The Bodyguard

15

I'd checked all the men present at the weapons shop. None of them were tatted, except one, who had a name tatted on his back. It could only mean one thing— one of them was in contact with Volkov, otherwise, how on earth could he have possibly known where I was at that particular moment? It was no coincidence. Babin knew something, and Volkov shut him up, to prevent him from speaking to me.

"He knows you're here, in Russia." Nik says, as he parks the car, after hours of utter silence. I take a scan of the area.

"Is this where you live?" I ask him.

"Yes." He responds, taking off his seat belt. I take mine off too, and alight the vehicle.

"Oh." I respond. It was a nice building. It looked like he was rich, or maybe from a rich family. He begins to walk ahead of me, and I follow closely behind him, as he leads me to his house.

"Come in," He says, as he opens the gate to the two story building. "Like I said earlier, you can have the ground floor."

He opens the door to the house, and we are embraced by the warmness, which I can presume is from a space heater.

"When you said you didn't stay here, I'd thought it would be a dark cold dusty place."

"It is." He responds sharply, and turns on the light. He takes off the covers covering the furniture, and I shield my face, as the dust flies over the place. He continues, "I just had someone come over to put things in order. You might've not noticed in your anger, but Russia's a pretty much cold. You'll fall sick."

"It's not that I didn't notice. I just had to bear it." I respond, letting my hair down. I take off my shoes, and take out the blade in my right shoe.

"I'll do the cleaning. I have nothing else to do anyway."

"As you wish." He says, and begins to turn around to leave. I rush to him, and grab his hand, before he can step outside. He turns around to look at me.

"Thank you, Nik." I say to him, as I let go of his hand. I can tell he's forcing himself to not let out a smile.

"The pleasure is mine." He responds.

*****

After a few minutes of trying to get the living room sorted, a thought jumps into my head. What if Nik was Volkov's informant? I sigh, as I scrunch my brows in confusion. I sit down, trying to arrange my thoughts. I think back to the restaurant, where I'd seen Nik use his phone. He had been texting someone. Could he have been passing on information to Volkov? Was it possible that all he'd told me about his mother, was nothing but a huge lie, concocted just to deceive me?

I begin to stealthily scan the room, to see if there are hidden cameras. I dust out the dining table, shelf, and windows, to be sure there aren't any cameras. There are none. I take out my gun, and scan it. I pray internally, that my suspicion wasn't true. I trusted Nik, and I wanted it to remain so. If he was truly affiliated with Volkov, then he was just as dangerous as Volkov.

*
Going up the stairs, I check to see if there are cameras. There are none in sight. I reach a door, which I presume to be the door to Nik's house. I ring the bell. He opens the door in less than a minute.

"Hi." I say, as I take in his appearance. He's dressed in an ash pajama set.

"Do you need something?"

"Well. . .umm. . .yeah." I respond. I close my eyes, recomposing myself. "I realized I didn't bring a lot of clothes, anything really. May I borrow something to wear? I'd also like to borrow your phone, please." I ask.

He tilts his head, a gesture meant for me to come in. I enter. The house has a wooden aesthetic vibe. There's a dimly lit fireplace, and not too far from it, stands a mini piano.

"You play the piano?"

"I do. It reminds me of my mother." He responds.

I hadn't checked him. I needed to see his body. Did he have tattoos or not? He hands me his phone.

"I'll go get you something." He says, and I smile, as I watch him leave. As fast as I can, I begin to go through his phone. Pictures, call logs, text messages. I stumble upon one particular text, which happens to be the only person he'd texted earlier. It's a woman. He had been telling her to come to the house and get it cleaned up. I hurriedly go through his contacts, searching for Volkov, Leonid, Boss, or anything in general, that could be suspicious. There's nothing. Was he really innocent, or just extremely good at hiding things? Had he gotten rid of all the evidence, or was he Volkov himself?

"I got you a few clothes." I hear him say, and I quickly switch to the dial pad.

"Thank you," I respond. "Is that a scarf?" I ask.

"It belongs to a friend of mine."

"A female friend of yours?" I ask, trying to get a look at his exposed neck. How could I possibly get him to take off his shirt? I couldn't risk him suspecting me.

"You ask a lot of questions, Ms. Leister, but yes, a female friend." He responds.

"Your girlfriend?" I ask, buying time to think of how I could get his shirt open. Water! I fake a cough.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Water, please." I pretend. He rushes into the kitchen to grab me some water. He comes out walking fast, and hands me a glass of warm water. I take the water, and quickly begin to gulp it down, when I pause. I sneeze, purposefully positioning my hand so that the water spills on him. I continue to cough, playing it cool.

"I'm so— I cough again, "Sorry. Sorry! I didn't mean to." I tell him. Our eyes meet, and then I quickly stretch my hands out, and begin unbuttoning his shirt. "You should take it off," I state, taking the last few buttons off. He grabs my hands. I look back up at him.

"What are you doing?" He asks. He flings my hands off. Immediately, I reach for my gun. He takes off the shirt, and throws it on the floor. "I don't have any ink on my body, Ms. Leister. I'm not Leonid Volkov, and I did not give any information to him."

I take my hand off my gun, as I scan his body. He turns around, showing me his back.

"I'm sorry." I tell him. "Put yourself in my shoes. Would you trust anyone? I didn't mean to, but I had to." I explain.

"I'd like to sleep now. Tomorrow, we have to think of ways to lure him out. Good night, Ms. Leister." He says, handing me the clothes.

"Good night." I respond.

Leonid's POV. . .
2 hours later. .

I can't help but chuckle, as I remember her expressions. The woman never ceased to amaze me. I pour more liquid soap on my body, as the shower washes off the makeup used in concealing my tattoos.

She wasn't as gullible as I'd thought, and I was smart enough to predict her. I'd wondered if she'd ever suspect me, and how I'd handle the situation. Thankfully, Irina had stopped by the house earlier, along with four makeup artists, who'd been quick in covering up my tattoos.

I turn off the water, as I leave the bathroom. I pickup my phone from the bathroom counter. The phone was specifically for Andrea. If she was ten times ahead of me, then I was a hundred times ahead of her. Everything was in order. Beginning from framing her for murder, bringing her to Russia, and then, murdering Babin before her very eyes.

Babin's grandfather and father were partly responsible for what had happened to my mother years ago. He was just as cautious and meticulous as I was— only his business associates and a few others knew what he looked like, unlike me. Only Sasha, Irina and Igor knew who I was. No one else knew who Leonid Volkov was, and I intended for it to remain that way forever. Andrea Leister was getting in the way of what I wanted, and she'd pay the price for it.