Anosov was at an upstairs window in his room, staring down at the sparse traffic on the street below. It was a workday afternoon, and most people in Brighton Beach were on the job somewhere. By five or six tonight the bars would be filled with laughing men and their women, who by midnight would be drunk and thinking about heading home for a few hours’ sleep before the morning shift.
Ordinary people leading ordinary lives, something he’d not had since his Spetsnaz training days, and especially not since he’d been given a dishonorable discharge for striking an officer. The prick had deserved it, and the court-martial board had agreed, so he wasn’t given any jail time.
And now Brighton Beach was over for him. He and Valentin had plenty of money to get to Marseille, with a quick stop in Montreal, and set up shop for the next gig. But maybe not for eight months or so. Time, he thought, to take a break and enjoy himself.
He turned away from the window and went down the hall to the bathroom, where he washed his hands and splashed some water on his face.
When he was finished, he went back to the attic stairs, which he pulled down, and headed up to the woman.
Time, he thought again, to start enjoying himself.
The tiny attic room was dark except for a little light shining through the edges of the door, as Cassy tried to work the balltop hinge pin out of its sockets with her bare fingers, which were bloodied now after a half hour’s work. But the pin had come loose, and she thought it would come out, when she heard the attic stairs swing down.
She stepped back, wiping her bloodied fingers on her jeans as someone came up the stairs.
It was going to start now, and she didn’t know how she was going to take it. She wanted Ben more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. And it wasn’t to save her—there were too many of them downstairs for even Ben to take on—but for him to be here and tell her that he would love her no matter what happened.
The latch was thrown, and the man who had searched her came in, leaving the door half open so that there was some light.
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
Cassy backed up a step. “No.”
“If you make it easy, I won’t have to hurt you. But I will if need be.”
She backed up again. “No, you bastard!” she yelled.
He was on her in an instant, and she only had a vague notion that he had hit her in the face with his fist when she fell back onto the bed, her stomach roiling and her senses fuzzing out.