Retribution
Retribution
Lietha Wards
Copyright 2015 by LiethaWards
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This is a work of fiction.Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents areeither the products of the author’s imagination or used in afictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living ordead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
PROLOGUE
Ryan waited patiently forthe older man behind the large highly polished dark stained desk tofinish. He was thumbing through a light tan file folder thickenedwith material. This was something that could have been done beforehe showed up. The man knew he was coming. He had an appointment andwas expected, but he was trying to show how omnipotent he was, andmaybe irritate him a little, by making him wait.
It wasn’tworking.
No one could ever accuseRyan of not being prepared. He was already ten steps ahead of theruthless bastard. He’d also dealt with people more powerful. So, itwould take a hell of a lot more than assessing looks and paperflipping to intimidate him. Yet he couldn’t help but feel a littleannoyed even if he didn’t let it show. This was a waste of time—histime. It was the old man’s way of trying to establish his power andauthority so he would know the consequences if he fucked up. Inreality, he didn’t need this menial education in intimidation. He’dread the intel and seen the photographs of the bodies that thepsychopath was suspected of. Well, the bodies that theyfound.
Truth was, he was wellaware of Peter Nickolov and his organization. He already knew hewas dangerous. And as much as the exhibition pissed him off, heintended to just play along. He still had the advantage and alwayswould. He expected the circus display, but it was probably a littleover the top.
He knew why.
He was an outsider, and toPeter, it was necessary to make sure he knew who was potentiallyemploying him. Peter never hired anyone that wasn’t from his homecountry. This was a first for him.
When he initially arrived,Ryan was led into the office on the main floor of the large mansionflanked by two of Peter’s men. Peter spared him a brief glance,taking his attention from a file he was reading, and without sayinga word, waved a hand toward a large, empty, red velveteen chair infront of the desk, indicating for him to sit. It was placed therealone, purposefully. The rest of the men in the room werestanding.
There were tall, enormouswindows behind Peter allowing access to the bright light of theMiami sun. There were no lights on in the room causing Ryan’svision to try and adjust. For now, everything was in shadow. Thedesk was highly polished so it reflected the sunlight toward Ryan,obscuring his vision further. He was sure it was all donedeliberately, an intimidation tactic, just like the two big goonsstanding close behind him.
Ryan sat down and stretchedout his long legs waiting patiently while his eyes began to adjustto the darker room. The chair he occupied was a large wing-backpiece, most likely a European import, comparable to the desk. Ithad thick wood carved legs with intricate designs and gold leafaccents. The whole room was filled with those types of pieces. NotRyan’s style. It seemed a little on the gaudy side.
A few minutes later hiseyes started to accommodate. Now, he could clearly see the filefolder that Peter was studying. It was fattened with information.He immediately recognized some of the photos the man spread out onhis desk; photos of people, places and significant events. Itwas his background. This was a file on him. He should have been surprised,but he wasn’t, even though he had to admit that it lookedremarkable in paper form. He honestly didn’t realize he’d hadthat much experience. He withheld a smile.
Peter kept flipping throughpage after page scrutinizing everything carefully; photos, reports,and confidential files. He’d yet to even speak to him. He knew theman went over his file with a magnifying glass already or hewouldn’t be sitting in the same room as him.
This was part of theshow.
Even though Peter hadn’tspared him more than a glance, he was obviously waiting for somesort of reaction at the information he had on him.
Truthfully, Ryan was bored.He resisted the urge to look at his watch because he needed toportray someone who was always in control. This job was importantto him. It seemed like a damn eternity, but he was certain it wascloser to ten minutes.
Every now and then therewas an interruption of quiet by the shuffling of papers in front ofhim, and shifting of feet from the two men behind him. Petercleared his throat once then flipped another page. Ryan near rolledhis eyes.
At least the passingsilence allowed his eyes to fully adjust to the light in the roomand he could see that Peter aged fairly well for a man in hissixties. Of course he’d seen plenty of photographs, but they alwaysseemed to miss something. You couldn’t read a person very well by aphotograph.
He still had a full head ofhair, yet it was starting to thin on the crown. He had a thick greymustache, neatly trimmed. He
