Third Person POV.
Peter walked down the plane’s ramp with a tiny smile on his face. It felt good feeling New York’s air around him again. Peter can’t remember the last time he had been in America.
It’s been years now, he remembered with a tight fist.
The mafia brothers whisked him away to Russia after he killed Helen, the woman he was supposed to lure so the twins would gain the power they’d always wanted.
That night he shot Helen, everything happened like a movie to him. He didn’t mean to kill her. It was only meant to scare Helen so she would reveal the truth where Vera, their daughter was. However, Helen was adamant not to speak.
Peter remembered how he had pulled away the gun’s safety, and shot at the ceiling in rage while howling, “Tell me the truth, where is Vera!?”
He could remember his bloodshot eyes, everything lived rent-free in his head. Too bad, not even the trigger could make Helen speak.
It was obvious to Peter the woman already had hatred for him after she found out the whole truth about their marriage. On Peter’s side, he saw Helen as the only roadblock to his freedom from the mafia twins.
Had it been things worked the way they had all planned, Peter would have been free today. Free to marry and be with his lover, Elena.
It had hurt Peter back then how things turned out. He lost the gamble, he lost his independence and he lost his lover.
Well, Elena who had openly warned Peter to back off from gambling, cut things off with him when she heard rumors about Peter losing a gamble to mafias.
Who didn’t fear those men? Practically every good civilian does and so to avoid complications in her life, Elena broke up with him.
Peter’s heart ached at the thought. That anger, the burning fury at Helen’s act of stashing Vera away was the reason he acted on a rampage that day.
Oh, Peter never thought his anger would worsen things until he pulled the trigger, which was meant to scare off the intruder in their heated conversation but it ended up landing on Helen.
Just as she was drowning in her blood…David came in. He saw Peter with the gun and Helen in the pool of her blood, choking.
Peter had wanted to escape but no matter what, he could never run away from the mafias. The twins found him where he was hiding and nabbed him to Russia where he served as their puppet. He traded with his life.
However, now, he felt close to his freedom being in New York again.
He just needed to get this right. To kidnap Vera, his daughter, give her to the men who wanted her, and whisk her into his freedom.
Of course, the twins, despite not being here with him are tailing his movement. As Peter was now he had a GPS chip inserted in his body.
It’s one of the ways the mafia brothers were watching him.
As he walked down on the tarmac, he scaled through his call log and dialed Anton’s number to alert him of his current location.
“Good, Peter.” Anton’s baritone voice waded into his ears. “Remember not to fuck things up this time. Bring me the girl.”
“Yes, boss,” Peter replied and the call got disconnected.
He sighed and walked towards the array of taxis in the airport.
Peter told the driver to drive him to a hotel where he could lounge and think about his next moves.
In just about forty minutes, they arrived at an upscale hotel where Peter got a room for himself.
Now in the room, he began to strategize on how best to work things out and quickly. He was on it until nightfall and Peter thought it was the best time to strike.
He changed into his navy blue hoodie and black pants with a balaclava, ready to go kidnap his daughter, the daughter he didn’t see coming, and whisk her to Russia in exchange for his freedom.
He walked out of the hotel, took a cab, and headed to the locations Vlad had tailed before his death.
Peter had to visit each and every one of those places Vlad went to when he was monitoring David and Vera.
As the night spread further into the sky with little to no results, Peter decided he could do with some chilled whiskey and so he went to a bar downtown.
“Two shots of tequila, please.” He ordered the bartender who quickly whipped him two chilled shots of alcohol.
Quietly, Peter gulped the drink with his mind running a mile a minute.
In time, the bar began to get filled up. Peter loved it. He loved basking in noisy places like this.
He watched as men in the bar babbled endlessly while drowning his drinks. When his blabber felt full, Peter felt the strong urge to urinate.
Walking down the tad-bit-lit hallway that led to the men’s restaurant, he pushed the door open. The place was empty and so he took down one of the stalls where he peed.
Peter was just about buckling his belt and zipper in place when he heard someone walking into the restroom.
The movement to him looked suspicious as the person stopped right in front of the stall he was in.
Peter took a measured breath, and clasped his hand on the gun given to him, posing to defend himself against the imminent attack.
As he whirled the door of the stall open, about to strike the person, the gun got knocked out of his fist.
“Ahhh,” Peter shrieked as the attacker twisted his wrist and pulled him completely out of the restroom.
He didn’t back off. Peter put on a fight. He exchanged a few blows with the man whose face he couldn’t see because of the mask he wore.
However, despite his blows and punches, the man brought him to his knees. With an uppercut over Peter’s jaw, the man knocked him out.
Peter fell limply on the floor, making the attacker tilt down and examine Peter’s unconscious body for any chips.
With a grunt, the man tugged out the bug sweeper device from his pocket and scanned Peter’s body.
“Yes, he has a tracker on his body.” The man spoke into the microphone on his shirt.
“Get it out.” A voice ordered with barely contained fury.
“I don’t know how to do it.” The man said into the phone.
The voice from the other side hissed at his words. He heard the person sigh and then his voice came in again.
“Listen to me. Get a fucking knife and dig it into his goddamn body and get the tracker out.”
“Okay. I’ll then. I hope I don’t cut an artery.” The attacker said with disgust as he fished out his crooked knife from his boot.
He shifted Peter’s body enough to plunge the knife directly into the place where the tracker was installed.
“Uhhh… ” The man grunted as he impaled Peter’s skin and fished out the GPS tracker.
“All done.” He said into the microphone.
“Great. Bring him over then.” The voice from the other side ordered.
At that, Peter’s attacker placed a hood over Peter’s head after he sealed the gushing blood with a fabric.
Then gently, he dragged Peter’s unconscious body away from the restroom and bar through the back door.
As he walked into the street, he shoved Peter into the back of his car and drove him away…
To be continued….