Page 103 of Kept in the Dark
“At least tell me who sent you,” he wheezes, eyeing the knife with a glint of resignation and determination in his eye. He will not fight me,but he will meet his end with a modicum of dignity. “I thought at first Gorchev or perhaps Wozniak, but you are nobratok.”
I spin the knife in my grip, watching him watch the blade flash in the eerie blue-toned fluorescent lights. On a whim, I lie, “Kyle.”
All at once, his entire demeanor shifts. Rage boils in his expression. “What?” he hisses, pulling against his ties. “He is alive?! That little… I gave himeverything! This is how he repays me? I should have known that son of a whore would betray me like this!”
“Guess we know Kyle was acting outside the family business. Sounds like they don’t even know he’s alive, much less what he took from them. Good one, Big D.”
He continues to thrash against his bonds, switching to Russian to curse Kyle and his entire line. Then he begins cursing me, struggling so viciously that his chair nearly tips.
“Whoa,”Wesley’s voice is so soft I must strain to hear him over the stream of Russian threats.“There’s… a lot on here. I’m going to… erm, need some time to sort it all out.”Wesley is not unshakable, but I have not heard his voice this strained and distinctly uncomfortable in some time.
“What is it? Anything we might still need him alive for?”
He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his tone has hardened to something nearly unrecognizable.“No, it’s…”his voice breaks, and he clears it again.“Little girls. I… this is horrifying. Let’s just say that he deserves the most painful death in your repertoire, Dimitri.”
Just as well. I am done asking questions, particularly as Viktor has begun the bartering phase. “Whatever he is paying you, it is nothing compared to what I will pay you. Tell me where he is, tell me where my drive is, help me kill that—”
Generally, I prefer more of a fight, but even under these less-than-satisfying circumstances, there is no greater rush of power than holding another man’s life in your hands and deciding to take it. It is sick, perhaps, and made even worse by a lack of remorse. I do not know if James andWesley experience the same, or if it is just me. It is not something we discuss.
His hate-filled speech dissolves into screams as I slide the knife into his shoulder in just the spot that severs the carotid artery. Because I am a man of my word, it is the quick death I promised in exchange for the information, though I no longer believe he deserves it. I am splattered with red by the unavoidable spray, and Viktor is unconscious in five seconds, asleep as his life’s blood runs a staining river down his chest, to the floor, and creeps towards the drain.
Once he is dead, I feel nothing. The act of killing him arouses nothing more than the satisfaction of successfully completing our mission. He wasBratvascum. And one day, if I am killed similarly, my killer should feel no remorse because I am not better than him—just much harder to kill.
By the time I have finished cleaning his blood down the drain and rinsing away the bleach, much of the adrenaline has worn off, allowing every painful sensation in my body to return. My right hand aches fiercely, a dull throb that I cannot shake away, and the area on my abdomen where one of Viktor’s guards got in a good hit before I slit his throat is sore and bruised.
I wash away the bloodstains on my bare skin as best I can in the large sink just outside the meat freezer, then discard my clothing in favor of something clean from the go-bag in my trunk for the drive home. Wesley returned to the house to start processing the USB on his larger computer ages ago, and James is disposing of the pieces of the body, so I will be driving myself.
My mind is elsewhere for the entire ride, filled with blood and nauseating concerns that have nothing to do with the life I took tonight.
It is done.
Kyle may be alive, but he was not working with his uncle, so there is no reason to believe that the remaining Volkeviches know anything aboutNicole. We have unlocked the USB. It is only a matter of time before we will unravel its mysteries, and once we do, she can…
What? Leave?
No.
She speaks of her job with longing. She tries to hide her boredom from me. She enjoys the pleasure I give and take, but it is not enough. She needs more.
I wish I could think of a way to be enough. To make her want to stay. I would give her anything—everything—except the only thing she wants.
Freedom.
What if this is our last night?
When I arrive home, I move silently through the house to the backyard. It is very late, and all the lights are out in the pool house. Nicole must be sleeping—that is good. She sleeps deeply, and I need to shower and clean up the wounds on my hand before she sees me.
I stalk towards the building, feeling wild. Unhinged. My heart beats harder and faster the closer I get, and I want nothing more than to wake her. Take her. Pour myself into her.
Fuck. And she would let me. My generous, passionate, beautifulmed. She would open her arms and her legs and let me take whatever I wanted from her.
Ineedthat. I need her. Too much.
By now, I know how her strength matches my own and how her body opens and fits me so perfectly. Even as out of control as I currently feel, I know that I will not hurt her. But that does not mean she deserves… whatever I want to unleash on her. And if I see her lying in my bed, I may not be able to stop myself. My control hangs by the thinnest thread.
I should return to the house, sleep in my old room. She should not see me like this, or I will scare her.
But I need her. Need her to soften and soothe the hard edges of my terrible, monstrous mind, so full of rage and destruction and triumph.It is ironic, perhaps, that a man like me—who prides and defines himself by his strength—is too weak to do what I should. I go to the pool house, pulled to her like a rope is tied around my middle.
