I checked the phone with still no contact from K, the pit in my stomach growing. I made sure the sound was off, then powered it down, knowing that whatever battery life I had on it was going to need to last until I got somewhere I knew we would be staying long enough to warrant some kind of rescue or whatever. I tucked it into my boot and tied them up tight so it couldn't be spotted, fixed my crazy hair into a tight top-knot, and opened the door.
Rus was standing against the sink vanity inside the door holding my stash of cash and fake IDs. "These are yours," he said, handing them to me. "You need anything else?" he asked, waving toward the disaster of a room.
"Um, I'm just gonna grab a sweater," I said as I took and stashed the IDs in my pocket and the cash into the boot that didn't have my cell. At that, I grabbed a sweater and turned back to him with a small shrug.
His head tilted to the side as he reached to open the door, looking at me for a long second. "I kind of like the hair."
With that, I followed Rus into the hall then down to the streets to a pickup that wasn't familiar to me. It was either rented or maybe bought outright with whatever obnoxious sum of money he took from his and his brother's stash. It was a late model black truck with a cab and short bed. He walked up to the passenger side door, opening it for me and actually helping me inside.
Then I tried to force myself to calm down as I watched us drive out of Philly to God-knew where. And, well, with nothing to do but think, I did a whole helluva lot of that.
First, I was present enough to try to assess the situation with Ruslan. And, well, the only real conclusion I could come to was that he was genuine. If I had been paying closer attention to the details back when I worked for them, I would have seen how deeply unhappy Rus was anytime Vik sent him off to do some job. I would have seen the way Viktor talked down to him and the way Ruslan's jaw would clench like he was struggling to hold back his words. For someone as laid back and even-tempered as Rus, that really said something. He'd wanted out. Maybe it was just the money that kept him there for as long as he did. Granted, he didn't seem to spend it as lavishly as his brother, but Rus had some nice things. He had a nice apartment. He took lavish vacations. He ate at nice restaurants to impress the women he fucked. So maybe that had been enough to hold him there.
I wasn't delusional or naive enough to think that Viktor was the only violent one between them. I was sure there was blood on Ruslan's hands as well. But maybe whomever he had been told to beat or eliminate had been men who had, in some way shape or form, deserved it: people who tried to steal their business, people who tried to take them down, people who threatened what they had worked for.
While a part of me still cringed away from the idea of torture and murder, having grown up in a relatively non-violent cushion of the world, the older, more worldly part of me understood it. Fact of the matter was, some of the men I had come to love and respect were men with blood on their hands. First, K. He never expressly admitted to killing anyone, but it was alluded to. Still, he was the most selfless, giving, skilled, amazing man I had ever met. Then there was Reign who the reports proposed he had done his fair share of murder and mayhem. Hell, Wolf was a wild animal when he felt the occasion called for it. Cash had killed and he was sweet, good-natured. Christ, even Shooter. He was a fucking contract killer but the most easy-going, charming, sweet person I'd ever met.
Then of course, there was Repo.
At the thought of his name, the stinging sensation in my chest amplified until I had to rub my hand over my heart again to try to ease it.
Repo had admitted to killing men in awful, violent ways.
But Repo was a good man.
There was no question in my mind about that fact. It was in every thing he did. It was in him cooking for me. It was in the way he took care of his brothers. It was in the way he made sure I understood where I stood with him. It was in the fact that he shared all his ugly details with me, without even hesitating. He didn't hide himself. He didn't lie. He was upfront. He was loyal.