Fuck, fuck, fuck…
Something must have alerted another guard, who heads in my direction. I've got enough time to roll away and move behind him, twisting his neck, and dropping him. I see the guard they sent up to the other side step back near the edge, waving his hand in an "all clear" signal. What they don't see is his body yanked back and Alexsey finishing him off.
"Is there anyone left?" I whisper urgently.
I wait painful seconds as four different voices quietly whisper, "clear," and I'm racing for the pit.
Smith probably has a gun, Will won't. Despite pretending he's a Texan, I know he's afraid of them.
"Almost time, darlin’," Will says cheerfully, rocking back-and-forth on his heeled boots. "I'm looking forward to getting a nice clear shot of your face when the concrete starts pouring down on your head. Make sure you look up at me, okay?"
"Fuck you," she chokes out. "Dmitri is going to cut you to pieces for this."
"Now don't be a spoilsport," he chides her. "Morozov isn't finding you. I left your cute little wedding ring on the conference table. You think I wouldn't know he has a tracker in that?" He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself.
There's a slow roar from the mixer as it slows and stops. Will struts over, pushing the concrete chute toward the hole. Ava sways for a moment, leaning closer to him. "Will?"
"Yeah, darling?" He sounds genuinely happy.
Ava throws up.
Not a delicate, lady-like wretch, but ageyserof vomit, splattering his chest and his face as he croaks in horror, flailing away. Smith's grip must loosen because Ava spins on him, still hacking and vomiting, shoving him as hard as she can toward the hole. He stumbles back. One more step and the cadaverous son of a bitch will fall, but he reaches out, catching himself on the rebar. She's scrambling backward as Will curses, scrubbing at his face in disgust.
I charge toward them, steps away from Ava as Smith lunges for her. As I shoot him in the chest, he flies backward, falling into the hole with an almost comical look of surprise on his face as I grab her up by the waist.
"I'm sorry," she sobs, smearing vomit on my shirt. "I'm so sorry, Dmitri. I love you. I should have said it sooner."
"I love you, Magpie." I'm staring at Will, my hand shaking with the need to rip him apart. "It's not your fault." I kiss the top of her head as Roman steps up, checking the hole of the foundation.
"Smith is still moving around down there like a slug," he says. "I think his legs are broken."
"There's no way this pans out in your favor, son," Will says, his voice shaking. "In the end, we're businessmen. We can come to an agreement. You know they'll be looking at you first thing if anything happens to me."
"Step over to the hole, Will," I say.
His head jerks in that direction and back at me, eyes wide and horrified. "What now? Hey," he stutters, "that's not gonna happen. I have dirt on you." He waves his hands. "I have dirt on everybody!Everybody!Nobody's clean."
"Roman."
"I'm here," he steps next to me, patting Ava's shoulder.
"Can you take care of this? I need to take Ava away."
"Ofcourse."Roman walks closer to Will, his hand shooting out and wrapping around his neck.
"Oh, and Will?" He looks at me, his terrified, bulging eyes are so satisfying to watch. "I'm not your son."
Lifting Ava in my arms, I say, "Close your eyes now, Magpie. Cover your ears, go ahead." She does, her shaking hands flat against her ears and her eyes pinch tightly shut and I walk back to the car.
I may not be able to see it, but I know what's happening. Will lands with a meaty thud into the hole, flailing, horrified, still trying to make a deal. His fake as fuck Texas accent is gone, it's pure New Jersey again as he wails. There's the first wet-sounding slop of concrete pouring into the hole and a high, shrill scream that's cut off, most likely from the concrete splattering across his face before burying him.
Chapter Forty
In which Dmitri and Ava do the couple's communication thing.
Dmitri…
Ava is silent as I put her in the car. I find some wipes, gently cleaning her off as Demid drives us home.
