Nadya’s Nights: Road to Vengeance
Night Three: Settling Scores
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Reflections
by Indy McDaniel
Copyright © 2009 Indy McDaniel
The Maserati pulled up to the side of the road and parked. A moment later, the two women inside got out. They were strikingly different in physical appearance.
The driver was a petite girl with short blonde hair pulled into pigtails with no make-up adorning her. Armed to the teeth was about the best way possible to describe her and as she walked, there was a bit of a limp to her steps.
The passenger was several inches taller then the blonde Russian, her red locks had a bit of curl to them and fell down around her shoulders. She also was sans makeup, although her cheeks were dotted with freckles over her pale skin. Her body was fuller then the blonde’s, in the chest and stomach, although whatever curves she had were obscured by the motorcycle jacket she wore.
They each hailed from different countries and they weren’t even technically the same species, but for all their differences, they each shared a single common trait.
Their eyes.
Not so much the color. The blonde’s eyes held more of a grayish-green hue to them then the redhead’s emerald green shade. The trait was behind the color, hidden within.
They’d each seen death, and they each wanted to bring it down on another. The fact that they wanted the same man dead was why they were together when, under almost any other circumstance, they’d be trying to kill each other. And it had been less than ten minutes earlier that they had, in fact, been trying to kill each other.
Now they were united.
The world worked in strange and, above all, ironic ways.
Nadya Valentina would be the first to admit that, and she suspected her fiery-haired companion wouldn’t disagree.
They approached the metal grate that would lead them down into the sewer and, according to Bridget, to the secret entrance to the hideout where their enemy was holed up. The place where Nadya – just the previous night – had been nearly tortured to death. The wounds hadn’t even really begun to heal yet, and she was already back on her feet.
It was funny the amount of pain you could block out when your heart was filled with rage.
Of course, the copious amounts of painkillers also helped.
Looking to Bridget, Nadya wondered how much pain she’d endured, the motorcycle wreck and silver bullet to the kneecap aside. The Irish woman had told her that Remy had killed the man she loved, Doyle. Nadya found it hard to imagine wanting revenge so badly over the death of someone else. Then again, she found the whole concept of love in general to be a baffling and, ultimately, stupid thing.
Just then, Ulbrecht’s face popped into her mind.
It was so sudden and unexpected that the Russian actually let out a soft gasp. Giving a brief shake of her head, she forced the image away. She was not in love with the young doctor.
Indebted, sure. He’d saved her life more than a couple of times. Then again, she’d saved his ass a few times as well, so they were probably just about even. The fact that she’d given up what little semblance of a life she had to keep him from getting turned into mince meat definitely made them square as far as she was concerned, even if Vladimir had forgiven her and taken her back.
No, she was done with Ulbrecht Reinhardt. If she never saw him again, it would be too soon.
Liar.
Nadya’s upper lip curled into a snarl at the sudden internal voice. If it had been Cyrus’s voice, she would’ve been able to dismiss it outright as just a stupid comment from a stupid American.
But the voice had been her own.
I’m not in love with him, she told herself firmly. For fuck’s sake, we’ve only known each other for two days.
Three.
Whatever!
Nadya was getting quite sick and tired of this new, rebellious voice in her head. In fact, she was starting to wish she’d just crawled under a car and let herself bleed out after taking out that freakish blob monster two nights ago. Then she wouldn’t be having to deal with all this internal arguing.
You want to kill Remy for what he did to Ulbrecht.
No, I want to kill Remy for what he did to me, Nadya responded to herself. The fucker tortured me. Nobody gets away with that shit.
It occurred to Nadya then that she must be losing her mind.
Here she was, standing outside a sewer grate in the middle of the night, waging a mental war with herself. She’d never experience such a thing before. All the missions she’d done, her mind had always been focused, centered on the task at hand. It was why she was so good at what she did even though she was so young. At the very least, it was one of the main reasons.
Her focus was what had kept her alive through so much insane shit. There had never been two sides of her mind arguing about petty bullshit. Her mind had been a singular entity with only one goal: How to accomplish her assignment the best possible way and still come away with a pulse.
Nadya decided that she very much hated Ulbrecht Reinhardt and that if she did ever see him again, she’d give him a punch square in the nose for fracturing her mind.
She’d give Cyrus Fuller a kick to the balls for good measure, as well.
Are you sure you won’t kiss Ulbrecht Reinhardt square on the mouth the next time you see him?
That fucking voice just did not know when to shut up. It was as if, after being silent all her life, it had finally woken up and decided it would make up for lost time by being as loud and obnoxious as possible.
The latest comment drew Nadya back to the brief kiss she and Ulbrecht had shared.
Shared my ass, the Russian girl thought. That bastard forced his lips onto mine and I should have slugged him right then and there.
You liked it.
At that point, Nadya began to weigh the pros and cons of drawing one of her pistols, placing the barrel firmly against her temple and squeezing the trigger for all it was worth.
The only thing that stayed her hand was the thought that if she did do that – although it would silence the insufferable voice with utter finality – it would also mean that her vengeance on Remy would be left undone. And as infuriating as the voice in her head was, the thought of Remy getting away with what he’d done to her was doubly so.
After I kill Remy, Nadya decided. If you haven’t shut the fuck up by then, and if I live through it, I’m gonna exorcise you with a bullet, bitch.
The voice’s response was a laugh.
Nadya almost physically jumped from the internal sound. It was so strange. She tried to think, but after a moment, was convinced that she’d never heard herself laugh before.
Sure, she let out the occasional chuckle when something particularly ironic happened or some idiot did something in character but even those were, at best, emotionally minimalistic.
The laugh that had just come from inside her head had been far more than just a chuckle. It had been a genuine laugh.
Playful.
Happy, even.
Nadya Valentina wasn’t quite sure what the fuck was going on inside her head, but she knew two things.
She absolutely hated it.
And it was absolutely scaring the shit out of her.
Just then, the sound of metal screeching snapped Nadya out of her reverie and she looked over to see that Bridget had gotten the sewer grating open and was looking back to her.
“You coming?” the Irish woman asked.
She nodded, thankful that she could start moving forward again and hopefully silence the mysterious voice that sounded so much and yet, at the same time, not a damn thing like her. As she lowered herself down into the darkness of the sewer, the voice spoke one last time.
Not a chance, sweetie. I’m here to stay.
The Russian assassin was thankful for the darkness of the sewer. It made it so she didn’t have to explain the grimace on her face to Bridget.
