17. Roman
CHAPTER 17
Roman
Some would say curiosity is a bad thing. It can get you into trouble if you aren’t careful. I have always disagreed.
Curiosity can be a good thing in the right circumstance. It can lead you to discover information you never would have otherwise, if you search deep enough for it.
My kitty cat falls asleep at my side without a clue what she’s done. She thought she was sharing information that would be forgotten. That would go unchecked.
But she’s wrong.
She’s dozing softly at my side while I’m plotting my next massacre. Yet another addition to the record books.
Leonid will meet a grisly fate. It has already been decided, even if he’s unaware and my father disagrees.
Leonid must die for what he’s done. Perhaps not right now—the fat motherfucker is under the protection of my father so long as he’s at his residence—but he will be taken care of.
In the meantime, a new target has been added to my running list. I make a mental note to look into the background of my kitty cat. More than I already have.
A message is sent to my main soldier, Kazan, telling him to pull the records for her. Anything he can find on her childhood and history as an orphan.
The morning sun is rising when my phone buzzes with updates from Kazan. All it took was a couple late-night hours for him to dig everything up.
found the foster family. richard and debra hudson
current address is in west garfield
I grunt to myself, then quickly send a response.
ready some men. have the vehicle waiting for me. we are going on a side quest.
I put my phone down and glance at the other side of the bed. Katerina hasn’t moved in hours. She’s bundled up under the thick duvet, resting almost as deeply as she had the other night after her attack. She was out for hours. No amount of noise disturbed her.
It’s the same now as my phone vibrates and I’m wide awake. She hasn’t fully recovered yet.
My hand reaches out to stroke the back of her head. For all her complaints about sleeping in my bed, she’s at peace. Her sleep isn’t the fitful, distressed kind. Her body’s relaxed as if subconsciously she recognizes no danger is around. She’s in a safe space.
“You will come to like being here, devochka,” I whisper. “You will enjoy being mine.”
I’m coming out of the shower when she wakes up. I walk out wrapping the towel around my waist as she’s sitting up looking drowsy and confused, like she’s questioning her surroundings. Then her pretty brown eyes land on me and widen in surprise.
It all comes back to her. She remembers where she is.
But I’m much more interested in how my kitty cat looks first thing in the morning.
Her nightgown has slipped partially off, the strap hanging on her upper arm and the neckline tugged so low, I can almost see her fucking titties. I can already see her puffy dark nipples poking against the silk, as if begging to be free.
I must look wolfish, because she realizes where my hungry gaze is focused and hurries to cover her chest. Her arms come up and she tries to fix the way the nightgown hangs on her body.
“Too late, devochka,” I taunt. “I already saw you. There is no hiding from me.”
“How are you such a pervert so early in the morning? Most people need coffee first.”
I grin at her, crossing the room to the closet. “Because there is work to get done. I will be gone most of the day. You will remain here.”
“But—”
“Behave yourself. You don’t want to be punished, do you?”
Her expression that follows is a funny one. A mix between fear and curiosity, like she’s wondering just what kind of punishment would come if she really did disobey.
“Where are you going?” she asks, appearing in the closet doorway.
I’m sliding into my pants. I throw a glance at her from over my shoulder. “I’ve told you. My work is none of your concern. Pets do not need to know the inner workings of the bratva.”
“I’m not a pet.”
Zipping up my pants, I stalk toward her. My fingers curl around her jaw and I tip her face up toward mine. “You’re right, devochka. You are not a pet. You are my pet.”
I’m tempted to kiss her lips. Find out for myself if they feel as soft and pillowy as they look. I barely resist, reminding myself there will be time for that soon.
But, first, it’s time to handle some business.
“Deb, didn’t I tell you about leaving the back door unlocked?” grumbles Richard Hudson. He’s balding with a cockeye and gut that hangs over the front of his pajama pants. Armpit stains darken the otherwise faded undershirt he has on, so dingy no amount of detergent or bleach will ever make it truly clean again.
He shuffles into the kitchen scratching his ass and pulling the refrigerator door open.
“Deb? DEB!”
“God damn it, Rich, WHAT?!” his wife hollers back.
“Where’s my meatloaf? You said you saved me some!”
“In the goddamn microwave where it always is!”
He slams the refrigerator shut hard enough for it to rattle and mutters under his breath, “How can I forget, fat bitch? Probably about to eat it yourself.”
He presses the buttons on the microwave, setting the timer to two minutes. He’s moving onto the drawer to grab a knife and fork when we make ourselves known.
Me and my men step out from where we’ve been lurking, filling out the space in the small kitchen all at once.
Richard screams and jumps back. The knife and fork slip out of his hand and clatter on the tiled floor.
“Who—what—HOW!?” he chokes out. “Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you think you’re doing in my home!?”
I click my tongue, standing in front of my group of men. “Is that any way to greet visitors to your home, Richie? I expect more hospitality.”
“Hospitality? For what reason? Get the fuck outta my house!”
“Richard!” crows his wife from the other room. “Who are you talking to?”
“Will you be useful for once in your goddamn life and call the police?!” he snaps back. “We’ve got intru— ACK !”
He hacks out a cough as my arm whips out to grip him by the throat and cut him off mid-sentence.
“Ah-ah,” I say. “I’m not an intruder, Richie. I’m a concerned citizen paying you a visit.”
He paws uselessly at my hand clenched around his throat. His eyes bulge as I demonstrate the extent of my strength and lift him off the ground. His feet dangle several inches above the kitchen tiles as I hold him up like he’s a puny ragdoll.
Compared to a massive and powerful behemoth like me, he is.
He’s helpless in my hold, his otherwise limp and shapeless body giving a tremble of fear.
“Please,” he sputters. “Please!”
“No please,” I say calmly. My grip tightens on his throat, feeling his muscles work desperately for air. “I have questions, Richie. I’ve heard some things about you.”
“Richard… Richard, what’s going on—OH MY LORD!” his wife screams as she comes trotting into the kitchen in her robe and slippers. The color leaves her face and she stumbles backward, almost tipping over.
I give a nod of my head.
Two of my men rush forward to subdue her. No force is necessary, as she doesn’t put up a fight. They grip her by the arms and hold her in place as she breaks into immediate sobs.
“Richard… what’s… Richard!” she cries.
My gaze swings from her to the red-faced ugly fuck who I’m strangling. He’s squirming in my grasp, kicking his legs out and swatting at my hand.
“Would you like to know what I’ve heard about you? Both of you?” I ask without waiting for their answer. I open my hand and let Richard drop to the ground in a heap. “I’ve heard you were foster parents. You once took in an orphan and promised to care for her. A girl by the name of Katerina Everly. Does that sound familiar?”
One of my men still behind me takes the cue and steps forward to brandish an old photograph of Katerina from many years ago. It’s the one that was found with the intake record of her foster home.
In the photo, a hesitant thirteen-year-old Katerina gives a small, shy smile to the camera, her t-shirt faded and her hair hidden under a knitted hat. She doesn’t have the appearance of a young girl well-taken care of, right down to the sadness in her eyes.
I stared at the photo the entire drive down here, yearning to take away my kitty cat’s pain. Though she hasn’t shared much, she’s suffered often in her life.
Richard gasps for air, catching his breath, and takes one bitter look at the photo.
“Oh. That little bitch?” he spits. “What about her?”
“Richard!” his wife Debra whines.
“Shut up, you cow! Can’t you see now is not the time?”
I snap my fingers in front of his face to force his attention. “What about her? The little bitch? Is that how you speak of her, Richie?”
“You don’t know her like I know her. If you’re here ’cuz she’s gotten herself in deep shit, just know we haven’t seen her in years! We can’t help you find her!”
“Please let us go,” Debra weeps. Tears streak down her face as if expecting sympathy. “H-he’s right. We… we don’t know where she is.”
“That girl was trouble,” Richard goes on, growing more defiant. He pushes himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. “Caught her stealing money from under the mattress. Snuck out at night all the time. Failed her classes and got in trouble for kissing some boy in a stairwell. She knew what she was doing—she tried to ruin my life. Had the nerve to say I took advantage. She was a no good, rotten criminal in the making. Nothing but a little thieving slut?—”
No one is quicker than I am in a physical confrontation.
This is one of those moments as Richard goes from ranting about a thirteen-year-old girl to being shanked in the stomach by my blade.
He grunts at the impact, his jaw dropping open in shock. Blood immediately spills past his lips and soaks through the fabric of his ratty shirt.
Debra screams.
I’m unmoved by the theatrics. My dark gaze remains linked with Richard’s wide-eyed shocked one as I walk him backward ’til he’s pressed up against the wall.
“Guess what, Richie?” I ask. “That little bitch… that little thieving slut… is very special to me. And she told me what you did to her. So now I will kill you.”
The scene becomes nothing but a messy, gory slaughtering. I drive the large knife up through Richard’s insides, gutting him like a fish ’til he’s cut completely open and his intestines are flopping out onto the kitchen floor.
My men put an end to Debra’s cries with a quick bullet to the head. The wife who had so eagerly sided with her piece of shit husband dies on the spot. Her eyes remain open, the tears still wet on her cheeks.
We leave them like that, dead and bleeding out in their home.
It’s a deserving end for two horrible people, but most importantly, my kitty cat has been avenged.
Katerina looks disturbed when I walk through the door with blood splattered on my clothes. She’s curled up on the living room sofa reading a magazine. She sits up, dripping curiosity at the sight of me.
I stride past her into the bedroom.
Only a couple seconds pass before she follows, showing up in the doorway.
“What…” she starts, then swallows. “What did you do?”
“Work.”
“Work?! You’re covered in blood!”
I give a dark laugh as I tug off my shirt and begin undoing my pants. “Devochka, you’re more innocent than I thought if a little blood scares you.”
“A little blood?! You’re drenched in it!” She pauses before taking a couple cautious steps forward. “What were you doing?”
“Trust me, devochka, you don’t want to know. You don’t have the stomach for it.”
As I walk off toward the bathroom, she seems to take my words as a challenge. The soft pad of her footsteps trails after me until she’s stopped at the threshold and I’m at the shower, twisting on the knobs.
“The stomach for what? What did you do?”
I decide I won’t keep the truth from her. As far as this situation is concerned, she can know what I’ve done. My back still turned on her, I fuss with the shower knobs until hot water sprays out of the showerhead and I’m tugging down the last piece of clothing I’m wearing. I step out of my boxers and tell her what I’ve been up to.
“Today I went to West Garfield. I found the home of your foster parents and I murdered them.”
“Wha… you… you what?” she sputters out. She pads a couple steps closer. “My foster parents!?”
“You heard me, kitty cat,” I answer blasély. “Richard Hudson and his wife, Debra, yes? They’re dead now.”
Silence follows my revelation.
Silence that goes on for a long time. So long that I glance over my shoulder before bothering to step into the shower.
Katerina remains where she is, shock having frozen her to the spot. Her brows are high and her eyes are wide, and she blinks and blinks like she can’t believe what she’s been told. I turn the rest of the way around to face her, my demeanor a challenge in itself.
Never mind that I’m naked.
I’m still powerful and dominant. I’m a formidable force issuing a challenge to her.
…what are you going to do about it?
There are many options. She could cry and scream, upset that I would hurt people from her past. She could retch in disgust and dash off to get away from me. She could launch into more annoying questions like the nosy, curious kitten she can sometimes be.
None of these things happen.
Katerina comes out of her stupor and starts toward me. Her footsteps are fast as she closes the gap between us and throws herself into my arms.
I catch her, for once surprised by the turn of events. Even more surprised when my kitty cat presses her soft mouth to mine.