Bone Deep(13)

Bone said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say. Her fight with Sacha Asinimov had been brutal and now she understood why. Badr Abela.

When her training at Joseph’s hands ended, he’d sent her to Morocco. For an entire year she’d trained under Abela. For an entire year she’d suffered. She’d been away from her sisters, but that had been the smallest of the pains she endured. The agonies, or as Badr Abela called them “lessons”, only ended when she’d taken his head into her hands and twisted the life from his body.

She clenched her fists as she struggled to contain the hate.

She had learned so much under the man who called himself Master. Abela taught her to channel her rage. He taught her to be quicker in mind and body than her opponents. He was the one who taught her lusting for death was as natural as breathing and if she accepted it, took it inside her and succored that desire, she would become death in whatever form she chose. What her father began when she’d been a baby, had found fruit and manifested first under Joseph then Abela. Master, had given her a target and she’d taken everything he taught her and utilized it perfectly.

His last look had been one of surprise.

She’d been nine years old when she stuffed the head she’d ripped from his shoulders into a knapsack and hopped a plane to Arequipa. Bone had hitched a ride to the compound and walked through the woods, avoiding all the booby-traps and cameras, until she walked into the main house and found Joseph sitting at his dinner table, a slew of guests dressed in shimmery clothing and shiny jewelry fawning over the bastard, listening to some story he was telling them.

She had taken Abela’s head from the knapsack and placed it on Joseph’s ivory dinner plate before she stepped back and stared at him.

He had clapped in delight and then had Minton string her up from the highest cliff in the mountains. She had soiled his dinner plate, spoiled his grand party, and should be punished after all. He left her in the hold of those fraying ropes for three days. It had taken fifteen men to overcome her and she’d sworn she’d never be caught that way again. Yet another lesson Abela taught her—this one from the grave.

“I killed Abela at the age of nine, Grant. Dmitry may have trained under him, but I am him.”

Grant winced, rubbed his chest and nodded. “We’re about five minutes out now. Are you ready?”

She simply looked at him.

He nodded again and said, “I’ll drop you off and you’re on your own. I hope to see you around, Bone.”

“Hope is for fools,” she said in return.

The car stopped and she hopped out. He drove off, and she watched the red lights disappear under the blanket of snow falling from the sky. The cold wasn’t a deterrent tonight. The material of her unitard was such that she was insulated against the weather. She tucked her hair under the hood and secured it over her head and face.

She made her way through the dense forest that surrounded Vadim Yesipov’s mansion and stashed her backpack in a secure place. The waterproof bag held everything she valued with the exception of her sisters. She covered the area with leaves and dirt and then stood and glanced up into the night sky.

“Zeh mah sheyesh,” she whispered to the twinkling lights piercing the blackness. This is what there is; there is no more. The Hebrew rolled off her tongue effortlessly.

Her father had once whispered it as she’d watched him kill a man. She’d been born to follow in her mother and father’s footsteps. They’d been little more than glorified terrorists wrapping their own need to kill all who didn’t believe as they did in the cloak of righteousness.

How life had come full circle for Bone. Her parents could have never imagined what she would mature into. They’d be delighted she was sure.

Bone opened the floodgates and let the rage that always burned under her surface consume her. The taste of it was sweet on her tongue. The feel of it in her blood was potent. The demon in her soul delighted in being freed.

She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and once more spoke the words she’d said over Ninka all those years ago.

“Baruch dayan emet, aval n’kamah hayah mokesh,” Bone whispered. “Shalom, achot.”





Chapter Three


Vadim had been expecting him. Dmitry was ushered into the main salon and offered a heavy crystal snifter of Vadim’s finest vodka. Dmitry tossed it back and let out a loud groan. The vodka chased away the headache he sported since being choked out by Bone.

Vadim laughed and clapped him on the back. “How is the son of my blood-brother?”

“I will be better soon,” Dmitry said vaguely.

The game was in play. When he’d recovered after watching Bone jump off a five story building into the canal below, he’d straightened his clothing and headed to Yesipov’s mansion outside St. Petersburg.

“Yes,” Vadim breathed out heavily. “Once we find the bitch who did this, we will all be better. My brother lies dead and my nephew had his head nearly taken off. Did you see it?”

Dmitry looked his greatest enemy in the face and shook his head. “I was being serviced in the bathroom, Vadim. I missed it. When I came out, there was chaos and people were screaming about a woman. I tried to save Boris but was too late. He was already gone when I found him among the dead.”

Vadim wiped a tear from his eye. Dmitry wanted to punch him until blood poured from his face instead of tears. He relaxed his hands lest he shatter the glass he held.