No Rest For The Vengeful: Counterstriker's Revenge, #2

By Ian Worrall

One year after going into witness protection Melissa is discovered by the Russian Mafia.And they're not the only ones who want her.Now she has a choice to make: renew the mission she abandoned when she went into hiding, or head to Russia for a final confrontation with her greatest enemy?Either way, her past is catching up with her and she's tired of running.The question is, who will win this time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Worrall
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393438632

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Ian Worrall

Copyright ©2018, Ian Worrall

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by

any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author and/or publisher.

ISBN: 978-0-9958246-1-4

Edited by Monica Y Dennis and Amy Nelson

Cover by 100covers.com

Formatted by Debbie Lum

Author website: www.ianworrallauthor.com

Disclaimer

This book is sold for entertainment purposes only and is a work

of fiction from the author’s imagination. Any similarities in the characters or events to any person(s) living or dead is coincidental.

Get Melissa In Training for free

I AM CERTAIN YOU WILL enjoy No Rest For The Vengeful, so I thought I’d share with you the story of what happened in the days after Danil rescued Melissa from the watery grave, in between the prologue of the first book, No Remorse No Regret and the main body of the story. The first part will come when you sign up, the second part will arrive five days later. And if you signed up from the first book there will be more stories coming soon.

http://www.melissaintraining.com

One Year Ago

Sitting in a darkened board room, a woman watches the testimony of Melissa Vance on Criminal Court TV.  The Drowner and Russian Mafia trials were well under way.

The older woman clenches her jaw when she hears about what was done to the girl. How dare anyone do that to . . .

Her thoughts are interrupted when the door to the boardroom suddenly opens and the lights come on.  Two men, one black and the other white with grey hair, walk in and sit down in the chairs closest to the woman, who is seated at the head of the table.

Joyce, why are you so interested in this trial? the grey-haired man asks.

The black man chimes in, It’s just a bunch of thugs getting what’s coming to them.

Joyce nods and says, See if you can find that girl, S.K.

Why her? S.K., the grey-haired man, asks. We’ve got our choice of any number of potential operatives.

Joyce nods again. That we do, but I want her.

Any reason why?

I don’t have to justify myself to you, she says through gritted teeth. Just do as you’re told.

She’ll be in witness protection, the black man says. Really want to hack into the U.S. Marshal database?

She shakes her head slightly. We won’t need to, Ross.

How else do we find her? Ross asks.

She leans forward. The Russian mafia will probably move mountains to find her. So, you can piggyback off their efforts.

The two men smile and nod their heads. This organization has done this before, capitalized on the efforts of others to track someone.

All three stand up from the table and shake hands. Though half the size of the men, the woman still commands the authority in the room.

Later that year, she watches as the serial killer begs for his life to be spared from execution. A fitting end for that man; an end that Russian guy should have met as well. But it might one day come.

Chapter 1

With the light shining on her face through a crack in the window shades, Melissa Young wakes from a restful night’s sleep. It’s a luxury she’s been getting used to. It has been almost a year since the execution of Colton Harris, the serial killer whose grasp she had survived by a fluke.

But every rose does have its thorn. Her lucky survival became the start of a ten-year nightmare that ended with the deaths of 100 men.

But now she was also free from the grasp of Danil Burlomov, the man who had saved her, trained her, and kept her as his own to do with as he pleased. His 300-year prison sentence has him safely locked up.

Free of men now, at least as free as anyone who is in witness protection.

Getting out of bed, Melissa stretches her arms and back then her legs. She takes two Kel-Tech P3AT hand guns off her bedside table. No work today. Looking forward to her weekend coffee time, she walks down the hallway of her two-bedroom condo, dressed in a tank top and boxer shorts. She enters her kitchen just as her coffee maker finishes brewing, the only alarm clock she would have working on a Saturday.

After fixing her coffee, she takes her guns and the cleaning kit and heads out onto her balcony, straining slightly as she opens the door. The injury from the stabbing under her collar bone Colton Harris gave her never fully healed. At least the mental and emotional scars are gone.

Sitting down in her deck chair, she is four floors up and has an excellent vantage point to see if anyone’s coming. Her security cameras–the size of pens–allow her to view everything when she’s inside.

She knows that the U.S. Marshals have never lost someone under their protection–yet. But there’s always a first time. And just as she swore to never be a victim again, she also swore to never be under a man’s control again.

As she sips her coffee, she checks the date on her phone. Just another couple of weeks and she can get the money she’s hidden and that the feds never found. Just do it piecemeal and I can live comfortable again.

Looking out over the field from her balcony, she watches dog walkers playing Frisbee with their dogs. Two other guys are giving their girlfriends piggyback rides. I miss when Eddie used to do that with me. I hope the marshals gave him the ring back.

She checks her first gun and sees that it is loaded, so she sets it down next to the cup of coffee. I’ll clean you next, Sue, she says. Working with the second gun, she takes the magazine out and clears the ejection port.

As she sticks the bore brush down the barrel, she starts whis-tling before talking to the gun. Rick, I have to keep you pointed away from me. Don’t want to end up on the Darwin Awards.

A click sounds up the street, startling her out of her chair. Dropping the unloaded gun onto the floor of the balcony, she grabs the loaded gun, knocking the table over and spilling her coffee onto the balcony in the process. She aims the gun toward where she heard the sound and sees the door to the used book store open. Oh, yes. I forgot they open at eleven on Saturday. It was just the unlocking of the door. Maybe the emotional scars aren’t so healed after all.

Sitting back down in her chair, she drinks the little coffee that remains. A relatively peaceful life now, except for jumping at almost every sound. That too shall pass, eventually—or hopefully. After living a dangerous life for 10 years, a little bit of peace and quiet is great. A boring life has its advantages. Chief among them is that it’s usually a lot longer.

Chapter 2

Under the watchful eye of prison guards, Danil Burlomov, dressed in his orange prison jumpsuit, sits down at the phones opposite Oleg Mironov. Several other inmates are speaking with either family members or lawyers on their own phones. Oleg had informed the corrections officers that he is Danil’s lawyer, so the conversation would not be recorded.

So, Danil says, has the package been found?

Oleg shakes his head. Not yet, my friend.

Both men are speaking Russian in case the call is recorded anyway.

And the bird?

Being hatched, Oleg replies. Just waiting to feed it worms.

Danil nods his head smiling as Oleg continues.

Got a squirrel digging for nuts, Oleg says.

Good.

Once we find the nest, we’ll set something up for final confirmation.

The two men nod as they hang up the phones, stand, and leave their seats. Danil winks at the guard as he heads back to his cell. Despite a 300-year prison sentence after multiple convictions, he feels confident his compatriots will soon get him paroled and he can go back to Russia, a country with no extradition treaty, and he’ll run things from there.

As Danil strolls through the prison, some of the black men watch him while communicating with one another using head and hand signals. Five white men with swastika tattoos on their arms step behind Danil and face the black men.

The stare down contest ends when the siren sounds, and the riot squad enters.

Everyone back to your cells, the squad leader commands.

Another 30 seconds and the squad leader again gives the order to disperse. I won’t ask a third time.

The prisoners look above and see corrections officers loading tear gas launchers and aiming assault rifles. Each side backs down and goes their separate way.

Chapter 3

The football game on TV provides background noise while Janice Evans, Derek Rogers, Carl Redman, and Adrian Ranck are seated at a table counting through stacks of money, their take from dealing drugs on campus. Each of them works on a bottle of beer amidst several empties littering the small room.

When’s he getting here again? Janice asks after finishing her stack.

About one, Carl replies.

Janice looks at her watch. It reads 12:50. I’m a little nervous about what we’re doing.

Why? Carl asks.

You know. What we’re doing. Skimming off the top. What if he finds out?

Carl shrugs unconcerned. What if he does? We’re the connection on campus. He has to go through us. Drugonomics 101, sweetie. He leans over and kisses her on the lips, holding her for several seconds before releasing her again.

With all the money counted, the guys get out of their chairs and pack it into a large gear bag. Carl sits back down in his chair, wraps one arm around Janice’s shoulder the other under her knees and, lifts her out of her chair and sits her on his lap. They kiss again for several seconds.

Janice still can’t believe it, that Carl is her boyfriend. When they met, she was 18-years-old, just a nerdy freshman at the university. She’s hoping to be a writer. She was surprised when she caught the eye of Carl Redman, a backup quarterback on the football team. Though not the captain or starting quarterback, with his wavy blond hair and blue eyes, he’s athletic enough that he could have any girl he wanted. And he wanted her, the nerdy bookish girl, and not one of the cheerleaders. She still can’t believe how lucky she is.

Derek had made a move on her too, but he’s not quite the catch Carl is, a little too short for her liking. Derek, Carl, and Adrian have been friends since grade school and no girl could ever ruin their bond of brotherhood.

Derek finishes his beer and grabs another from the fridge as they hear a knock on the door.

Adrian opens the door to find Oleg Mironov and Nikolai Cherenkov on the other side.

Got a new guy, Niko? Carl asks, still holding Janice.

Nikolai smiles at him. Something like that.

Like a beer, Niko? Derek asks.

No. Just the money.

Adrian hands him the bag of money. Would you like to count it?

Nikolai puts the bag down, deftly pulls a knife out of his pocket, and stabs a surprised Adrian in the throat.

Counted it last time.

Blood gushes from Adrian’s mouth as he falls to the floor.

What the fuck! Carl yells out.

You didn’t think we could get anyone else to sell for us? Nikolai asks as he waves the knife at them.

Oleg pulls out a silenced pistol and shoots Carl before he realizes what is happening. The bullet pierces Carl’s right eye and exits the back of his head, killing him instantly as blood spatters over Janice’s face. She screams while still being held in the arms of a dead man.

Derek smiles as he sits down on the couch. He shushes the frantic Janice. It’s over now. You can stop screaming.

Her mouth starts quivering for several seconds before she can reply. What, what, what do you mean? she says, her arms and legs shaking in fear.

Oleg takes a wad of bills out of the bag and throws the money to Derek.

Thanks for the tip.

Janice collects herself enough to stand up out of Carl’s dead man’s grasp. She looks at Derek, not believing what she’s seeing. She pinches herself but doesn’t wake up. She tries again, digging her nails into her arm so hard she starts bleeding, but still she remains in the nightmare.

You . . . she finally manages to get out.

Told them what’s going on, Derek says nonchalantly.

But why? Her mouth is quivering as the tears flow freely down her face.

You were supposed to be mine.

Her mouth drops open as she clenches her fists, You three were friends for years! Janice says in astonishment.

Nikolai takes a picture of Janice with his smartphone and then emails the picture. Twenty seconds later, he smiles slightly and turns to Oleg.

She’ll get us about fifteen large. Is it worth it?

Yeah, Oleg says.

Derek looks up at them confused. She’ll get fifteen for what?

A possible sale to a guy in Qatar or Iran, Nikolai says

Janice screams as she makes a rush for the door, You can’t do that to me!

Oleg grabs her and spins her around, Look what we did to those two, he says, pointing to Adrian and Carl. So, yes, we can.

Janice struggles against the man, but she’s no match for his strength. Oleg shoves her, and she falls face first to the floor.

Derek looks to Janice, the girl who unknowingly incited this betrayal of brotherhood. He then considers the men before him. What’s my take of the sale? he finally asks.

Nikolai smiles at him. Well, it’s like the girl said. You were friends for years. And you rat out your best friends for money and a girl? What would you do to us?

Derek freezes as he sees Oleg’s gun now pointed at him. The single shot through the head ends his life.

Nikolai pulls out a stun gun and turns to Janice as she gets to her feet. She grabs a lamp and throws it through the window above the couch. Jumping, she lands on the couch next to Derek, who’s eyes are stuck open in the dead man’s stare. She gets to the window ledge before her body goes into convulsions from the taser bolts hitting her in the back.

Nikolai steps forward, with his free hand he yanks on Janice’s belt pulling her to the floor. He pulls the barbs out of her back and drops the taser to the floor. He puts one knee on her back as he pulls out a syringe and fills it with a drug.

She struggles valiantly flailing her arms and legs, but he outweighs her by more than 100 pounds and is not a match. Please just kill me instead, she begs.

Why would we do that? Nikolai asks. He shows her the cell phone screen, the bid for her has gone up to forty thousand dollars, And lose all that money?

Oleg rushes out to retrieve another gear bag he had left outside as Nikolai injects the drugs into Janice’s neck. In her eyes she sees the room spin for a few seconds before sleep takes hold.

She should fit in this, don’t you think? Oleg asks as if he were just bagging groceries at the store.

Yeah, we gotta move, that broken window would have drawn attention, Nikolai says in response as he zip ties Janice’s wrists and ankles, then duct tapes her mouth.

Oleg first sticks her feet in one end of the bag then bends her body, packing her up tightly.

I’ll take the girl, you take the cash, Oleg says to Nikolai as he picks up the gear bag and casually throws the straps over one shoulder.

They run outside to their car, pop the trunk and drop the bags inside before driving away.

A COUPLE MILES AWAY in a residential neighborhood, a man, Robby Trenholme, steps out the front door of his home and walks down to the street where he lights a cigarette. Waving to the two teenage girls who are sitting on the front balcony of the house across the street, he turns to his left and starts walking up the street.

Those girls might bring me some cash, he thinks. Continuing to walk up the street, he glances at all the neighbors’ garbage that had been set out for collection the next morning. Two blocks from home, he spots a new television box. Maybe break in there sometime and get some cash for the TV. Then he sees the sign in the window that says, Beware of Dog. Or maybe not, he thinks.

Chapter 4

Typing furiously away on his computer, Tommy Grey steals a glance at the picture of his wife. She’s tied to a chair with a gun to her head. Above that picture is one of his hacker friends, also tied to a chair with his severed head sitting on his lap. His stomach tightens as he closes his eyes. His hands shake.

He grips the table hard. Focus on the task at hand and you’ll make it through.

When he opens his eyes, they are bloodshot from a lack of sleep, too many energy drinks, or both. For the last two weeks, he has been getting just three hours of sleep if he was lucky. That’s all his captors have allowed him. Locked in this room with no windows and unsure if the clock on the computer is accurate, he knows not whether it is night or day.

He and his wife were kidnapped two weeks ago by members

of the Russian mafia, at least what’s left of it. Now, to save his wife’s life and hopefully his own, he is being forced to hack into the U.S. Marshals’ database and find the woman who helped gut

the Russians. The problem is only four U.S. Marshals know her whereabouts.

Leaning back in his chair, Tommy closes his eyes. All skin and bones, Tommy used to joke that he couldn’t afford to go on a diet because at five-foot seven and 125 pounds, if he lost weight and got married his wife would be carrying him across the threshold.

Then he found Anita, a woman who actually could lift him and did every way imaginable. While it was sometimes embarrassing to be held helpless and slung over a woman’s shoulder, he hopes now to get out of this alive, so it will happen again.

He is suddenly jolted awake by a foot connecting with his ribs. The pain reverberates through his ribs.

Wake up, you little prick.

Looking up, he sees Nikolai who is pointing to the picture of the severed head.

You want that to happen to your wife?

No, Tommy replies, trying to mask the pain shooting through his side. It’s just I’m really tired. I’m no good to you exhausted.

You need speed?

No, I don’t need any drugs.

Then get to work.

Tommy continues typing, trying to find a hole in the Marshals’ system. Anything at all, he just needs something. Finally, he finds a slight worm in the network and breathes out a loud sigh of relief.

Nikolai stands up from the couch. Find something?

Rubbing his eyes and yawning, Tommy replies, I think so.

Think so or know so?

I’ll know in a minute. I gotta take a piss.

You know where your bucket is.

Tommy gets up from his chair and relieves himself in the bucket next to his chair. Once finished, he turns to Nikolai.

Man, I really need a nap.

He tries to make for the couch, but the big, burly Russian punches him in the stomach when he gets close, causing him to double over. Nikolai grabs the back of Tommy’s belt and lifts him off the floor. With his free hand, he holds a knife to Tommy’s throat. Tommy’s body shakes and his hands go cold.

You will get the information we’re looking for or we’ll find someone who will.

Nikolai throws Tommy to the floor. Tommy lands with a pained groan before crawling back to his chair. All the fight in him is gone. Even fully healthy, he’d be no match for Nikolai. With two weeks of little sleep and barely enough food, he’d be lucky to last five seconds with the huge Russian.

Hitting a few keys, Tommy closes his eyes and heaves out a huge sigh.

I got in, he says simply.

Good. Now find women named Melissa or ones whose names start with M.

Like she’s really going to keep the same name.

The marshal we found says they usually use the same first same.

Tommy copies and pastes