Sin watched through the shiny film of her mask as Nick went after Churkin. The gas made the air a little cloudy. The party-goers crawling, crying and wheezing toward the door made the going rough. Sin didn't care.
She was more worried that Nick was outmatched. When he had a gun in his hand, her brother was fine. He had plenty of training and no compunction about pulling the trigger. But he didn't have his gun and Sin was confident that he was wholly outclassed at hand-to-hand with Churkin.
But she had other fish to fry.
The mask interfered with her peripheral vision and she needed to turn her head from side to side to sweep the room. There was no disguising that she was looking for someone, and had anyone been paying attention, it wouldn't be a surprise that she was looking for the Kurev brothers and Kelly Gilligan.
Gilligan was nowhere to be seen, but Roman was easy to find.
The noise alone led her right to him.
Though he usually spoke clean, American English, he fought for air with a hint of an accent.
"Kahs-par?" The letters were muffled by the effects of the gas, but he was calling for his brother. He was leaking water from both eyes and making odd, jerky movements as though he could escape the gas that had already seeped into his pores.
Sin was used to it. The younger Kurev clearly was not.
"Roman?" She walked over to him and stood, tilting her head to stare down at his position on the floor.
Though he wasn't rolling around wailing as some had, he had only managed to gain his hands and knees. Sin corrected that.
With a quick, head-turning scan of the room, she spotted Kaspar making his way for the door. She wanted him dead, but that would have to wait, Roman was her better bet.
The black boots proved useful as she ground one heel into the base of his spine and forced him flat.
Though he rolled partway to face her, he didn't fight back.
She scanned the area, checking for anyone who was focused on her, then reached into the side of her trendy polyester pants. The stripes each hid a plastic whip; grabbing the tops, she pulled them free. They easily survived a good pat-down, but the small weights on the ends packed a punch.
Rheumy eyes widened as Roman watched her pull them loose.
Good.
"Roman," She leaned down, "Where's Lee?"
"I don't know who you're—"
She didn't let him finish. The whip cracked across the side of his head, leaving a short gash.
He hadn't yet finished corralling the pain that had fled his lips when she asked again. "Where's Lee?"
His hand came up, as though he could hold her off. As though she would show him mercy for his weakness.
Wishing she could shoot him again, Sin went back to the work she'd resigned herself to. Torturing Roman was almost like hurting the dumb kid who didn't know any better. But Roman was no stupid kid, he was just a bastard who valued his meth and his big house and his coke and his shiny car more than he valued other lives. Namely Lee's.
The whip cracked again, this time across his face, letting him know he'd better get his shit together and speak quickly.
"I—" He held the hand up again, palm out, though it hadn't protected him the last time. "You're my sister."
It almost had a question mark, as though a few genes from their asshole of a father made him a victim here. He almost seemed surprised that she would do this to him. "Oh, no. I'm no sister of yours."
He frowned as though his genetics had somehow betrayed him.
This time the whip caught him across the open palm of his hand even as she scanned the room.
She was getting impatient.
Kaspar had managed to get near the door and was folding himself into the writhing mass trying to shove its way, unseeing, through the narrow space. Sin would have laughed, but Roman was finally talking.
"Basement. Old bar. South town." His words were punctuated by gasps. Though if the sounds were from the gas or the gashes she'd laid open, Sin couldn't tell.
He rolled over, face down, cradling his split hand. He was high as a damn kite, so she was shocked he even had that much self-preservation in him. And she didn't let it work.
Her heel, despite the fact that she was still bent over him, again jammed into his lumbar vertebrae. "No. He was there last week."
Angry now, she pushed against his spine until it forced a sound out of his lungs. This asshole knew where Lee was. He was soaking in a mix of two gases, had cuts from her whips, was clearly being dominated and was still trying to bullshit her.
The whips were designed to hurt.
Plastic and definitely not mainstream, they had taken her a while to master. So she didn't worry about tossing them away in favor of something more useful; she didn't think anyone could really pick them up and use them. But he still hadn't told her what she needed.
His now almost completely face-down position presented her with his clothing, and too many layers to do maximal damage. "Roll over."
"No." He yelled it like a kid who didn't want to go to bed.
"Roman. You will tell me where my husband is or I'll kill you."
He didn't budge.
"Then I'll kill your brother."
He still didn't budge.
He couldn't see clearly enough to block her. Only able to tell that she was coming at him, he held his hands up in defense, unaware that was exactly what she wanted him to do.
There was no telling what might be crawling in his blood, but it was a chance she needed to take. Grabbing at his hand, she forced her thumb into the open wound.
The sound of Roman screaming would have been music to her ears, but it didn't contain any words.
It wasn't enough. She switched her grip, pressing against his wrist and the back of his hand, forcing the bones in his wrist to start separating. In another minute she would snap it. "Lee?"
"I don't kn—"
The sound of bone cracking was buried under the scream he let loose. He tried to stop it but failed. Being high didn't help his self-control. Sin had hoped to use that in her favor, instead it just seemed to make Roman cry.
And it turned out his screaming had attracted attention.
As she swept her head to the side, always scanning the room, she saw a figure break away from the pack.
Kaspar.
He was coming to help his brother.
Luckily the people in between were hindering his progress. They only knew they were in danger, so they panicked like gazelles and trampled like hippos.
Where Roman was an idiot, Kaspar was a machine. He was not high. He was angry. And he was trained.
Pushing harder, she felt another of Roman’s bones snap and watched the full-body jerk from the fresh spurt of pain layering on everything else she'd delivered.
For a moment she thought about feeling bad about what she was doing, about what she'd become. Then she thought about Roman and half a second later she snapped a third small bone.
"Last chance."
"I . . . don't . . . know." Snot came out of his nose, tears poured out of his eyes, and he blubbered at her like a playground bully finally learning what it meant to be down.
She let go of his hand and watched his body relax at the release.
With one finger, she pulled the flat knife from the inside of her boot. Unadorned and sharpened just enough to do damage, it too had passed the pat-down at the door. Like the knives she had used when she started, but ceramic, this one passed the metal wand, too.
Kaspar was headed toward her and Sin turned her head to watch him as he approached. She didn't need to see; she could operate the knife by feel.
So she placed the tip into the fabric of Roman’s shirt and began rotating it. She felt the give as it slipped into the groove between his ribs.
Kaspar's eyes darted to her hand. Rage, already present, sharpened as he watched her push the blade smoothly into his brother's torso.
Roman jerked more harshly this time, his whole body stiffening. The reaction out of his control as she hit nerves and pushed him beyond pain. Kaspar's eyes narrowed, but he was watching from over the shoulders of a pair of women, screaming and shoving blindly against him in their push toward the door.
Good, Sin thought, let him watch his brother die.
She pulled the corner of her mouth up in a twitch as she swept the blade through Roman's torso, ending the struggle.
At that moment, an inhuman growl burst forth from the elder Kurev's snarled mouth, startling the women into scattering, setting him free to rush at Sin, drawing his gun as he came.
Owen watched Annika as she bustled around the motel rooms. Once again, he'd managed to get two with an adjoining door. There were just so many people. Him, his wife, five in the Holder family and Officer Duffy, who was refusing a hospital.
Sin had suspected as much and already texted him a name and address and the word "dermatologist."
Anyone else might have needed more information. But Owen knew he could take Officer Duffy to this man. Todd Maxwell would want information in exchange for the work though.
With a sigh, he put his hand out to stop his wife’s perpetual motion. He wanted her to be still, be pregnant, and not have to worry about anything except the baby. But it was finally sinking in what she'd said—well, yelled actually—when she carried Virginia. Something to the effect of, "I'm not just a damn Tupperware for this baby!"
He saw it now, in a way he didn't the last time. Last time, someone else could have driven the kids to gymnastics, school clubs, etc. But he didn't realize how much that had devalued Annika herself. He hadn't understood that being a vessel for a child, then losing that child for whatever reason, was a loss of nearly your entire life for the months invested.
Annika was braver than he was. Smarter than he was. And the only one who could walk into the Kurev house with Sin, speak Russian to find Lee, then play hooker, only to turn around and mother an abused and shot-up family. Asking her to not participate was to ask her not to be.
So he would ask her to participate again, in a game he shouldn't be playing. He was making decisions in hopes they were the safe ones—not the necessary ones, not even the right ones. Everything had gone out the window.
"Anni, can you stay here and hold down the fort? I need to get Duffy to a doctor."
"That's not safe, is it?" She looked worried and he could almost see the gears turning.
Owen had learned long ago to let her think, as she often came up with things he didn't see. How was he fifteen years into his marriage and only now really gripping why her view was so different from his?
"Sin recommends this guy." He showed her the message and watched as comprehension dawned. "Of course. You know what you'll tell him?"
"What can I?" Owen shrugged. It was the worst kind of news he would be bringing. "I'll be about three hours or more."
He hated leaving her for that long, but she'd lived with him being called out in the middle of the night more times than he could count. And now it was her turn. She was the best one for the situation and he was just the designated driver.
That trust that he would make the best decision in a given situation, that he would do his best, and get himself safely home had to be given to her now. It was much easier to expect and even demand it than it was to give, he was finding out.
With a quick kiss, lest he change his mind, he let her go and headed out the door with Officer Duffy, who was bleeding a bit and in need of more help than Sin's home sewing kit could offer.
The man slid into the passenger seat as though he hadn't been shot just a few hours before, but once the door was closed the tension fell away leaving wariness in its place. "I don't trust doctors right now."
"I know. I trust this one." Owen took the turn onto the freeway, trying to blend with traffic in every way possible.
"You've used him before."
"No." That didn't help matters, but Owen opted for honesty. "I've never met him before, but he’s our missing man’s brother."
An understanding nod from Duffy was all he got before the man fell asleep, leaving Owen on the road in a sea of taillights. His thoughts swam as the night got darker around him and he wasn't surprised that the voice answering the unknown number was cautious.
"I have a friend of your brother's wife—"
"Oh." That was all Todd Maxwell offered, letting Owen know he knew the score. He didn't mention Lee in any way, and was probably unaware of the trouble his brother was in. Owen would have to deliver that news along with the patient. "Do you know where to meet me?"
"Headed there now."
That was it. Todd Maxwell hung up. He'd helped Lee once before, according to Sin.
His office was embedded in the end of a strip mall that was actually in good shape. Pulling into the back lot, Owen tried to wake Duffy and for the first time became concerned when the man was hard to rouse.
Dr. Maxwell appeared in street clothes, knocking on Owen's window before Duffy even began to come around. Duffy’s unexpected lethargy created urgency in the two fully functional men as they hauled the officer out of the passenger's seat and through the back door.
It was over an hour later that Owen waited on a colorful chair in a room obviously intended for children and watched as Maxwell put the final touches on Duffy. He offered to load them up with enough samples to make a prescription, rather than have Duffy's name appear on pharmacy records. It was safer for all of them not to be linked.
The officer lay still for a moment after the last stitch was in, then tried to sit up. Still too woozy to manage it, he triggered both Owen and Dr. Maxwell to jump up, urging him to lie back down for a moment.
While Duffy had his hand on his eyes, shielding the light, Todd Maxwell finally turned to Owen and asked the million dollar question, "Do you have news of my brother?"