Page 11 of Reign of a Billionaire
“It is,” he purred, opening the door wider. “Want to come in and check it out?”
I glanced around him as if dying to see farther into his shitty room. The dim yellow light bathed the room in a sickly glow as I made eye contact with him.
“What’s your name?” I knew every organization in the underworld, every name running within them, but I never bothered learning soldiers’ names. They expired too frequently.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
“My mama always tells me not to talk to strangers,” I said sweetly. “But if you tell me your name, you won’t be a stranger anymore.”
My voice was steady and unwavering, but my hands trembled. I’d done this plenty of times by now; I really shouldn’t be so nervous. Maybe it was adding one more tally to my list of sins. Or maybe it was the fear of something going wrong.
“I’m Pedro, baby,” he answered, visibly relaxing. “But tonight you can call me Papi.”
My lips tightened, barely tamping down my cringe. Sicko. I couldn’t wait to kill this asshole.
If my mother learned of my extracurricular activities, she’d kill me without batting an eyelash. But I couldn’t stand by and allow those poor women to have their lives destroyed. If I did nothing, then wasn’t I just as guilty?
This way, I could at least hope for a quick death once Sofia Volkov learned what her daughter did. What shehadbeen doing for years now.
As I took a step into the room, I swiftly extracted the syringe that was safely tucked in my bra. I removed the cap while observing the space. The room was dark, and the stench of urine was so strong it had a physical presence. The door to the yellow tiled bathroom was wide open, revealing a bathtub.
Bingo.
The door shut with a thud, followed by the click of the lock. My stomach roiled, but I kept myself in check as I scoped out every inch of the room.
“Shitty room,” I said in a bored tone. “Your boss must not value your services too much to put you in a cockroach motel.” Or was it a roach motel? American slang wasn’t my forte. Russian was my first language, Gaelic a close second. My formal English was perfect, but that was about where it ended.
His tall frame was in my personal space in the next breath, and I anticipated it.
He loomed over me, and sucking in a sharp breath, I twisted the syringe around in my fingers and stabbed its pointed end into his neck, pressing the plunger.
“Bitch?—”
He reared back with a roar, raised his fist, and slammed it into my face.
Pain exploded in my cheek, but I persisted. The price for any errors made tonight was too steep. He pulled his fist back again, but this time I caught it and twisted it behind him. I heaved my foot on his ass, my heel digging into it with force, then pushed him forward. Losing his balance, he collapsed face-first into the filthy carpet.
He flopped like a fish, gasping for air and clawing at his throat.
“Don’t bother expending your energy,suka blyat,” I drawled lazily, cursing him in Russian. Son of a bitch. “You’ll only die faster.” He stilled, and suddenly I had his attention. I dug my heel into his back. “You’ve been poisoned. And only I have the antidote for it.” I didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Tell me where and when the next shipment will happen, and I’ll administer it.”
He tried to speak but the words that came out were garbled.Suka blyat, did I give him too high a dose? The dude was a mountain, so I’d added an extra ounce just to be sure.
I spotted a gun holster on the armchair and casually made my way to it. “Not that I’m rushing you, but the poison will kill you in exactly”—I glanced at the clock, red digits blinking angrily—“ten minutes.”
I picked up the gun and turned around, finding my latest victim’s eyes on me. Seconds passed, and I watched him with a cold expression until he finally broke.
“Tomorrow,” he gurgled. “Ten p.m.”
I flashed him a smile—more like a grimace. “Thank you.”
“Anti—” His every syllable was labored. “An… An?—”
“Antidote?” I finished for him, and he struggled to nod. More like an eye twitch. I smiled with menace. “Didn’t I tell you,baby?” I accentuated the word while sneering. “I don’t have it on me.”
Moving around him, I reached for my clutch and pulled out a knife.
“Did you know a lady never leaves the house without a clutch?” I said quietly, eerily. “And a paintbrush.”
