48. Radimir

48

RADIMIR

I picked up Bronwyn and climbed up onto the bed, the only place I was pretty sure was safe. Two big, bouncy steps took me to the head of the bed, and I finally managed to turn on the light.

Bronwyn gave a whimper of terror. There were three snakes on the floor under the windows. Two near the door, another under the desk and one climbing the leg of the coffee table. Panic clawed at my chest. Then I glanced at the windows, and everything suddenly got much, much worse.

The shutters were closed. On every window. That’s why it had been so dark. We’d definitely left the windows ajar when we went to bed to let a breeze in, and the shutters had been latched open.

I suddenly knew how the snakes had gotten into our room.

I put Bronwyn down, walked over to the edge of the bed and leaned out over the floor towards the nearest window. There was a snake coiled right below me and I tried not to think about what would happen if I slipped and stepped down onto the floor.

I managed to just reach the window. I pushed against the shutters...and they creaked but didn’t move. Something was holding them shut: a chain, or a zip tie, something on the outside. Someone had emptied a bag full of snakes through our window, and then they’d trapped us in here. They’d probably done something to the door lock, too, even if we could reach the door, which we couldn’t. Fuck.

I joined Bronwyn in the middle of the bed, and we looked at each other, panting in fear. Then I saw something behind her and pulled her behind me.

A snake had slithered up the foot of the bed and was poking its head over the top, watching us.

“Where’s your gun?” asked Bronwyn breathlessly.

“In Chicago. We had to go through airport security.”

The snake shot towards us, moving across the covers in big, winding ‘S’s, moving inhumanly fast. I backed up as much as I could, until Bronwyn was sandwiched between me and the wall, but the snake kept coming, heading straight for my ankles. I frantically scrambled onto the pillows, then grabbed the covers and hurled them off the bed, taking the snake with them. I could feel sweat running down between my shoulder blades. Someone had done this deliberately, which meant they’d have picked the most lethal snakes. One bite might not kill us, but it would leave us semi-conscious and writhing in pain, and then the rest would bite and… fuck, fuck, fuck!

Another snake climbed the nightstand on my side of the bed. Thin and black, with bright yellow bands. It coiled, ready to strike at my legs…

Bronwyn sidestepped around me and slammed one of her thick hardback books down on its head. The snake’s tail stopped moving. I nodded my thanks, but the rest of the snakes were exploring the room: it was only a matter of time before more climbed up here. I looked around, desperate, but I couldn’t see any other ways out. Call for help? By the time someone got here and forced open the windows, we’d already be dead. I looked around again and felt my hair brush the ceiling: the room wasn’t designed for someone my height to stand on the bed.

The ceiling! I looked up. Above us was the flat concrete roof with the hot tub. But below that was a suspended ceiling, to hide all the air conditioning and plumbing. I pushed one of the ceiling tiles up and to the side, making a hole a few feet square.

I heard a strangled gasp from Bronwyn. Two more snakes had crawled up onto the bed.

I looked at the hole in the ceiling. I had no idea what was up there, but it had to be better than here. Grabbing Bronwyn by the waist, I lifted her up through the hole. “Can you climb up?”

Her waist twisted in my hands as she looked for a handhold. The two snakes began moving lazily towards me. Fuck.

Bronwyn swarmed up into the hole. I jumped and grabbed the edge?—

The ceiling tile snapped and fell, unable to take my weight. The hole in the ceiling ripped open, tiles and support struts dangling. Bronwyn screamed. I fell back down to the bed and nearly went full length, right onto the snakes. Chyort! Chyort! Chyort! I stood there wobbling for a second, then glanced up. The hole was too big, now. There was nothing for me to grab onto, even if I jumped.

Bronwyn lay down full length in the ceiling space and reached down through the hole, offering me her hand. “Come on!”

I’m too heavy. What if I pull the whole ceiling down? One of the snakes struck at me, close enough that I could see its fangs. I dodged and its head brushed my leg.

“ Come on!” Bronwyn yelled and offered her hand again. “I’m not leaving you!”

Chyort . I didn’t deserve her. As the other snake coiled to strike, I jumped and grabbed her wrist. She grunted at my weight. I heaved myself up until I could grab a support strut, then used it to haul myself up into the ceiling space. The ceiling creaked...but it held.

We lay there panting for a second, watching as more snakes climbed onto the bed. Then I looked around and found the big, silver air conditioning duct that funneled hot air to the outside through a vent. I pulled the duct away from the vent and then kicked at the vent’s plastic slats until they broke, and we had a hole big enough to crawl through. I went first, dropping down to the ground and then helping Bronwyn down. We were out, and we hugged each other in the cool night air, shaking and soaked with sweat.

I looked around. It was still dark and there were a million places to hide in the shadows between the villas. Whoever did this could still be around. “Come on,” I told Bronwyn, taking her hand. And I pulled her into a run, even though I knew it would put a strain on her legs. I didn’t dare carry her in case someone stepped out of the shadows, and I had to fight.

We ran all the way to the main hotel: I wanted to be somewhere public, with cameras, somewhere no one would dare touch us. In any other hotel, the bar would have been long closed but there was a group of women still knocking back cocktails and tearfully hugging each other, even at 5 am. Thank God for bachelorette parties.

I walked right up to the bar, where everyone could see us, and only then did I let myself stop and think. Who tried to kill us? Someone who’d wanted us to die scared, and in agony. Not just a rival, then. This was personal.

My stomach dropped. Spartak. He had connections with one of the Mexican cartels.

I reached for my phone, then remembered it was back in the room. I waved over the bartender and asked to use the landline and then, since we were in a bar and my hands were still shaking, I asked for a vodka.

“Make it two, please,” Bronwyn added, surprising me. She was still shaking too, and I pulled her close and stroked her hair while the bartender fixed our drinks. Then we both knocked them back...and I called Gennadiy.

He answered on the third ring, despite it being the middle of the night. “I’m pretty sure Spartak just tried to kill us,” I told him.

I heard him rubbing at his face. “He’d never break the ceasefire. The Eight would order him cut off.” Being cut off is the thing every Bratva family fears. If The Eight decide a family can’t be trusted, they can make them pariahs: no one is allowed to help them or even talk to them. No family can stand on its own, so being cut off is a death sentence: your enemies wipe you out within days.

“Well, something’s happened,” I said. “Find out what.” And I gave him the hotel number to call us back on. Then I slipped my arm around Bronwyn’s waist and pulled her close. She’d been amazing, back there. Calm, strong, and she’d saved my life twice. I hated that she was in danger because of me. “I never meant for you to be part of this,” I muttered.

She pressed herself to my side. She’d stopped shaking but she was still pale and drawn. Considering what she’d just been through, she was holding together amazingly well.

Just a few minutes later, the hotel phone rang, and I snatched it up. I could hear Gennadiy breathing at the other end, but he didn’t speak. “What is it?” I growled, and held the phone so that Bronwyn could listen, too.

He took a deep breath. “The Eight have thrown us under the bus, brother. They’re denying they told us to kill Spartak’s brother. They’re saying we broke the truce, all on our own. They told Spartak last night that the ceasefire is over and that it’s open season on us.” Gennadiy swallowed. “They’ve cut us off, Radimir. We’re dead!”