Reasons You Shouldn’t Piss of Mobsters In Russia
“We need to leave,” the guy with my phone was starting to untie me. He didn’t have a gun. As a matter of fact, as far as I could tell none of them had guns. No one had pulled out one and shown it to me anyway, which was probably an indication they didn’t have them. Two things needed to happen for a kidnapping to be effective in my opinion, one you had to instill fear in the victim and two, you had to make them believe you were willing to do anything to get out of the situation alive, including killing them and forgetting about the money. These guys had done none of those things. If anything, they had undermined their authority by repeatedly answering my phone and talking to my family in a desperate attempt to get money for my return. If I hadn’t been busy with introspection and reflection on my non-Russian identity and very Russian family, I might have noticed it earlier. However, as I kept pointing out to people, I was not a sociopath with the ability to hyper focus on whatever situation I was in. I considered myself a bumbler. My brothers were big bad guys that you didn’t want to mess with, I mostly just waited for the universe to show me the solution to my problems. Like this guy untying me. He was the solution to my problem, because they hadn’t done a very decent search of me before tying me up.
Probably because my cell phone had kept ringing. As it was doing again. I looked over and saw the caller ID. Now it was Zeke.
“That’s my husband,” I told him.
“I don’t care, the Russian mob is sending a contract killer to come get you.”
“See, totally from Florida and it really was Yuri Chakoff, just like I said, and the contract killer is my cousin, which is good for me, maybe not as good for you.” I told him.
“Not really,” I told him. He threw my phone away from him and everyone watched it vibrate against the concrete floor like it might explode and it might. Zeke was a force to be reckoned with and he knew my current location and obviously, Yuri had called Vasilli.
In the last six months, Nadine had learned more about Aislinn Cain than she had in the previous six years and while she hadn’t brought Ace to Russia with her, she had brought two of Ace’s fashion tips. The first was that a girl couldn’t own too many pairs of boots and calf high and knee-high boots could go with anything, even fancy knee-high dress boots could be worn with jeans. The second was that every woman should own a good flat handled knife with finger holes because a good pair of boots could hide a flat handled knife and most men didn’t check high topped boots for weapons because in their minds, women didn’t use flat handled knives with finger holes, they used kitchen knives which were easily seeable in anything.
Originally, Nadine had kind of scoffed at this advice, until Ace had bought Nadine a flat handled knife with low calf sheath and showed Nadine that she always wore boots of some kind, usually combat boots to conceal the knife at her ankle. Since she was a little accident prone, the first week of wearing a knife at her ankle had scared her a little. She was positive she was going to stab herself putting it on every day. Then Zeke had commented one night about the fact that she was becoming adept at putting it on every day and walking in boots with short heels and that he thought it was a good idea for her to carry a knife with her all the time and that no, men rarely checked women for flat handled knives and the zippers on boots were usually caused boots to become misshapen so unless there was a huge knife in a boot, most men would miss it.
Believing I was nothing more than a tourist, the men holding me hostage hadn’t bothered to frisk me for more than my cell phone. They hadn’t even touched my boots, let alone searched them for a knife that was easily concealed.
I might not have brought Aislinn Cain with me to Russia, but I felt like I had brought her ghost. Russians believed that ghosts didn’t require a person to be dead and that you could bring the spirit of the living with you if you were both thinking of each other. It was kind of an odd belief, but now, as I waited for my captors to be distracted, I couldn’t help but feel like Ace was with me at least in spirit. When and if I got home, I’d have to ask her if she had thought about me at all over the last few days, because for a living spirit to be with someone, required both people to be thinking of each other. If they were right, then there was a good chance, Ace was thinking of me while she was searching for Gabriel. I decided to ignore what I knew about Ace in order not to burst my bubble. If I could channel some of her brutality, I could get the drop on these three entrepreneurs.
Perhaps if my captors hadn’t been amateurs, this wouldn’t have been so easy. If it had been me, I would have zip tied my hands to the arms of the chairs or if the chair didn’t have arms, to the legs of the chair. However, they had just zip tied my hands to each other. We had done a special training a while back at Daniels’ Security about releasing yourself from zip ties and zip cuffs. It wasn’t all that hard, you just had to make sure the little plastic stuff was taut. Zeke and Anthony had demonstrated more than eight ways to break out of zip cuffs. I was putting one of them into action know, pulling my hands as far apart as I could at the wrists and placing the taut part of the zip ties against my knee and pushing. All I really had to do was bang the tie really hard against my kneecap for them to break apart. This was quieter and didn’t require as much movement though, even if it did take a little longer.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are purely fictitious. Any resemblances to any persons, living or dead, are completely coincidental.
Copyright © Hadena James 2016
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