Beautiful Russian Monster (A Vancouver Mafia Romance Book 2)
Beautiful Russian Monster: Chapter 11

I was running across a courtyard as bullets whizzed past my head.

“Fire!” I screamed at Fyodor, who stepped out from a shop, just out of my reach.

He stood, looking at me with a blank expression on his face.

He was going to get shot! I could feel the sniper tracking me.

“Fyodor, take cover,” I screamed as I leaped in the air and landed on top of him, doing whatever I could to save him. He fought me, but I worked to pin him down despite his struggles.

“Viktor, please get off me!” he begged in a breathless voice.

Something wasn’t right.

I jerked awake. I wasn’t in Beirut. I had someone small and warm pinned to the bed, and they wiggled beneath me.

“Viktor.” Blaire’s hoarse whisper sounded in the dark. She sounded like she was struggling to breathe.

It took another second to realize that I was on top of her, my entire body covering hers, her arms pinned above her head. I rolled off her and stood beside the bunk. I put my face against the top bunk and silently panted into the mattress. My heart was pounding, and my muscles trembled with adrenaline. Holy fuck. I was so disoriented.

Fyodor. I’m so fucking sorry.

I gave myself three more seconds to pull myself together before I flicked on the lights and looked down at Blaire. She lay on her back with a stunned expression on her face.

“Are you hurt?”

She squinted at me in the light, but she didn’t speak.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, but I knew that whatever I had done in my sleep had freaked her out. Anger rushed over me for putting her through another traumatic experience.

“Sit up. Show me,” I demanded.

She gingerly sat up and swung her feet to the floor, but she rubbed her wrists.

I hated how she cowered when I crouched down in front of her. I grabbed one small wrist and inspected it. I could see the delicate skin was marked red from where my fingers had dug into her skin.

“I’m sorry.” I felt like such a dick. Words could do nothing to fix what I had done to her.

Her voice was soft. “It’s okay.”

I forced myself to meet her sympathetic gaze, which only made me feel worse. “It’s not okay. That’s never okay.”

She took a shaky breath. “At first I didn’t realize you were having a nightmare.”

Oh fuck. I winced as I realized how she must have interpreted my actions. Asleep in the dark, she had woken up to some man rolling on top of her and pinning her to the bed. I spoke vehemently. “I would never.”

“I know that.”

I couldn’t handle her sweet forgiveness. “Next time, you sleep alone.”

She reached out and grabbed my hand. “I’m okay. It was the only way I would have slept.”

I pulled my hand out of her grasp. “I’m going to check on Skipper.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 4 a.m.”

She scrambled to get off the bed. “Wait for me.”

“Don’t you want to sleep some more?”

She violently shook her head. “I want to be where you are.”

After all of that, she still felt safer with me than alone. I didn’t deserve her fucking trust, and I hated that I had hurt her. If someone else marred her skin like that, I wouldn’t hesitate to knock them out. That it had been me was completely unacceptable.

My guilt made my voice hard. “Hustle, Blaire.”

Though it was early morning, there was no breeze, and it felt oppressively hot and humid.

We found Skipper sleepily steering the boat. I ushered Blaire into the boathouse but stayed outside, needing a few moments to process my dream.

It had been a long time since I had thought of Fyodor in Beirut. I thought I had successfully buried that part of my past for good, but there he was, reappearing to haunt me. I swore. Lack of sleep and being on high alert were bringing my demons much closer to the surface.

I took a deep breath. I need to pull my shit together. Through the glass, I watched as Blaire easily chatted with Skipper. I hated that I had accosted her in my sleep, and it killed me that she had assumed the worst of me. Not that I deserved any better.

Stay focused. Work the problem at hand. I forced myself to step into the boathouse.

Blaire looked over her shoulder at me. “Guess what.”

“Tell me.”

She pointed at the radar. “See this cluster of cells? Apparently that’s heading straight for Vietnam.”

Skipper looked over at me. “A lot of alerts have been coming through.”

“A storm?”

He nodded. “A severe typhoon.”

Blaire chimed in. “This is the storm that the saleslady said would hit the Philippines, but now it’s going to hit Vietnam instead.”

“Where is it heading?” Please don’t say Ho Chi Minh.

Skipper answered. “Right now they’re predicting the south central coast of Vietnam, around Da Nang.”

Thank fuck. That was hours from where we were heading. I looked at Skipper. “How long until we reach the border?”

“About an hour?”

“Could you make us some coffee?”

“I’ve got a nice Columbian, and I also have a Sumatra—your choice.”

“Black.”

Blaire tried to suppress her amusement and failed. “I’ll take a Sumatra if it’s not too much trouble.”

“You want the wheel?” he offered her.

She glanced back at me, not moving until she saw me nod. It was her subtle way of letting me know she had put me in charge. I had no issue with her piloting the boat. She was a great sailor.

She took the wheel from Skipper and waited until he disappeared downstairs. “Are you worried about the storm?”

“Nope.”

“They said it could take off rooftops and uproot big trees.”

“Are we going to the south-central coast?”

“No.”

I gave her a look.

“I was just making conversation,” she protested. “It’s a good idea to pay attention to the weather. Skipper said this storm could bring in a massive storm surge.”

“Out of all the things we need to worry about, that one is at the bottom of my list.”

“It pays to be prepared.”

“Not for that.”

She shrugged, looking cheerful despite the early hour.

I knew I needed to tell her how sorry I was about what had happened below, but I didn’t know how to even begin to address it. I stood there for a few moments, but all the words that came into my head sounded idiotic.

I decided to just start. “Blaire.”

She looked over her shoulder at me, assessing me. As if she knew what I was trying to say, her expression softened and she gave me a gentle smile. “It’s okay.”

I didn’t deserve her forgiveness that easily. “No, it’s not.”

“You know, when I was a kid, I used to have these night terrors where I would wake up the entire house with my screams. One night I even ran outside in the snow, in my bare feet—that’s how scared I was. They got so bad that my grandmother had to sleep in the same room as me for over a year.”

It was always stories about her grandparents. “Where were your parents?”

She paused and then said in a pragmatic voice, “They were the ones I was having nightmares about.”

The door banged open, and Skipper interrupted with two cups of coffee. It took all of me not to shove him back outside.

“You’re the best, Skipper. That smells amazing,” she exclaimed as she took the mug.

“You know, once I was in southern Africa and I took part in a coffee roasting competition.”

I took my coffee and disappeared down to the lower deck. I needed to repack my bag and get my head on straight. What did her parents do to her? I should have been focused on getting us to Singapore, but Blaire so willingly shared pieces of herself with me that it was impossible to resist wanting to know more.

But one of the reasons I was so good at my job was because of my ability to hyper-focus on the task at hand.

My goal was to get us all through this in one piece. Stay focused on the task at hand.

An hour later, after two cups of coffee and three energy bars, I was starting to feel more human. I stood in the boathouse, watchful of the changing landscape and the Cambodian border signs.

Skipper took over the wheel from Blaire. “We’re approaching the border, so I should probably steer.”

“What happens now?”

He looked nervous. “They usually ask me to pull over. My contact always gets me through, but I don’t know if he’ll be here because we’re so late.”

“What do you want from us?”

“Wait downstairs until we start moving again.”

Blaire and I returned to the bunk room. This time, she sat crossed-legged on the bed and I stood, leaning against the wall near the small window. I watched as Skipper steered the boat off the Mekong, down a small canal.

This was the moment of truth—our fate lay in the hands of one of the most inexperienced smugglers I had ever met. Skipper was the type of guy who got killed for getting in too deep. One day, he would meet the wrong person, who would dispose of him and take what he owned.

Blaire’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “What happens if his contact isn’t there? What happens if we get caught?”

Then you’ll go home, I’ll go to jail for a really long time, and the people we love will die. I could feel the motor slow down, and then we cut hard to the left. I read an English boat sign that indicated we were on the Bassam River. Skipper slowly drove alongside the floating houses that lined the shore. I could hear faint shouting from those who lived in the area, but it had nothing to do with us.

“He’ll be there.”

“What happens if this doesn’t work?” Blaire whispered.

“It’ll work.”

“How do you know?”

Because it has to. “I just know.”

“If we get through, what happens next?”

“Skipper’s going to drop us off, and we’ll figure out a ride to Ho Chi Minh City.”

“I need a shower.”

“When we get there.”

“And real food.”

“You just ate.”

“An energy bar is not real food. It’s cardboard infused with vitamins.”

I looked over my shoulder at her. Despite her complaints, she had withstood this trip with remarkable endurance. “Yeah, you deserve a real meal.”

She looked hopeful. “And a shower?”

“And a shower.”

“Does your contact know you’re coming?”

“Nope.”

She offered unsolicited advice. “Maybe you should call him. Don’t you have to book him or something?”

“He doesn’t believe in phones.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“We show up at his place and hope he’s not too busy.”

“What if he’s busy?”

“Tonko owes me a favor.”

“Tonko?”

I crossed my arms but didn’t answer. The water swelled against the shore as the tide surged up the river, lifting everything in its wake. Large lily pads and weeds dotted the area, a sign that dry season was felt by all areas, even the most populated.

“What did you do to earn Tonko’s favor?”

I saved his life. “Not much, just usual business stuff.”

“When is the last time you saw him?”

Years, many years ago. “It’s been a while.”

“What kind of name is Tonko?”

“Enough questions.” Our boat continued to chug forward with no sign of slowing down.

“Why?”

I shot her a look, but I answered anyway. “I think he’s from Croatia.”

“And he lives in Vietnam?”

“He did the last time I saw him.”

“What if he went back to Croatia?”

If he did—we are fucked. “We’ll figure something out.”

Before she could answer, the boat jerked as Skipper geared down.

I lifted my hand to indicate silence. Skipper cut the engine, and we bobbed up and down with the gentle waves that moved up the river. I expected to hear the sound of feet or voices when someone boarded the boat. When that happened, I was prepared to drag Blaire under the bunk to hide—not a prospect I was looking forward to.

We stood, listening in silence, our faces toward the ceiling, but there were no footsteps of a visitor coming aboard. I heard the choke and then the heavy roar of the engine being fired up.

She frowned. “Are we moving?”

I could feel the boat speed up further south toward Vietnam. “Yeah, we’re moving.”

“That’s good, right?”

Almost too good to be true. I remained alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “We need to wait a few minutes before we head upstairs.”

She leaned back on the bed and turned her attention back to me. “What about money?”

“What about it?”

“Do we have enough?”

After I paid Tonko, we would be running dangerously low. “We have enough.”

“Because that’s one thing I can help out with.”

I frowned. “What?”

“My family has lots of money.”

Which would require us making contact with someone in Canada—which could totally screw us over. “No.”

“You haven’t even listened to my idea.”

“I already know it’s a bad one.” I motioned for her to move. “I think we’re in the clear. Let’s head upstairs.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I still get my shower, right?”

“I want you to pack up your bag and be ready to disembark the second we dock.”

In the boathouse, Skipper looked a bit too happy. “Did you see that? We got through without any issue. My contact wasn’t there, but no one even bothered to try to talk to me.”

“What happened?”

“I waited on the deck with my paperwork in hand, and they were moving along the line of boats, and then they just waved about eight boats through without even checking anyone’s papers.”

“Why would they do that?” Blaire piped up.

“Maybe it was the storm?”

I decided it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that we were across the border. I turned to Blaire. “Get your bag, wear your runners, cover your hair and replace something to eat. Also, pack yourself some water.”

“Are you coming downstairs too?”

It took me a moment to realize that she was still scared. “I’ll come with you if you want.”

Her relief was palpable. “Only if you want to.”

Skipper docked at the main docks. I stood at the side of the boat, waiting for Blaire to finish packing her bag. Skipper stood beside me, watching her fiddle with her stuff at the table.

“She’s really great, isn’t she?”

I gave him a hard, warning look. “Don’t ever talk about her again. You forget this trip ever happened.”

“Yeah, of course, man.”

I handed him the rest of his payment. “I should be getting a discount for the delay.”

He smiled as he pocketed the money, both of us knowing it didn’t work like that. “If you ever need something, look me up.”

I failed to harden myself against his easygoing smile. “There should be some decent mechanics around here. Get your intake fixed on this side of the border and you’ll get better parts.”

“Oh, thanks. Good idea.”

I looked over at Blaire in exasperation. How long did it take to pack a knapsack?

“I think one of my scratches is getting infected.” Skipper showed me an angry red welt on his leg.

I wasn’t sure how this kid had managed to last this long. “You’ve been doing this for how long?”

“Only a couple months.”

“Get that leg checked out.”

He frowned. “You think it’s that serious?”

“I think it will get serious fast.”

“Okay.”

Blaire finally approached. “Bye, Skipper.”

“Did you replace the mangos?”

She grinned. “Yes, but I left one for you.”

“Thanks. Stay away from all the snakes, okay?”

“One was enough.”

“I’m heading back to Australia after this trip. You’re right, I need to go see my mom.”

She reached forward and gave him a quick hug. “Good.”

“First I’m heading to Thailand. My friend is going to store my boat for me.”

The time for chitchat had ended. I stepped off the boat and held out my hand. “Come on, Blaire.”

She stepped forward and offered me her hand. The fact that the sweet smile on her lips was meant for another man made me impatient and boorishly rough. I reached up, grabbed her around the waist and tugged her off the edge, lifting her down off the boat.

She gave a startled noise and clutched my wrists until her feet hit the dock.

“I could have climbed down.”

I was still feeling a bit riled, so I used that as an excuse to touch her more. I grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the shore. “Move.”

“Bossy,” she murmured, but her hand clung to mine, holding me as tight as I held her.

The Chau Doc docks were connected to the bus station and a taxi stand. I hailed a taxi and opened one door, making Blaire climb in. I wore my baseball hat low and a pair of sunglasses. Blaire had a scarf wrapped around her hair and a pair of oversized sunglasses on her face. Leave it to her to look like a fashion queen for less than ten dollars.

“Ho Chi Minh,” I told the driver, once we’d both climbed in.

“One hundred forty dollars, cash only.”

I nodded and handed him half. “How long?”

He pulled the cab into traffic. “Maybe three or four hours.”

“There is an extra forty for you if you get us there safely in three hours.”

He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Yes, I can do that.”

“No accidents allowed.”

Blaire was looking down at the seat. “Where are the seat belts?”

The driver shook his head. “You don’t need them. I’m a very good driver. I’ve only been in two accidents, and those weren’t my fault.”

She gave me a sideways look of horror that had me fighting a smile.

Chau Doc sat on the border between Vietnam and Cambodia, but the difference between the two countries was palpable. Vietnam felt modern and bustling, with a much more commercial vibe.

Distracted by horns honking, Blaire turned to watch the city pass by. “It’s beautiful here. There is so much going on that I barely know what to look at. It reminds me of parts of Europe.”

“Wait until Ho Chi Minh—it’s roughly fifty times bigger than this place.”

“And it’s the promised land of showers and food.”

“First, we have to replace Tonko,” I warned her. “But if we manage to do that, I’ll rent you the best hotel room we can afford.”

“I can agree to those terms.”

She turned back to her window and watched the world flow and move around the cab. Bikes, rickshaws, motorcycles and truck beds drifted alongside us on the highway.

She didn’t look away from the window. “I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“There’re no snakes in here.”

She looked at me to see if I was mocking her. I wasn’t. “Did you say this ride is three hours?”

“Or a little longer.”

“Do you mind if I have a nap?”

I planned on indulging in some light dozing myself. “Nope.”

She tried leaning her head back against the headrest but it was so low her head was at an awkward angle. She lifted her head. “Don’t suppose you have one of those airline neck pillows.”

“I’m fresh out.”

“Figures.”

“Lean forward.” I reached behind her and tried to pull up the headrest. It didn’t budge. “I think that’s welded in there.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t need it. I probably wouldn’t sleep anyway.”

But five minutes later, she was passed out cold, and her head was bobbing in a way that looked painful.

I put my arm along the seat behind her, trying to offer more head support. In her sleep, she made a soft mumble before she turned and tucked herself against me, like a baby bird tucking itself under a bigger bird’s wing.

That little move made something crack in my chest. I didn’t want to feel protective or concerned. I couldn’t afford to care, but that didn’t stop me from using my arm to shift her weight so more of her body was tucked securely against me.

Three hours later, the cab driver was slowly crisscrossing through an old neighborhood in Ho Chi Minh City. Without an address, I was relying on a decade-old memory. It didn’t help that it was piss-pouring rain and the morning light was gloomy at best. Everything looked gray and wet. I felt like I was trying to remember a faded, distant dream.

Beside me, Blaire was now sitting up, staring out the window. “There’s a convenience store. Can we stop and get something to eat?”

“I didn’t see any store.”

She pointed out the back of the cab. “It’s there, across the street.”

I looked behind me, and my memory was triggered. I had been to that store before. I remembered that crooked tree. “Stop the cab.”

“You’re letting me have food?”

“Come on.” I paid the driver before hustling her out of the cab. We stood in the rain while I studied the store from across the street. The memory was faint, teasing my mind. I couldn’t remember why, but I had a sense we needed to head down the side alley.

“This way.”

She planted herself. “What about the store?”

“We’re in a hurry.”

“The store is right there,” she complained.

“On our way back, okay?”

She made an exasperated sound, but she trudged after me. Within seconds, we were mostly soaked. After we walked down the alley, we came across a small apartment hidden from the street.

This is it. I rang the buzzer, and, when no one answered, I pounded on the door.

A few moments later, a beefy guy who was tall enough to meet me eye to eye pushed open the door.

“I’m here to see Tonko.”

“He’s not here.”

He tried to slam the door shut, but I jammed my foot in the doorjamb. I wrestled the door open wider with my hand. “This is an emergency.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s not here.”

This guy needed to start talking, or we’d have to settle this conversation a different way. “Tell him it’s Pushka.”

The guy didn’t even blink before he slammed the door shut. I heard the lock click.

We stood waiting in the pounding rain. The water streamed off the edges of Blaire’s straw hat, keeping only her neck and face dry. The rest of her shivered against the coolness of the rain. “Is he coming back?”

“Don’t speak.”

She stopped speaking, but she huffed and puffed enough to let me know exactly what she thought of my rude demand.

Five minutes later, the door opened a crack. He shoved a piece of paper out the door and rasped, “He moved to Da Nang. He says Pushka is welcome any day of his life.”

He slammed the door in our faces a second time.

Her voice was small. “What just happened?”

I looked at her with regret. “Where did you say that typhoon is going to hit?”