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“Is this him? The one who took you?” Pasha asks. His voice is strained as if he’s speaking through gritted teeth.
I swallow the bile that has suddenly risen up my throat. “Yes.”
Pasha nods and takes the phone from my hand. He grasps my chin between his fingers, tilting my head up until our gazes meet. “We’ve got all the names. Everyone who was involved. The Bratva will deal with the rest of their organization, but I told Pakhan that this one is mine.” He leans forward and presses his forehead to my own. “You said you wanted to watch.”
“What?”
“Him, dying. Slowly. As I cut him piece by little piece.”
I look into his gray eyes as they stare back at me and take his face between my palms. “Yes.”
Pasha nods. “I’m going to shower and change. And then we’ll leave.”
* * *
It’s a two-hour drive west of the city to a rundown house that’s not much more than a shed. Pasha parks the car and turns toward me, taking my hand in his.
“If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll drive you back,” he says. “It’s okay if you can’t handle seeing that motherfucker again. I’ll come back tonight and take care of him.”
I look through the windshield at the house. The man who destroyed my life and messed up my mind is beyond that wooden door. Panic started brewing the moment I saw his image on Pasha’s phone and multiplied tenfold during the drive here. The idea of seeing him again makes me sick, but I need this. I need vengeance. Maybe seeing him die will help me get myself back.
“I’m ready,” I say.
The first thing I notice when Pasha opens the door of the house is the stench, a mix of vomit and piss. It’s so foul, I barely manage not to immediately empty the contents of my stomach. It’s dark inside. The windows are covered with shaggy drapes or nailed-on boards, and the only illumination is from the sunlight coming through the open door. I follow Pasha as he takes two steps to the left, squeezing his hand with all my might. There is a click when he flicks on the light. It’s a small sound, barely audible, but in my head, it reverberates like an explosion. I want to turn around and look the asshole in the face, but I can’t make myself move.
“It’s okay, mishka.” Pasha wraps his arms around me and presses my face into his chest. “He can’t hurt you anymore. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else, ever again.”
I inhale deeply, savoring Pasha’s scent. It’s the scent of safety. And love. It would be so easy to ask him to kill the son of a bitch for me. But deep inside, I know I need to play this tune myself.
“Do you have a gun?” I mumble into Pasha’s chest and feel him go still.
“Yes.”
“Can I have it? Please.”
His hold on me loosens, and his hands travel up my arms until they reach my face.
“You don’t have to do this. I’ll make sure he suffers.”
I lift my hand and cup his cheek. My Pasha. Always ready to fight my battles for me. “Please.”
He closes his eyes for a second, reaches into his jacket, and takes out a gun. “Do you know how to shoot?”
“No.”
“Okay. Hold it like this.” He places the weapon in my hand and moves my fingers to the correct position. “The safety is on. When you’re ready, you switch it off. Here. You need to hold the gun tightly. This one has a bit of a recoil.”
I stare at the handgun. It’s heavy. Much heavier than I expected. I swallow and turn to face the man who ruined my life.
He’s still in the same position as I saw in the photo. His feet are tied to the beam above, his arms are dangling. Something is wrong with them, however. They hang at an unnatural angle. It’s hard to believe this is the same man I met at the bar. His dirty clothes are torn in several places. Dried blood is smeared over the exposed parts of his body, staining his shirt, and the floor below. His eyes are closed and one side of his face is swollen. He’s not moving. I’d think he’s dead already, but I can see his chest rising and falling.
I’ve imagined this moment so many times. Dreamed about making him pay for every fucking second of my pain. I thought that if I ever got the opportunity to avenge myself, I would want him to suffer as I did. But now, seeing him like this, I just want it to be over.
I cover the distance between us in quick steps until I’m standing right in front of him. His head is level with my chest, and the foul smell is even worse up close.
“I hope you burn in hell,” I choke out and spit into his face. Robert’s eyes flutter open, meeting mine. I flip the safety switch and press the barrel to the bridge of his nose.
And pull the trigger.
