The Double

Konstantin’s grip tightened. “Take me to him.”

24

Hailey

WE CLIMBED OUT of the car and I wrapped my arms around me against the sudden chill. A fierce wind was blowing down the street, scattering trash like leaves. When I looked up, I saw we were at the foot of an enormous skyscraper but...there was something wrong with it. The thing was so black, it just seemed to soak up light. And its sides seemed to be moving.

I squinted and, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I drew in my breath. The skyscraper was still being built. There was no glass in the windows, that’s why it didn’t reflect. And lots of the floors didn’t have walls, yet, just sheets of plastic, flapping in the wind. We’re going in there?

There was an elevator for the construction workers, but it was just a yellow-painted cage, completely open above waist height. Konstantin and I climbed in and I gulped as the ground dropped away. I don’t like heights. I’m okay when I’m looking through my camera because I feel like I’m down on the ground with my target, but I don’t like being reminded that I’m up high...and with the wind tugging at my clothes and the way the cage swayed and creaked, it was impossible to forget. When we passed the tenth floor, I couldn’t look anymore. I closed my eyes and clung onto the handrail and prayed for it to be over.

But we kept climbing, higher and higher. The wind grew steadily worse and soon I was hugging myself to keep warm: it was October and I’d run out of the mansion in my thin sweater and skirt.

After what felt like forever, we stopped. I opened my eyes….

We were on the roof. And from how small the lights below us looked, we must have been at least thirty stories up. The roof was huge but we were in one corner of it so the edges were far too close for comfort. And the parapet hadn’t been built yet: there was nothing to stop you falling off.

We started to move and, before I knew what I was doing, I pressed close to Konstantin, my arm hooking around his and our bodies pushed together from shoulder to hip. That made me feel better. We took several steps before I caught myself. This was Konstantin. How could a man like that make me feel safe?

But he did.

In the center of the roof, the rest of the guards waited, holding a struggling man in place. He had long, greasy black hair and his stained t-shirt was stretched over his gut. But he looked strong, too: his biceps were huge and it was taking three of the guards to hold him still. There was something unsettling about the way he stared at us, a kind of arrogance. He’s not afraid. I’d never seen anyone not be scared of Konstantin.

The guy spoke up as we approached. His Russian accent was heavy and rough, the syllables like splintering slabs of lead. “This is why you bring me here?” He nodded at the guards. “So you can watch your trained dogs beat me?”

I looked around and realized why we’d come here. We were the tallest structure for miles: no one could see us, up on the roof. I was guessing Konstantin owned the building, so no need to worry about security cameras, either.

Whatever happened here, the authorities would never know.

“My guards won’t be needed,” said Konstantin, his voice dangerously quiet, and he started across the roof towards the men. As soon as he was gone, my vertigo came back. The wind was getting worse: I swore the whole building was swaying slightly, each time a gust hit. I backed up against the elevator and grabbed hold of it, trying not to look at the tiny lights far below.

Konstantin slipped off his suit jacket as he walked and tossed it to one of his men. He unfastened his tie, then took off his shirt.

It was the first time I’d seen him topless and he was breathtaking, his back a wide vee of hard, tan muscle, his shoulders hulking and powerful, as if they could bear the weight of the world.

Near his collarbone, two ten-pointed star tattoos marked him as a leader. Then came those huge, hard pecs. If I’d put both my hands on just one of them, fingers spread as wide as they could go, I still wouldn’t have been able to cover it all. He narrowed down to a tight core, the ridges of his abs bisected by a deep line, and then the diagonal slash of his adonis belt, disappearing down into his pants. He was ripped, but it wasn’t the jacked up, veiny look of bodybuilders. It was a hardened look that made me think of a soldier. He’d got this way by fighting, by building his empire one battle at a time.