AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dammit. If I’d known he’d eat the chocolates, I could’ve poisoned them beforehand. Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve…
Reaching for the door handle, I use the key card our contact provided.
“Keep an eye on her, Dmitri,” Nameless says, and Dmitri, grumbling, walks in behind me.
Shit. That’s going to make things difficult.
“Be quick,” Dmitri warns me, pointing to his left.
I set to work even as he scrutinizes my movements across the two-bedroom suite’s central room and living area. It’s opulent even by Parish standards, with thick velvet drapes that extended floor-to-ceiling, a large chandelier, velvet couches, a dining table, and a full bar.
Momma’s contact gave me exact instructions for turn-down service, which I follow without fail. I replace yesterday’s flowers with today’s, close the drapes, find the engraved silver lighter behind the bar, and light the candles along the dining table. I go back to the kitchen, fill a pitcher with ice water, grab a glass and a square, marble coaster, then walk into the bedroom.
Apparently satisfied I’m following routine, Dmitri doesn’t follow me, but does tell me to, “Leave the door open.”
Shit. I need precious minutes without this guy’s eyes on me. And this isn’t the type of work that can be rushed without dire consequences. My pulse kicks like a mule against my ears.
As I turn down the bed, I spot a pair of brown loafers on the floor—an opening that nearly has me sighing out loud.
I shake my head, as if lamenting men and their barbarous ways, then walk the shoes into the closet.
Inside, I quickly reach under the nape of my hijab and pull out the slim packet containing the poison. Hidden from Dmitri, I fiddle with my braces and remove a sharp metal wire. The packet, an ultra-dense thermoplastic, requires something sharp.
Even with my hands double-covered, traditional white gloves overtop protective rubber gloves, I begin to shake.
Palming it, I slip out of the closet and into the bathroom. Logically, I’m aware the poison needs to be ingested. Emotionally? I hold my breath and squeeze a small drop onto an electric toothbrush. It seeps quickly into the bristles.
Now comes the hard part. I palm the wire and the packet and walk into the living area. Dmitri sits at the bar, texting on his phone. Jaw grinding against metal, heart pounding, stomach turning, I cross the room as quietly as I’ve ever been in my life. If I can get in and out of Aamir’s bedroom without Dmitri challenging me again that would make my life and escape a lot easier.
Sweat has started to gather in my glove as I silently turn the handle and step into the anteroom. Aw, Walid gave his brother the nicer room. How sweet.
Fucker.
Traversing the outer room in a few steps, I swing open the bedroom door and freeze.
The bathroom door in this bedroom swings open and in a puff of steam Aamir, followed by a girl with long, damp blonde hair, steps out.
Hope?
No. Not Hope. Hope is dead. And the man who killed her stands here naked, leading a teenage girl, also naked. Her eyes stay down as she covers herself with her hands.
Unconcerned with my presence, Aamir smiles at me—smiles as if shame and evil don’t really exist. He struts across the room and tells the girl, still hesitating by the bathroom doorway, to get into the bed.
My stomach can’t decide if it will spew vomit or fire.
Aamir passes close enough to the open door that I can see the water droplets on his eyebrows. He finally seems to take note of me or, at least, my reaction. In British-accented Arabic he says, “It’s okay. We’re married.”
Fire, it is.
17
JUSTICE
Standing in Aamir’s bedroom, witness again to a crime that brings me back to that basement and those precious minutes when Hope died, I am frozen with anger.
Two things happen at once. Dmitri enters the anteroom behind me and shouts at me, “Not in there!”
Aamir spreads his arms wide, as if to ask my frozen stance if I like what I see. It’s not only his oh-so-slick smile, his can’t-be-stopped surety, his nothing-you-can-do-about-it cockiness seeping from his pores that propels me forward; it’s my own outrage and pain.
