20. Andrei #2
Right on cue, the front door opens and slams shut, a single set of footsteps shuffling through the living room, muffled as he makes his way onto the rug. I wait a while longer, listening to the sound of him throwing himself down on the hideous leather couch, then drunken snoring.
I wait another five minutes before I return to the living room, rolling my eyes at the way his arm is thrown over his eyes and how he wears the stench of debauchery like a favored coat. Booze, sweat, and cheap perfume fill the room in a nauseating mixture.
I’m willing to bet that if I looked close enough, he’s still covered in a sheen of body glitter from whichever stripper had the misfortune of spending an hour with him.
A quick glance at the heavy curtain shows it’s undisturbed.
The whole space is a perfect reflection of Pavel. Brutal lines, repugnant red walls, and disgusting art pieces on the wall that look like something he would’ve had to talk the interior decorator into. The curtains are closed tightly over the windows, blocking out the lights of the city below.
For a moment, the heavy fabric is reminiscent of his father’s office, and I wonder if it’s intentional or not. Either way, they work in my favor, so I choose not to think about it too much.
I crouch next to him, watching his chest heaving, even in his sleep. It’s as if he’s climbed a mountain instead of drinking himself into a stupor. I wait several long minutes before they finally even out and then decide fuck it .
I roll my neck, remembering the way Blair’s eyes were still red when she woke up this morning, and stand for leverage before I punch him in the face, a satisfying crunch immediately following.
He jolts awake, gasping wetly as he scrambles into a sitting position, swinging at the empty air in front of him.
Blood flows steadily from his nose as he blinks, and I take a single step back when he swings hard enough that he falls forward, nearly tumbling off the couch in his panic.
I don’t normally take pleasure in killing people. It’s a dangerous habit to fall into, and I don’t want to do anything that will add any risk to the rest of my life. Especially now that Blair’s in it.
But I’m sick and tired of Pavel, and the prospect of killing him feels like a reward for all the shit he’s put me through.
Right now, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yells when his watery eyes clear enough to see me standing before him. He sways as he pats himself down for a weapon. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, suka ?”
“Not today.”
His face is red, and his movements are jerky as he steps toward me. I shake out my fist and punch him again, sending him stumbling back onto the couch. I feel the skin on my knuckles split open, but the pain is more than worth the sight of his busted lip and obviously broken nose.
He lunges toward me, stumbling over his feet when I sidestep him.
Hitting him felt good, but I’m not looking for this to become a whole fight. He’s drunk enough that it’s worth losing the advantage of surprise, but I don’t want to give him a chance to let his adrenaline sober him up.
As he falls, he grabs onto my arm, pulling me down to the floor on top of him. Using my weight to pin him in place, I grab blindly at the couch. With a pillow or cushion, this can be done within a matter of minutes.
He snarls, rolling to flip us while I’m distracted. The edge of the coffee table hits my shoulder right on the nerve. I hiss in a breath as he throws me off him, flexing my arm to try to stave off any cramps.
“What’s your fucking problem?” Pavel sneers, tearing away from my grasp as he scrambles to his feet. As long as he’s moving away from me, I’m fine. The only thing he can do to cause me any issue is walk out the front door, and I’m standing long before he gets the chance.
I’m smirking when he pivots, rushing toward the kitchen, probably in search of a knife. Lucky for me, Pavel’s doesn’t seem like the type to cook much. When I checked the room, other than a standard set of silverware and a single, matching set of dishes, it was bare of any suitable weapons.
He swears as he pulls open a drawer, finding it empty.
Grabbing the collar of his shirt, I pull him back and twist as I slam him against the wall.
His eyes dart around wildly as he tries to slip free, his nostrils flaring.
Before he can brace to swing out again, I pin a hand around his throat, squeezing tight.
His hands claw against my sleeves as he tries to push me back.
In an ideal world, I’d beat him to death. I’d make sure he feels every moment of his suffering before I finally snapped his neck .
There’s a gurgling noise, the capillaries in his eyes bursting as his attempts to fight back grow weaker with each passing moment.
We’re about the same size, but Pavel’s slow. That doesn’t make it a quick or easy process to strangle him, though. It always takes ages, and it’s harder than you think. Even when he eventually passes out, I have to keep up the pressure until I’m beyond sure his heart is no longer beating.
I can’t afford to gamble on this. Not when the price could be Blair’s life.
I count the seconds, waiting a full two minutes after his hands fall away and his legs go limp before I let go. As Pavel crumples to the ground without any support, I’m filled with a sense of disgust.
He has caused so much unnecessary grief for everyone associated with his father that it’s a wonder no one’s done this for me yet.
A quick glance around the room tells me that everything is still in order.
The furniture has moved a little thanks to our tussle, but there isn’t any debris to pick up, and his shirt soaked up most of the blood that poured from his nose.
Still, I take a moment to wash the remnants off my hands, wanting to rid myself of any part of this.
If I want to, I can move his body and stage it somewhere, put on a whole production to pull Maksim’s attention elsewhere when Pavel’s finally found, but honestly? Neither of them is worth the effort .
I leave his corpse in a heap in the kitchen, only taking time to wipe my fingerprints off his doorknob as I close it behind me, leaving it unlocked just like he would have.