A Life Less Ordinary Read online

  A Life Less Ordinary: Book One

  by Scarlett Cross

  Genre: Adventure Science Fiction

  Copyright © 2015 by Scarlett Cross

  Published 2015 by Scarlett Cross

  Cover Design by www.ebooklaunch.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Preview: A Life Less Ordinary: Book Two

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  In the greater scheme of things, he knew it wasn’t a perfect life, the life of a carney, but he’d come to appreciate it over time and not for just one reason. He wasn’t one for settling in one place, and that was the biggest thing. It suited him to make money for travelling around from one small town to the next. It had, in the beginning, also been a job that came with free transportation between carnivals. Now, however, he owned his own small fleet of trucks and rides, and even paid men to drive these trucks, set up and operate the rides. While he did answer to the man who owned the carnival company, he was fast branching out and hoped, one day, to buy it when his ‘boss’ was ready to retire. The retirement, he was certain, would be soon, and he planned to start negotiating at the end of the autumn season, the best time to do so.

  During the winter they only did one or maybe two gigs, as the season was so harsh that few people wanted to be driving from place to place. But he knew his men were more than capable, and very willing, as they could make a lot of money since there were no others willing to provide entertainment for winter carnivals. He took a deep breath and sighed, watching the ride in front of him move, his hand ever poised and ready to hit the emergency stop, should it be necessary. All of his rides were in peak shape, but accidents could happen at any time, so it always paid to be ready to react in an instant.

  Even still, his mind wandered, as he stood at the ready, it was a gift he had always possessed, his mind was able to flawlessly focus on several events at the same time. Not just focus, but give full and undivided attention. He never knew quite how it was possible, only that it was, and it had driven his teachers both at the Cadet School and later at the private school he had attended when the Cadet school was closed down, quite mad.

  The military, and his experiences in the Hundred-Years War, which had been a terrible war, had left him with a deep distrust of anyone. Even his own countrymen, especially his own countrymen. Now, as he continued watching the ride he’d assigned himself to for the day, he found no joy in the laughter and excitement of the crowds. Laughter and joy did not come easily to him, no more than did love or friendship, which were not words in his vocabulary, if he had to be quite honest. Not outside of his family circle, in any case, and among those he was only close to his uncle and two of his three brothers. Half-brothers, in fact, his father had died some time before and his mother, well, he’d never really even known her.

  She’d been killed in the first month of conflict within his country, when the West had been bombing his home city, Moscow. He had only been a small child at the time, so his memories, while he guessed they could be considered good memories, were few and faint. He knew she had loved him and doted on him, just as his papa had, but thinking of them only served to make him feel bitter. His chest swelled as he took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, pulling himself away from that train of thought.

  Winter was approaching, he could smell it in the air, the way only those accustomed to cold climes can, that change between the damp, rotting smell of autumn leaves and something else entirely, though he could never put a name to it. Then there was also a strange feeling, something like a chill running up his spine that he couldn’t quite explain. That particular sensation always told him there was going to be trouble of some sort, and unfortunately it had never once been wrong. He hit the stop button on the ride and it slowed to a halt, then he flipped the restraint bar release and watched as the passengers off-loaded.

  Three giggly, under-dressed and over made-up silly teenage girls walked by shooting him wide-eyed stares that invited him to get into trouble with them. He sighed and looked away, leaving them disappointed and pouting. When they were out of sight he smirked slightly and shook his head almost imperceptibly, making his long, white-blonde ponytail sway against his back. He was far too old for them, despite how young he appeared, at thirty-four, he had hit the age of twenty-one and ceased to grow older, if only in appearance. Just another of his oddities, he had always assumed. Those girls were a kind of trouble he neither needed, nor wanted. It was the kind of thing that, even a rumor of, could ruin his grand scheme. Not that he considered it a scheme in any nefarious way, so perhaps thinking of it as more of a plan would be better.

  Those girls been on the ride five times today, those same three girls, yesterday they’d been on another ride he’d been watching seven times and the day before they’d stood near the game he’d been supervising almost the entire day. But then, teenagers with a crush could be nothing if not persistent, he knew. Besides, he wasn’t interested in anything that still lived at home with mommy and daddy, of age or not, he didn’t need that kind of drama in his life. Didn’t want it. Giving a furtive glance around, he pulled a flask out of his long black American-style duster, one like the real cowboys wear, and snuck a drink of vodka. He then stowed the flask safely out of sight, savoring the taste of his drink as
more carnival-goers crowded onto the waiting machine.

  His hand was poised over the start button as he watched his assistant Pyotr, the man who any other day would have been supervising, lock each of the restraint bars manually. He insisted on this little step. Often, carneys ignored it, opting instead to use the auto-lock switch and while accidents were not common, he knew nine times out of ten that was the exact cause. Failure to adequately check the safety and restraint equipment pre-launch. Being former military, he was strict about rules, even if sometimes well, to be honest, a lot of times, he broke those rules, he was not about to risk the lives of children and teenagers out of sheer laziness.

  “Korzhakov!” Someone called out from behind him and he froze, an instant snarling expression of anger appearing on his handsome face. Only two people in the entire carnival knew that was his last name, and the other one was the man most considered their boss. Without turning he knew it wasn’t the ‘boss’ calling him, and he stiffened, ready for it to be any number of people he would rather not care to see. “Hey, boss wants you in his office. Now!”

  “I am working, can you not see this?” he hit the start button and nodded to the usual ride supervisor. “Stay here, Pyotr will tell you what I expect.”

  “Da,” The man said, then frowned when Pyotr took up residence at the controls. “But I…”

  “No one works my rides that I do not know. You can argue if you like, but I can tell you it will do no good. I am very strict…and also very stubborn. Cause an accident and hurt someone, and I will make sure you have accident of your very own. Understand?” He drew himself up in an impressive manner, the way only the most alpha of the alpha-males can manage, and the other man seemed to shrink almost instantly.

  “Da.” The man said, dismally, then turned his back. The blonde nodded to Pyotr once more and then departed, carving an easy path through the crowd. Once people set eyes on him, they rarely wanted to stand in his way. He was freakishly tall, standing nearly eight feet in height, and there was hardly any fat on him. In fact, he was solid muscle, and had a temper, and the skills, to back up his words on the rare occasion it was ever necessary. He made the trip to the boss’s office, a mobile trailer that was pulled via large truck from place to place, at his usual quick pace. When he was on a mission, whatever it might be, he did not like to waste anyone’s time, his own least of all.

  “Why you are summoning me?” He asked, not bothering to knock before barging into the office, which earned him an exasperated sigh from the overworked man who ran the carnival. The man held out a satellite phone, his expression grim, and the blonde took it carefully, looking as if he were afraid it might crumble in his large hand. He placed it to his ear, exhaled slowly and said, in a low voice, “Da?”

  “Ivan…” A familiar voice, so long unheard to him that he almost didn’t recognize it, spoke faintly with an English accent through the nuclear static. His heart skipped a beat, not fear, more of a sickening feeling as it dropped like a stone into the pit of his stomach. This was bad. A phone call could only mean…

  “Which one is it?” Ivan asked, blandly, though his hand tightened spasmodically on the phone so hard he heard it crack and released the pressure immediately. The boss must have heard it, too, for he shot Ivan a reproachful glance before continuing with whatever paperwork he’d been reviewing. “Which one should I be looking out for?”

  “Both.” The line went dead and Ivan made a gesture that indicated he’d quite like to slam the expensive phone down on the floor with extreme vitriol. Instead, he hesitated, then placed it gently back on the laminate-covered desktop, backing away and eyeing it cautiously, as if it were a live thing that might attack him. While his actions said caution, his eyes must have said he was angry enough to kill someone.

  “Trouble from home?” His boss asked, casually, but then glanced up and saw the look on Ivan’s face and paled. “Sorry…I should not have asked…”

  “Nyet, you should not have told anyone my last name.” Ivan said, icily, advancing on the man slightly, his head brushing the ceiling of the trailer as he straightened himself to his impressive height. “How many times, Mikhail, must I explain to you that is bad name to have and I try to avoid using it? Is not only bad for me…is bad for carnival as well, to have man with that surname involved. Call me Sergeivich to all, never call me by other name to any.”

  “You really must have troubled past.” Mikhail said, looking interested, but Ivan was already turning to leave. “Ivan…if you need time off…”

  “Nyet, I do not take time off. If I go, I will be gone for good. I can manage my trucks and trailers from anywhere in world. If I go, Pyotr will be in charge, talk to him about travel and location of next setup.” Ivan said, then left the office, slamming the door behind him so that the man within winced at the sound. “More trouble than you know.” He muttered under his breath as he descended the metal steps outside, referring to his family situation.

  The remainder of the day he was more closed off than even was normal for him, keeping a sharp eye on the crowds for any sign that he’d been discovered. He rolled over and over in his mind, as he headed for his sleeping quarters in the back of one of the ride haulers, how this could possibly have happened. One of them, yes, he could understand, because he was still a free man and able to move about at will, though he’d never been stupid enough to attempt anything. Well, he’d always been stupid enough maybe, just not brave enough.

  But the other was supposed to be locked up, shut in an asylum on an entirely different continent, for the rest of his poor, miserable life. Ivan supposed he was as responsible as anyone, he hadn’t exactly been doing his part in caring for the other man. He just hadn’t had time. Still, how in the hell had he gotten back across the ocean when he wasn’t capable of even tying his own shoes or properly dressing himself? Since the war, and particularly with his disabilities and no passport to speak of, it wasn’t like he could just fly back on a jetliner. No, he would have had to book passage via ship, or stow away. Somehow, Ivan suspected, he’d had some help, help from the second man now brilliantly stamped on his radar screen. He sat heavily in a chair by his camp bed and cursed and cracked open a bottle of vodka as he sat in the darkness. “Bring it on, little fuck. I am right here, if you can find me.”

  Chapter 2

  While his half-brother was issuing his warning to the darkness in a village in Siberia, the doctor was reclining on an expensive leather sofa reading a medical journal. Outside, the last leaves of autumn were drifting down and he heard the hum of traffic in the London afternoon. A thud made him jump, nearly upsetting the glass of wine at his elbow, and he cursed under his breath, then peered across the stylishly modern living room of his upscale apartment at the balcony’s sliding glass door.

  It wasn’t that he was concerned about one of the two getting to him, he lacked the wits to get out of a brown paper bag with both its ends cut off, even with a map. The second man though, he was as cunning and dangerous as a wild animal, he had killed and would, the doctor feared, kill again now that he was freed. As his apartment was on the twelfth floor of a high rise building that had every form of security known to man, and then some, he shouldn’t have been worried. But he was, oh how he was.

  The second man had no fear and had been known to scale high buildings to get to people in the past, if the mood struck him. This was how the doctor had been led to believe the crazed man had gotten out of the asylum. There had been a riot, according to the staffer who had called, and somehow he’d managed to scale the razor-wire fence. His absence had, reportedly, gone unnoticed for some time. He had not been able to get any explanation as to how that was possible, so he knew all had not been as it should have at the American facility. The doctor knew he should be terrified, but now that he thought about it, maybe he wanted the second one to find him. Maybe he was getting a little tired of living in fear, and maybe he blamed himself for that man’s predicament, and he wanted either forgiveness, or death.

  The tiredness
of being chased passed quickly and he stood and moved quickly across the room, which was dimly lit since he only had one lamp turned on at the moment. The sun had moved behind the building now, so it was growing dark inside, fast, as it always did. He checked and re-checked the locks on all of the doors, particularly the balcony. There was very little security on that sliding glass nightmare. Knowing the threat better than anyone, he knew this would be the door that would be breached, if the second man found him. He jumped and nearly dropped his wine glass when his mobile phone rang, then glided quickly back and snapped it up off the table.

  “Hello?” He answered, his own accent was decidedly more British than Russian, as he’d been shipped off to an English boarding school at the age of ten and really hadn’t ever returned to his motherland. Other than the occasional visits, holidays and the like. Which was when the trouble had started, and that was why he had a sneaking feeling his balcony door would be broken into very soon. No one spoke on the other end of the line and he felt as if his blood had frozen in his veins when he heard a soft, rattling growling coming across clear as day.