Page 91 of Pay the Piper

“Self-defense classes!”

“Shh!” Another woman chimes in when Sandy gets too loud, but I can tell she’s not mad. Just concerned we’ll draw unwanted attention from the guards monitoring the room.

“We can stock a big library and help with online classes.”

“Maybe we can have a pool?”

“Oh, a pool would be awesome. Water aerobics classes—”

“I was thinking more just floating and baking in the sun,” she teases.

“That, too.”

“It’ll be an expensive undertaking, especially considering the medical support a lot of women will need.”

“Don’t worry about that. It won’t be an issue. But I will need an operations manager, and it sounds like you have lots of ideas. How do you feel about moving to Florida?”

“They’re coming in thirty seconds!” Our time-keeping friend is never wrong, and as she warns us of our impending visit and meal delivery, I’m distracted by the glorious purpose running through my veins.

“I would fucking love to move to Florida,” Sandy whispers defiantly. “There’s nothing for me here. Speaking of which, we need a legal team to make sure any woman who wants a divorce or to win custody of her children has support.”

I don’t respond as the door opens, already preparing myself to dream of my women’s retreat while Conor taunts and degrades me. He doesn’t have to force me to spread myself for him every single time he joins a meal delivery, but he revels in it. Still, it could be worse. It has been worse. And it’ll be worse than even I can imagine when Misha gets ahold of him.

Doctors, lawyers, chefs, personal trainers and defense classes…a haven for women. We can help them get jobs, degrees if they want…I know Ellie will want to help, and with her volunteering experience she’s probably got a million useful contacts in Thunder Bay.

The lights flip on, but they’re immediately dimmed, and I’m pulled out of my reverie by both the change in routine and a familiar voice, speaking softly as if to not startle the group.

“Ladies, my name is Mila. I have a team of women with me to get you out of here. You’re all going to be okay.”

Sobs of disbelief burst from some of the cages, with shocked silence emanating from others. Beside me, Sandy immediately turns to me.

“Do you know her? We’re really safe?”

“Oh, I know her. And we’re completely safe.”

As Mila approaches my cage with a master key and her team begins swiftly freeing the others, I see the murderous gleam in her eyes. She winks at me, and I laugh. Sandy looks at me like I’m crazy.

“We’re safe, but everyone involved in this operation is a dead man walking.”

Chapter 37

I’ve been in many a creepy building in my days as a Bratva assassin. I’ll even go so far as to enjoy touring them occasionally, after I’ve cleared everyone out of course. The basement of this old theater may take the cake, though. As soon as we walked in, I could feel it. The air is so thick with evil, and I know these halls have been witness to some of the most heinous horrors imaginable.

Relief floods me at the thought that we found Abby before she had to come here. Not that Conor’s basement was much better. Still, having her safely guarded gives me the peace of mind I need to complete this mission. We sent the other women back to Thunder Bay on one of our jets. As soon as we get this handled, we’ll sort through everything and make sure they’re taken care of. I’d feel even better if I had her with me, but she’s being guarded by our best men, including Mila. There’s no one else I would trust to watch over my girl, and I know now why I was the only one she trusted with Thatcher. Hell, I’m struggling enough as it is.

The threat is gone. You killed every last soldier of Conor’s, save for the ones with him now, and have him totally surrounded.

The plan to take out his entire outfit didn’t originally include me as the one and only assassin, but I couldn’t resist. Gabri insisted that we had plenty of men for the cleanup and that there were better uses of my time. But I learned long ago that the only way to make sure someone is dead is to kill them yourself.

I also learned that the best way to make sure someone is dead is to cut off their head. Which is why I have one hundred and thirty-one heads strung up like balloons in the auditorium of this “pageant” or whatever the fuck the rat bastard calls them.

House by house, bunk by bunk, I took them out in the night, like a death Santa. Next time, I should totally wear a Santa suit. Maybe they won’t scare as easily that way. The defecation gets old. Of course, I could just kill them in their sleep and avoid that altogether. But seeing the moment they realize that their pathetic life is about to end is half the fun.

Gabri convinced me to let our men handle the bidders, as long as I got to pick who did the job. So while two of our best men, Rusev and Kirill, stealthily take care of the audience, I’m waiting backstage with the Santori brothers, Teddy, and Thatcher.

“This is why I stay hairless.” Thatcher is the first one to get his dress on at such a speed that I wonder…“You never know.”

“Women don’t have to be hairless,” I sigh. I’m really not in the mood for his antics right now. I would have preferred for him to stay home altogether. I’m not sure who told him about the mission in the first place, between Teddy and Mila. When he asked if he could join, my answer was a resounding no. But then he went and pouted to Mila and of course the spoiled brat always gets his way…