Xavier Kohlodov is a carver. And he could be starting in on my Scarlett at any moment.
“Everything. We bring in every fecking piece of firepower, we-”
My mobile buzzes. An unknown number. I send it to voicemail.
Michael’s mobile goes off. He checks it before putting it back in his pocket.
Then Dmitri’s. He picks up, listening with a frown. “You need to take this, Wallace.” He puts it on speaker, handing it to me.
“Let’s make an agreement, MacTavish.”
“You fecking b-”
“Ah, ah! Talk first. Threaten later. Do you want your wife back or not?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
In which Russo, Bald Guy, and Kholodov should all be thrown into a volcano.
Scarlett…
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
It’s been an hour since Russo left me. I didn’t cry. I circled the suite again like a desperate rodent, looking for a way out. Over and over until Murder Mittens sat on my foot.
Now Russo’s standing here in this all-white hell in her brown shirt and brown pants and her brown ponytail and I want to grab that ponytail and send her head right through the door.
“You’re delusional if you think I’m dressing up like a virginal princess for your boss.”
Bald Guy is back with her, standing in the open door, watching me hopefully.
“If you don’t take a shower and put that dress on, Gavril here will do it for you.” She nods toward Bald Guy, and now I realize why he looks sohopeful.
“Russo, just stop for a minute-”
“Gavril, come in,” she calls.
He’s halfway into the room before I shout, “Stop! I’ll do it. I’ll… Just get him out of here.”
She nearly has to shove the visibly disappointed scumbag back out the door. “I’ll have to stand in the bathroom and watch you,” she says. “But better me than that freaky bald fuck, trust me.”
One quick glance to make sure Murder Mittens is hiding under the bed, and I walk into the gleaming white bathroom. In the true crime shows, when the victim does what the kidnapper says, I always wondered why they didn’t fight. Why didn’t they risk everything to get away? Showering with the vanilla-scented bodywash and drying myself with the white fluffy towels, I understand.
You’ll doanythingto draw out your inevitable conclusion, anything that gives you one minute more of life. Wallace will come. He’ll find me. And if he doesn’t come in time? I’m gonna find a way to kill Xavier, even if I die, too.
I understand scars. I appreciate them.
“You look better,” Russo says, eyeing me critically. “Put the dress on.”
“Wallace will give you-”
“Put. The. Fucking. Dress. On.” She shoves the fabric at me. “Or Gavril will do it for you.”
I keep my towel on as I slide the thing over my head. It drops in a slimy puddle to my ankles, a white silk dress so thin that I could rip it like paper. The slit’s cut high, I can feel the room’s cool air on my center. The spaghetti straps barely hold the dress up and I have to gather up the flimsy neckline to make sure it covers my nipples.
When I walk back in the bedroom, Bald Guy is staring greedily.
“Drink it all in, you pig.” I manage to sound calm. “My husband’s going to gut you like one.”
