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Vladimir walks down the well-lit stairs to where a guard stands at the bottom. Taking his gun from his waistband, he hands it to the guard, who places it on a table where a bottle of vodka and shot glasses are set out to look like a preview to a celebration.
“Gentlemen,” Vladimir says, motioning at the table for them to disarm as well.
One by one, they lay their weapons on the table.
When the guard pats them down for concealed guns and knives, Vladimir says, “My apologies for the necessary precautions, but you know how heated we men can get when the testosterone levels run high.”
Everyone laughs at that, except Oleg’s uncle. He glances at Oleg. “I don’t like this.”
Lowering his head to Oleg’s ear, Vladimir says in a conspiratorial tone, “I don’t need to remind you that Volkov could already be on his way here as we speak. We have one shot at taking him out. If we fuck it up…” He leaves the sentence hanging, letting Oleg imagine the worst.
Oleg commands his uncle with a flick of his head. Like the rest of the men, his uncle disarms and hands over the gun strapped to his ankle.
“Through here.” Vladimir motions at the door down the hallway that his guard opens. “I have a surprise waiting for you.”
Oleg tenses at surprise. “What’s inside there?”
Vladimir gives him a pat on the back. “Go see for yourself.”
Oleg’s uncle is the lamb who sacrifices himself for the slaughter and goes in first. Sticking his head back around the frame, he says with a frown, “It’s a woman.”
“A woman?” Oleg asks, sounding confused.
Equally baffled, the uncle replies, “Handcuffed.”
“Go on,” Vladimir says, hardly able to contain the spark of excitement igniting inside him.
Oleg catches that spark. His eyes gleam with wicked intent as he forgets to be frightened and goes inside to see which whore Vladimir is gifting him and his men. He’s done it before. It’s only natural that Oleg believes the lie.
When Oleg and his entire crew are inside, Vladimir’s men pick up their guns and follow. The guard locks the door.
Oleg blinks at the fearful woman in the cheap, revealing clothes who’s handcuffed to the metal frame of the bed. Her thin arms and legs are dirty, and her bleached hair is oily. Usually, they go for high-class hookers, and they like to play dress-up. Oleg’s favorite is a dominatrix uniform and a whip.
“Why is she dressed like that?” Oleg asks, wrinkling his nose. “She looks like a whore you snatched from a street corner.” He turns on his heel. “What’s going on, Vlad?”
Vladimir’s men pull their guns.
Oleg raises his hands, palms out. “Vladimir.” His voice trembles. “What are you doing?”
“On your knees,” Vladimir grits out. “All of you.”
When they don’t react, Vladimir takes a gun from one of his men and slams the weapon against the side of Oleg’s head.
Oleg drops to his knees.
“Down,” Vladimir says, pointing the barrel between Oleg’s eyes.
One by one, Oleg’s men kneel.
Good. They should be crawling in the dirt at his feet.
“Fucking traitor,” Vladimir says. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“Please.” Oleg cowers with his hands in front of his face. “Bes blackmailed me. He said he’d kill my family if I didn’t give him the information.” When Vladimir only grins, Oleg cries out, “He tricked me.”
Vladimir sneers. “I know that, you motherfucking stupid idiot.”
“He told you,” Oleg says, tripping over the words. “It’s Bes who told you. He’s playing us, Vladimir. He’s playing both of us.”
“Do you really think I’m dumb?” Vladimir caresses the trigger with his finger. “It was a test. My test. One you failed miserably.”
“Vladimir,” Oleg begs.
And that, very fittingly, is the last word he says.
Vladimir pulls the trigger.
The whore screams as Oleg falls backward like the dead weight he is.
All hell breaks loose. Oleg’s men try to disarm Vladimir’s guards, but it’s nothing but a futile show of bravery. They die like they should, with bullets in the backs of their heads.
Executed.
Wiping blood splatters from his hand, Vladimir says to his man in charge, “Clean up this mess and shut that woman up.”
“Gladly,” the man says, aiming his gun between her eyes and pulling the trigger.
The high-pitched screaming stops.
Finally. Sweet silence.
Vladimir climbs over the bodies, making his way to the door. “Next,” he says to himself, looking back at the massacre from the doorframe, “is Volkov.”
23
Kate
Whereas the gala dinner pleased Alex, it had the opposite effect on me. Dania’s words repeat in my mind as I go downstairs for breakfast. Alex may never let me have a life again, and he may never love me. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that love isn’t part of the equation. Would he have ripped me from everything and everyone I care about if he truly loved me? I doubt that. Love is selfless. Obsession, on the other hand, is selfish.
