey,” I say. “Come here.”
Lukas frowns, but he listens. “What’s that?” I point at her back left hoof, where there’s a clear quarter crack.
“We’re managing it.”
I crouch down. “Managing it?” I shake my head. “This horse will be lame within a week if you don’t take her off all the strenuous activity.”
“You can’t tell that from glancing at it. You haven’t seen it for the past few weeks.”
I glare. “You’re telling me that it has been improving with her under saddle every day?”
