Chapter Thirty-Eight
In which we learn that no matter how vile and disgusting the villain is, he can always get worse.
Ava…
I remember this guy. The New Jersey billionaire with the fake Texas accent. I remember how his wife and daughter screamed when the gunmen burst into the bathroom. How the daughter shrieked, "Take her!" as she pointed at her mother.
Will fucking Grand.
"You've caused us a lot of problems, young lady." He seats himself, putting his booted feet up on the conference table and scarring the glossy surface. Pasty, Undead Ghoul rises to pour Will a drink before moving to block the door, pale and expressionless.
"Well, I feel all kinds of bad about that," I say.
I'm feeling a giddy sort of madness, and my thoughts are racing in circles like a hound after a rabbit.
I may as well say whatever the hell I want because either Dmitri finds me in time or he's done with me and I am dead anyway.
"You're the sick bastard who's behind the trafficking ring?
" I question incredulously. "Like you don't make enough fucking money? "
"I'm a businessman," he says, taking a large smacking swallow of his drink.
"I find it distasteful, myself." He puts a hand over his chest, framing the cross he's wearing around his neck.
"But I'm not one to leave money on the table.
If there's consumer demand…" He spreads his hands out like, what's a man to do?
"How would you feel if your daughter was one of those girls for sale?" The slap is so fast. I don't even see his hand coming at me until the pain explodes on my cheek. A little spurt of blood shoots from a split in my lip.
"You shut your fucking mouth," he hisses like a viper. "You don't talk about my daughter. She's a princess. You're just useful. Well, you were as a whore. Now you're more of a cautionary tale."
In seconds, he's back to smiling affably as he tilts his head, examining me. I'm sure I look fantastic, hair half up and half down, the rips in my scrubs, scraped hands and feet from being dragged through the alley.
"My international investors are real unhappy at the attention you and the Morozov Bratva brought to our enterprise. So we will need to make a very big example of you."
Queasy, my thoughts run through all the options of 'making an example of me,' Unfortunately, after my exposure to the Morozov Bratva, I've been educated to several additional and horrifying options.
"You have to know that this is not a viable ongoing business model," I say steadily, a little proud that I'm still sitting upright. I wipe the back of my hand against my lip, drawing back with a smear of blood. "It's hard to keep that many people quiet after what you've done."
"Well, the subs I've chosen for my special projects are unconditionally loyal. When they're subcontracted by other construction companies, they install these special units in their buildings as well. Spreading the risk, I call it." He examines the tips of his cowboy boots.
My mind does the hound and rabbit thing again. Cowboy boots? The pointy toe looks so painful. Is that genuine lizard? Why did he pick a Texas accent, for fuck's sake? Dmitri said he was from New Jersey.
Focus. The voice in my head isn't mine, this time. It's Dmitri's.
Focus, he whispers.
Will is still talking, loving the sound of his own fake as shit accent.
"If any of these fools get cold feet, they'll be reminded that I hold years and years of their fraudulent government contracts, disappearing budgets, tax fraud and of course, our little enterprise," he says.
"No one's breathing a fucking word. I have a trusted circle. "
"Huh," I say, unimpressed. "That's a lot of moving parts. You have to know the Morozovs will eviscerate you for bringing human trafficking here. They'll trace it back to you. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a month from now, and they will not be turning you over to the police."
"You still haven't asked what's going to happen to you, honey," he says. "Aren't you a teensy bit worried?"
My hand keeps creeping down, trying to cover my stomach. I fold my arms instead.
Focus, Dmitri whispers.
"I guess this is the point where you like to see the captives fall to their knees, weeping and sobbing and begging for mercy?" I ask. "Which you of course will not show them because you're a sick piece of shit and you really enjoy what you do, don't you?"
Pain explodes on my cheek again, this time on the right side, so at least I'll have matching bruises.
I spit some blood out on his fancy carpet, feeling slightly badass and also, very much in pain.
Whatever he's planning, it's going to be fucking horrible.
"You will, no doubt, send videos to Dmitri to torture him, try to undercut the Morozov's authority here in New York. How am I doing so far?"
Not bad, not bad," Will allows grudgingly. "I've been waiting to put a bullet through your head. After you told us what you knew, of course. But I don't think you knew anything useful, or your new husband isn't as bright as I thought."
He rises, hitching up his dress pants.
"I'm gonna bury you alive," he says. "I've got a bit of a poetic streak and a foundation that needs pouring tonight. Morozov is never going to find your body, but I'll be sure to send him a nice, clear video."
Finishing his drink, Will slams it on his expensive walnut conference table. "You think you were suffering in your fancy new apartment, with your pretty clothes and expensive lifestyle? Ungrateful little bitch." He leans in, the bourbon on his breath is sour smelling and my stomach heaves.
Oh. Morning sickness.
Morning sickness isn't just in the morning, of course. Priya kept asking me about it.
The baby. My hand moves to cover my stomach again and I pull it back.
At four months, the baby is developing rapidly. I think. About six inches long. They have distinct fingerprints on their tiny starfish hands. At four months in utero, they can yawn, and suck their thumbs.
I will kill him first. He's not hurting my baby.
My baby, and Dmitri's. Why didn't I tell him?
He would have been so happy. I can picture Roman making some joke about their parents being pleased Dmitri 'got a ring on it' first, Ella immediately launching into a discussion about the best OB/GYN in the tri-state area.
When we were alone, Dmitri would kiss my stomach and promise to keep our baby safe.
"Do y'all think she's in shock?" Two fingers flick dismissively against my forehead. "Hell, girl. You can't lose it already. This next step? Pouring the concrete. I want you wide awake for that."