Dark Chase (The Gunrunner Series) Read online

  Dark Chase

  The Gunrunner Series, Book 2

  Miranda Kavi

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 BY Miranda Kavi

  Published by Midnight Blackbird LLC

  EBOOK EDITION

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons (alive or dead), organizations, businesses, or actual events is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved by the author. It is unlawful to copy and/or reproduce this novel in any way without the express written consent of the author. The author is a litigation-happy, super-ninja attorney that gets angry when people steal her book.

  ISBN-13: 978-150020607

  ISBN-10: 1500206075

  Cover Art: Laura Hidalgo, Bookfabulous Designs

  Editor: Ami Johnson, ALDJ Editing

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  I woke up from a dream one night, covered in sweat. It was one of those disturbing dreams where you wake up and think, “What the f&*K was that?”

  That was the night I dreamt of Dmitri.

  The dream stuck around me for a while, clinging to me as I got up and went about my day. While my baby daughter and I were eating breakfast, I pulled out my laptop and started writing Dark Trade.

  I didn’t finish the book right away. I was caught up in a tide of work and new motherhood. I kept going back to it because the characters got in my head. I was obsessed with it.

  I wrote it for myself, thinking I could never publish it because Sophia’s character didn’t fully comply with my personal ideals. I had doubts that people would connect with Dmitri and his sexually charged, disturbing nature.

  Fast forward a couple years. I mentioned the book to my author friend, Andrea Heltsley. I expressed my doubts about the book being commercially viable even though I was passionate about the story. She insisted I finish it and publish it.

  The response to Dark Trade was humbling and gratifying. I was happily surprised when my email inbox filled up with notes from readers who loved Dmitri and Sophia. I was thrilled when it shot up in the rankings. Your supportive tweets, posts, comments, and notes made me cry (in the best way possible).

  Thank you for your enthusiasm for this series. Thank you for leaving your honest reviews. Thank you for your interest in Dmitri and our conflicted leading lady.

  My Dark Chase beta readers need a big thank you, too: Karen Rhodes, Audrey Burns, and Melinda Mendoza-Scott, you guys rock.

  Thank you to my editor Ami Johnson for being patient with my way too many emails (sorry about that). The cover was created by Bookfabulous Designs—thank you Laura Hidalgo for your beautiful work.

  Now, are you ready?

  Dmitri is back…

  Chapter 1

  SOPHIA

  St. Petersburg, Russia

  Sophia sat up in bed, her heart pounding. She could almost hear the gunshots from her nightmare; almost see the bodies of the men sent to kill her lying on the floor of her old condo in Houston.

  She wiped the sweat off her brow then dug her fists into her blanket. The faint sounds of the busy city reached her. Her breathing slowed, and her heart rate returned to normal.

  The nightmares were powerful, gripping her, wrenching her around in bed. But when she woke up alone, it was worse. Her ache for Dmitri reached across continents. It had followed her all the way to Russia. It followed her everywhere, leaving her hollow inside.

  She pushed back the blankets, leapt out of bed, and yanked open the heavy cream-colored curtains around her window. The sun was shining bright, the city below her already yielding to a bustle of activity. Her balcony overlooked the central district on the south bank of the Neva River. The streets were busy, filled with babushkas selling their wares and tourists and businessmen weaving in and out of the shops.

  She stepped back and surveyed her room. It was smaller than what you would typically find in the United States, but it was beautifully appointed with intricately carved furniture, a flat screen television, and gorgeous Russian folk paintings on the walls.

  She couldn’t stay in her five-star hotel prison of misery forever, but she didn’t want to think about that right now.

  Instead, she forced herself to get dressed and called the floor’s butler to order her breakfast. He delivered it a few minutes later along with a steaming cup of coffee. She threw a robe on to block out the morning chill of the late summer and then took the tray of food outside to enjoy her meal.

  She finished her food then propped her feet up on the table to relish her warm coffee.

  She needed a plan. A real plan.

  She’d wandered around St. Petersburg for the past two weeks. She’d hopped in and out of bars and nightclubs, had haunted restaurants and museums. She had no idea how to find him, or where to even start looking.

  She’d gone to the Hermitage every day, standing in the courtyard of the Winter Palace, searching the crowds for a tall, ruggedly handsome man that was once hers. She hoped and prayed that Pierre had given her note and information to Dmitri, and he would know where to find her.

  But he never came, and he might not ever. She’d have to find him.

  The enormity of her choices overwhelmed her. She’d have to go outside her comfort zone. She needed to get to the wrong kind of people, which were the right people for her needs.

  Tonight, she was going to a strip club. She’d found it on Nevsky Prospekt, the main drag in St. Petersburg. She’d heard its name echoed through the streets. It was “the” strip club. Bright neon lights spilling out of the front, fancy cars dropping off rich men at the entrance. Wherever there was money, there was bound to be power, and where there was power, she could find someone who had the means and connections to locate Dmitri.

  Maybe.

  She took a long hot shower, which reminded her of showers with Dmitri. She shook those thoughts aside, stepped out, and dried her dark hair. Blond was starting to show at the roots; she’d have to fix it soon. Russian women were very well maintained and people were starting to stare when she went in public.

  She put on a pair of slim jeans, comfortable wedge heels, and a bright blue blouse. She always wore bright colors. If he came, someday, he would see her in the courtyard like a bright peacock among the crowd, waiting for him. She’d been collecting a wardrobe since she landed in Russia with only a suitcase. Everything was new. Everything was fresh, but she still felt the same: tired, hurt, and lost.

  She’d lived in Russia when she went to graduate school, but that was years ago. She’d been dealing with cultural shock, even though she knew it was coming. Women in Russia never ran errands or went out to lunch in yoga pants and sneakers. They were properly made-up, heels, cute clothes, all the time. After a few weeks of reluctantly dressing up to go out for a walk alone, she’d gotten used to it.

  She applied light makeup and pulled half her hair back then picked up a small leather purse. She checked her appearance in th
e mirror before she left.

  She made it to the Winter Palace by 9:45 and slipped into the courtyard. In the middle of the week, the line to enter the Hermitage was short. She ignored it, choosing to walk along the courtyard that had become familiar to her.

  The breathtaking white and green facade of the structure rose in front of her, the majestic columns winged with gold. She’d seen it every day for the past few weeks. Sometimes, its beauty did nothing for her. Day after day of seeing the building wore her down, and she wondered if anything would ever be beautiful to her again.

  She waved at the man operating the beer cart. He’d seen her here plenty of times, and they’d become friends of sorts. They never spoke, but sometimes he’d hand her a free drink. Occasionally she’d bring him coffee in the morning. One rainy day, she’d brought him an umbrella.

  She wondered what she looked like to him. A young woman roaming the square, clearly looking for somebody. Always alone.

  She scanned the crowd for the familiar form. She searched for the tall, broad shoulders. The splash of sandy brown hair. The tell-tale scout that he would no doubt send ahead.

  But she saw nothing.

  Then the pain came. Every day had been like this. Aching pain that made her insides clench because he hadn’t come.

  She quickly left the courtyard, nodding at the beer man as she did. She bit her lip, successfully keeping the tears from spilling out.

  DMITRI

  Tokyo, Japan

  He poured another finger of bourbon, ignoring the dark stare from Gram while he did. He did not like to be kept waiting, and yet here he was, in a small, crowded apartment in the middle of the downtrodden part of Tokyo. The living room couch was too low for his comfort, and the air conditioning was not keeping up with the heat.

  He nodded to the man standing in the corner of the room, hands folded behind him. “Tell him I am leaving now. I do not have time for this nonsense.”

  The man bowed and then left the room.

  Gram shifted on the couch next to him and snickered. “You have a way with words.”

  Dmitri let a smile flit across his lips. “As do you, brother.”

  He stood from his near crouch and added another shot of bourbon to his glass from the decanter on the small table near the window.

  Gram cleared his throat from behind him.

  “Shut it,” Dmitri growled. Nonetheless, he smiled when he sank back down on the low couch.

  “The men are watching you. Always.” Gram bobbed his head at Dmitri’s drink. Dmitri took a sip and kept his expression neutral. It was good. Cool in his mouth and burned as it went down his throat. He’d nursed a few more drinks than normal, but it was not a problem. He was not the kind of man to develop problems.

  It didn’t matter, though. Even a hint of weakness could be deadly. Leadership was a heavy burden, but it was his empire, built from the ground up.

  He passed the drink to Gram without another word. Gram took a sip, made a face, and then set it down on the end table next to him. He tucked his long black hair behind his ear and went back to his expressionless self, like he’d been trained.

  “I am ready to leave,” Dmitri said.

  “He is a friend,” Gram said softly, eyes forward. He picked up the remote for the TV. “Perhaps some television will distract you.”

  Dmitri glanced sideways at Gram as he flipped through the channels. The commercials were loud and garish, with bright colors, flashing lights, and high-pitched voices. He winced, and Gram flipped to a news network.

  He almost jumped out of his seat because he wasn’t expecting it. Her beautiful face splashed across the screen with Japanese lettering scrolling across the bottom: wide blue eyes, full lips, and long shiny blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders. He wasn’t sure where the news network had gotten this picture of Sophia or even how old it was, but it was the one they all showed when covering the whistle blowing and massive collapse of Red Bluff International back in the States.

  He barely kept his facial expression even. He struggled to keep his heart rate and breathing smooth and natural. He couldn’t ‘break face’, as Gram called it. Ever.

  But he also couldn’t look away from the screen, his eyes drinking in her face even though every feature had been tattooed into his memory.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gram fumbling with the remote.

  That was the moment Hitoshi entered the room. “Dear friend!” he said, his voice raspy. “My sincere apologies to have kept you waiting. My health slows me down these days.” He bowed deeply from the waist.

  Dmitri stood. “Hitoshi.”

  Hitoshi laughed and then moved further into the room. His fingers clutched a cane, and his steps were feeble. Dmitri took it all in, eyes sweeping down his form. He was fatter, weaker, sicker, and it had happened fast.

  “Please sit,” Hitoshi said.

  Dmitri settled back on the couch, while Hitoshi carefully lowered himself onto a wing-backed chair. “It has been many months,” Hitoshi said.

  ‘It has,” Dmitri agreed. He let a small smile flit across his face.

  “And you, Gram. How are you?” Hitoshi said.

  “Well,” Gram said in his clipped way.

  Hitoshi laughed, throwing back his head. “This one, never much for words. Same for you, Dmitri.”

  “It is our way,” Dmitri said. “And you are well?”

  Hitoshi ran his hand down his gray goatee. “Ah, of course I am not, as you can tell. I am deteriorating fast. Spinal muscular atrophy. Not much can be done, but I’ve had a good life.”

  Dmitri forced another smile. “Is there something I can help you with?” He allowed his normally stern voice to soften. He’d known Hitoshi for many years. Their organizations had done business together many times. Their families had a history of sorts together.

  “I do need something,” Hitoshi said. He dropped the grandfatherly tone and demeanor. “A big favor. Very big.”

  “Tell me,” Dmitri said. He clasped his hands on his lap.

  “It’s about Naomi,” Hitoshi said.

  “Naomi,” Dmitri repeated impassively, even though he was surprised. She was Hitoshi’s youngest daughter. He hadn’t seen her in years, not since Gram and Dmitri had spent a lazy, rich summer in Tokyo when Dmitri was a younger man. She’d been a teenager then. Black hair, willowy frame, green, almond-shaped eyes that only a half Japanese, half English ancestry would produce.

  He realized he’d let the silence stretch on for too long. “Is she in trouble?”

  Hitoshi sighed and bowed forward, a man crumbling under the push of age and disease. “She is, friend, and it is of my doing.”

  “Please, explain,” Dmitri said. He relaxed his posture. Gram was still perched on the edge of his seat, ready to move at the first sign of trouble. That was the problem in this business—you could never really relax, even with old friends.

  “She’s almost thirty now. Very beautiful and smart. She has a suitor. Lots of money,” Hitoshi said.

  “I do not hear the problem,” Dmitri said.

  “The problem is that he’s one of the S-Triangle clan.”

  Dmitri nodded slowly. He was very familiar with that group. They were close allies of his. They were a large, powerful syndicate made up of three extremely wealthy Japanese families. Their bloody fingerprints were all over international shipping, drug running, and moving counterfeit goods across South Asia. “I assume you have warned her of the risks?”

  Hitoshi rubbed his temples. “It is not so simple. It started out as her voluntarily seeing him, but now they have demanded her hand in marriage from me. An arrangement. A joining of our businesses.”

  Dmitri let out his breath as the cultural and practical implications of Hitoshi’s statement hit him. “She does not want this?”

  A wobbly Hitoshi leaned on his cane. “Of course she does not. She does not wish to be a part of the S-Triangle clan.” He paced over to the window, his cane dragging on the ground with every step. “She is a go
od girl. It is I that brought her into this mess. My children never had a choice with this life.”

  Dmitri said nothing, but Sophia’s beautiful face was fresh in his mind. He’d done the same thing. Selfishly pulled her into a life she could never understand. She had said no. He had been angry, but she had done the right thing. The thing that he was still too weak to do.

  Let her go.

  He found his way back to the present, staring at the aging, once powerful man hunched over the cane near the window. Entropy always wins. Even the powerful and wealthy could not escape illness. “And for you? Do you want this?” Dmitri asked.

  Hitoshi whirled around. “Of course not!” he shouted. “This would be not only bad for her, but for me. I’m not going to hand over what I’ve built to those cock suckers. I know I will be gone soon, and this is a power play, but I’m not giving it to them. Not ever.”

  Dmitri said nothing, but felt tension radiating from Gram. Gram hadn’t moved an inch, but he was ready.

  “Dear friend,” Dmitri said. “I am most sorry for this, and I share your concern for Naomi’s wellbeing, but I fail to see what role I have in this. This is not my war, and they are my associates.”

  “No war,” Hitoshi said. “I am far too old for war. A game. A game that I can win, with your help.”

  Chapter 2

  SOPHIA

  Sophia paused down the street from the strip club, gathering her nerves. She’d dressed carefully. She wanted to look the part, but not stand out.

  So here she was, near eleven thirty at night, in her sleeveless little black dress with a plunging neckline ending just above her navel. Her ample cleavage was on display. She’d gone braless so she jiggled when she walked. She wore black stiletto heels. Her hair was down, loose, and free. She’d applied more eye makeup than she ever had in her life.

  She waited for a large group to pour out of a stretch limo. It was a giggling group of women escorted by older, tuxedoed men. She merged herself into the back of the crowd and slipped into the members-only club with the group.