49. Octavia
The bag jerks beneath my fist.
I give it a wide berth, waiting for it to swing back before striking again. I should be wearing the gloves to protect my fists for what’s to come. Vasiliy would tell me to wear my gloves.
We’re leaving for the airport as soon as the jet refuels. I should be packing, or planning, or scrubbing the blood from the carpets upstairs.
It’s difficult to remember the girl who balked at her first few kills. Especially when my only measure of calmness comes from replaying the sound of my bullets hitting true. I think about it again and again. Their widening eyes. Bodies crumbling to the floor.
I remember the way Paxton’s blood tasted.
It’s not enough.
I want more.
I fight the bag until sweat burns my eyes and air becomes scarce.
If a single question cost three drops, how much was my father’s life force worth? Maybe that line of thinking is why I can’t bear to wash it off my body. The dry substance flakes off my fists with every hit and turns my sweat into red rivulets.
“Uh, ma’am?”
I wonder which man fired the killing shots. They’re all dead now, but I wish I’d had the forethought to keep some alive. To take my time with revenge.
“Ma’am.”
I glance over my shoulder.
Something in my expression causes the man to shuffle a step backward. Or maybe that’s because he watched me end two of our own soldiers’ lives not twenty minutes earlier.
“I-I’m sorry to interrupt—”
“What is it?” I snap, cutting off the stammering.
“The Pakhan’s…your father’s phone is ringing.”
By the time I step into Dad’s office, the room is already full.
Alex, Nik, and a few of our higher-ranking men stand around the desk as if it were a podium. Maksim hovers by the window, gazing out to the courtyard below. No one dares to sit in my father’s worn, leather chair.
That wise choice, alone, allows them to keep breathing.
The phone’s incessant ring keels through the space as I step through the collection of bodies and make my way to the seat.
Being on this side of the desk only makes reality that much fuzzier.
I don’t glance toward the side table by the bookshelves, where a chess game has been abandoned mid-match.
The glass from the broken window has already been swept up.
Everyone eyes my bloody knuckles as I lean forward and pick up the call, setting it to speaker.
“Hello?”
A low chuckle greets me. “Sasha bites the dust, and all hell breaks loose over there. Stop wasting my time and put someone worthy of my station on the phone.”
I will spill your blood.
“Sure,” I drawl, leaning closer. “Though I believe it will be some time before our janitorial staff is free to speak. Maybe you could let me know what rank on the totem pole calls to you?”
Ben steps forward, his glare hot and sharp as it digs into my cheek. He doesn’t approve of the goading.
“Insolent bitch,” the voice hisses. “I should’ve ended your life the day you were born.”
“Ah,” I say, infusing interest into the word. “Do I know you?”
There’s something strange about finally hearing my grandfather’s voice. Despite the circumstances, I can’t help but think of my mother. How did she survive so long in a house with a man like this?
“If you do not put someone else on the phone in the next ten seconds, there will be nothing left to trade with. I’ll slit the boy’s throat myself.”
A flare of panic slithers up my spine.
We may be related, but this man has no interest in me. With a single finger, I push the phone across the wood to Alex.
I will end his life myself. Not with a bullet. Something slower—something that carves through his skin and makes him twitch for long minutes. It will be bloodshed worthy of my parents’ honor.
“What are your terms?” Alex asks.
“You better wrangle some control in that compound of yours, Siderov—”
“Your terms,” Alex repeats, impatience leaking into the words.
“Watch how you speak to me,” Popov says with a huff. “I have something you consider priceless, after all. Isn’t that right?”
Alex doesn’t speak for a long time before answering. “Yes.”
Popov chuckles. “Excellent. Then you’ll be more than happy to hand over your territory in exchange for your dear, priceless son.”
I hold my hand up to stop Alex. Ripping a nearby slip of paper, I scrawl my messy words as quickly as possible and slide it over. Alex glances down with a nod before responding.
“How long do I have to agree to this deal?”
I pick at the scab on my hand as we wait.
“I’m feeling generous. Let’s make it a week. But for that kindness, you’ll give me something else as well.”
A slow, bloody death. My scab falls, blood prickling across the skin.
“My granddaughter will return to my compound, and she will wed a soldier of my choosing.”