Chapter 45
Forty-Five
JULIAN
Three Months Later
My wife is upstairs, in our newly finished penthouse, learning how to make pasta from scratch with Lulu. She’s safe and happy and so fucking amazing that it still sometimes stuns me that she’s mine.
She’s all mine.
But I had to leave her so I could come down to the cell to finish a project that’s been ongoing for three months.
Elliott nods as I near the cell. My boy looks strong and fit. He’s added new tattoos to his arms and chest, and he’s dressed in dark-gray chinos with a navy button-down. I brought him on as a foot soldier last month, and so far, he’s doing me proud.
“How’s it going down here?” I ask him.
“He’s alive,” he replies steadily. I’m surprised that he volunteered for this duty, but he did it without flinching. “Barely.”
“Why are you down here, Elliott?” There’s no censure in my voice. I’m truly curious.
“Because you gave me the job.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, why did you offer to do it? You spent weeks down here, behind that door. I would think that this is the last place you’d want to be.”
He blows out a breath and shoves his hand through his hair.
“I fucked up with Natasha. I’m glad that she’s safe and that you two are happy. I really am, this isn’t some weird plot to, like, steal her away or anything.”
I narrow my eyes, and he keeps talking.
“But I feel bad for the way I treated her. I was drunk most of the time, sometimes I was high or stoned, but that’s no excuse.
You were right before, when you said that you never taught me to treat women that way.
I don’t know why I thought it was okay. I guess I feel like I owe her this.
I’ll babysit her asshole of a father until he’s dead, as sort of an unspoken favor to her. And then I’ll close the door on it.”
I reach out and cup the back of his neck. “I’m proud of you.”
His eyes, so much like my own, flare in surprise. “You are.”
“Yeah, I am. You’re doing well. Keep it up.”
Elliott swallows hard and nods. “I will. Are you going to kill him today?”
“Looks like it.”
“Good because I want the fuck out of this basement.”
I laugh and clap him on the shoulder. “Go. Send someone else in to clean up.”
Elliott nods and waits for me to go inside. I don’t bother to close the door behind me.
“Hello, Sergei.”
The man moans but doesn’t form words.
He couldn’t if he wanted to. I took his tongue a month ago.
I’ve kept him alive for ninety long days and nights. It smells like piss and shit and mold in here. Like death. Fuck knows that half the wounds on his naked body are infected, some with gangrene.
The man is rotten, from the inside out.
We keep injecting him with antibiotics, to keep him on this side of death’s door, but today, I’m finished.
It seems that death by a thousand cuts really is a thing.
“I like to make you bleed, Sergei,” I say conversationally. “I’ve always preferred knives over guns. It’s more personal. More direct. And there’s all that blood. Does it make me a little, oh, I don’t know, unhinged that I like to make men bleed so much?”
He can’t answer me, but I nod.
“I agree. We don’t judge each other for our preferences.
I dismantled the last of your empire today, so I thought I’d stop by and tell you all about how it went down.
On that first day, when we captured you and killed Viktor, who was a fucking child molester, by the way, we infiltrated your compound.
Cut comms, got right in there and killed all of your highest-ranking men first. The soldiers scattered a bit, so it took some time to round them up.
We executed the last three of those this morning. ”
I grab the box cutter from my table and casually slice his Achilles, severing it completely.
“Your wife? Thanks for asking.” I cut the other one. He doesn’t make a sound. He stopped screaming two months ago. “Don’t worry, we didn’t rape her or anything. She got a clean shot to the head. You should know, though, that she was fucking her tennis coach at the time.”
I wince, as if I’m sympathetic.
“We took care of him too. Call it a favor to you. Sorry your wife was cheating on you, man. That can’t be a good feeling.”
I shake my head and cut the inside of his elbows.
“That was number nine hundred and ninety-eight. I’ve been keeping track.”
His eyes fly to mine and I nod.
“That’s right. Death by a thousand cuts. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure. The thing is, now I only have two left.”
I slice through his lower abdomen, deep enough that some of his intestines spill out and I chuckle.
“Make that one left. Do I use it today, or do I let you suffer for another day like this.”
The man whines, and I tsk.
“You and your wife enjoyed making the love of my life hurt,” I say, keeping my voice calm and conversational. “Slap her. Punch her. Kick her. Take away something she enjoyed. But you didn’t do that for three measly months. No, you terrorized that perfect woman for years.”
I set the box cutter down and choose my favorite fillet knife.
“I love her more than anything. And the fact that you ever put your disgusting fucking hands on her in any way really pisses me off.”
I face him, man to man, and with my eyes locked on his, I swipe my arm out and slit his throat, deep enough that it almost severs his head from his body.
Without waiting to watch the blood run from his veins, I turn and walk away.
I need to get back to my wife.