28 #2
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“I think I should change his nickname to Microwave. That would suit him better.”
Back at home, I go to the bathroom. I start preparing the bathtub, filling it with hot water and adding some salts.
My eyes fall on a red rose in the window, but before I can get close to it, vibrations on my phone distract me.
Feeling that tingling sensation in my stomach as I read who it is, I quickly open our chat.
Alek: I’ll send someone to pick you up tomorrow around six.
I open the trunk of the car. The man from earlier is there, gagged. I can’t help but smile when I see his expression of pure terror. Sergei, behind us, moves his head in disapproval before speaking.
“I don’t think this is a good idea. He’s Norman’s right-hand man. Basically the new boss of the cartel. Are you trying to start some kind of war now?”
“I know who he is, Sergei. I just want to send him a message,” I say. Denis and my men immobilize the man while I stand in front of him. I roughly rip the piece of tape off his lips.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with. You’re going to pay for this,” he says, and I laugh mockingly.
I force my fingers inside his eyes until I can dig deep inside his tight eye sockets and find the optic nerves.
Then I pull out the two moist, sticky spheres.
With a gesture, I signal to Denis to hand me a pair of scissors, and once I have them, I cut the nerves.
A yellowish liquid mixed with his blood runs down his cheeks.
The nerves are left hanging slightly from the cheekbone and I hand the eyeballs to Denis, who catches them with a bright smile.
I stick the scissors into the gap I left, destroying everything in their path and causing a torrent of blood that splatters my face and black tee.
I wrap a handkerchief around his empty eye sockets, filled with blood and shredded flesh, and my men let him go.
The man falls to his knees with a thud, touching the place where his eyes should have been with an expression of pain and utter horror.
“Nice eyes, buddy,” Denis scoffs, trying to imitate his Mexican accent.
“Too bad you don’t have them anymore.” He pats him on the back with his free hand, then places the eyes on top of his own, as if they were glasses.
“They even suit me better than this pendejo,” he blurts out with a laugh.
A malicious gleam appears in his green eyes that does not bode well.
Not for the man who is still writhing on the ground. “I have an idea. Hold him down, Vlad.”
Vlad, another of my trusted men, punches the Mexican, knocking him unconscious. My cell phone vibrates with a new message from her just as Denis straddles the man with a knife in his hand and grabs his hair in a fist.
Love: I miss you :(
My heart skips a beat as I read the message with a smile.
The man’s screams distract me from responding immediately.
When I look up, I see Denis removing the handkerchief from his eyes and drawing a line on his forehead before sliding the blade across his left temple and continuing down to his cheek.
Then he inserts the knife, carving until he separates the skin from the muscle with gurgling sounds while Sergei watches everything, amused.
Me: Me too, beautiful :((
I want to call her, but with the screams and violent sounds in front of me, I can’t. She would ask questions. Denis’s hysterical laughter fills the room once more as the man lying beneath him faints from the pain.
Love: Are you coming tonight?
Me: I will always come to you.
I send the message before even opening the photo she sends below. She is leaning against the headboard of her bed and wearing an almost transparent tank top that hugs her curves like a second skin. Her legs are totally naked, except for her lingerie panties.
“Stop that! We’re leaving,” I bark into the air, shoving the phone back in my pants.
I don’t wait for the others to follow me before getting into the car. Denis is the next to follow me. The bloody remains of the Mexican’s face are now stretched over his own. Sergei looks at him with a grimace from the back seat before speaking.
“You’re fucking insane.” Denis just smiles under his new mask, then opens his phone’s camera and focuses it on his face, taking a couple of selfies.
“Polina will like it. I heard women like masked men. Isn’t that right, Vlad?” Vlad is probably the only one of us who would support his bullshit.
“You look ridiculous,” I murmur with the hint of a smile, sliding my phone out of my pocket and opening our chat.
First, I have to take a shower. I don’t know if it is a bad habit that my broken mind got used to after so many years of abuse, but keeping myself clean and the things around me in their proper order helps me maintain the control and peace that has been denied to me for so long.
It helps me keep the chaos in my head at bay.
“Wait. I… I want to talk to you about something,” Polina says as I’m about to go up the stairs. I look at her with boredom, leaning on the stair railing. “I’m really sorry about the other day. I didn’t know what I was doing, I just wasn’t myself.”
“You'd be better off apologizing to yourself for doing so many stupid things. Maybe then you’ll learn to have some dignity,” I reply sharply, ignoring the sudden glint in her eyes.
“And whatever is starting to form in your head, get rid of it. I don’t want it.
” I frown as a tear slides down her pale cheek.
I know firsthand the crazy things love could lead you to do, but I never in a million years thought I would be the target of her stupidity.
Before I can take a single step, Sergei comes up behind me and taps my shoulder to get my attention.
“We need to talk about something.” I snort, urging him with my eyes to speak. “Not here.”
The hallways echo with the sound of his shoes. Once we’re in the office, the door makes a slight noise as it closes.
“What is it now?” I mutter impatiently, sitting down in the armchair.
“I think we fucked up when we buried that French guy.” I tense my jaw, sliding my arms across the table until I’m just inches away from him.
“Explain yourself,” I say, a barely perceptible threat in my voice.
“I’m saying someone found us out or some shit like that, I don’t know. The other day I got an anonymous message with an invitation to a fucking funeral with my name on it and a cross-shaped funeral wreath. Right under my fucking nose.”
“Are you fucking with me?” I spit out, tilting my head after a moment. He shakes his head.
“You know I made sure everything was perfect myself. I… I don’t know what happened.”
I bite the tip of my tongue, thinking about the time we had to go back to get the damn cell phone. The spot was untouched when we buried the fucking body. It’s impossible that anyone could have seen us.