"She was MINE!" he shouts. "I found her first! I courted her! I played the game! Do you know how exhausting she is? The drinking. The pills. That fucking car crash. The ghosts.All that horror writer drama queen nonsense! I was PATIENT!"
There it is. The real Oliver. The one hiding under the charm and the expensive suits.
"Keep going," I say quietly.
"I played the perfect gentleman!" He's yelling now. Full volume. "Opened doors. Bought flowers—that stupid black rose I thought would impress her Gothic ass. Listened to her ramble about her fucked-up childhood and her dead people stories. Do you know how BORING that shit is? How much effort it takes to pretend to care?"
Konstantin shifts behind me. I hold up a hand. Wait.
"I put in the WORK," Oliver continues, anger overriding survival instinct. "Months of it! And she barely let me touch her! Cold as ice until tonight when she finally—FINALLY—spread her legs. And then YOU—" He glares at me with pure hatred. "You fucking RUINED it! I was this close to closing the deal!"
"Closing the deal," I repeat slowly.
"Yes! I had a bet with my mate Harrison. Five thousand pounds that I'd fuck the ice queen horror writer before New Year's. Do you know how hard it is to seduce a woman that broken? That damaged? She's a MESS! But I was winning! I was—"
Silence. I stand slowly. Turn to Konstantin. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes, boss."
I turn back to Oliver. "A bet. You had a bet."
His face flushes. "It was just—I mean—look, she's hot, okay? But she's also insane. Everyone knows she's a mess. I was doing her a FAVOR! Giving her attention. Making her feel wanted. She should be GRATEFUL—"
I punch him. Hard. Right in the mouth. Feel teeth crack under my knuckles. The impact sends shock waves up my arm. Warm blood sprays across my face—his blood, coppery and thick.
He screams. Blood pours from his split lips, dripping onto his expensive shirt.
"Grateful," I say. "She should be grateful."
"Fuck you!" He spits blood. Teeth fragments. "Fuck you and your psycho bitch! She's probably crazy in bed but is it worth THIS?! She's a WHORE! Used goods! You think you're special? You think—"
I hit him again. And again. Methodical. Controlled. Breaking his nose with a wet crunch. Splitting his cheek. Blood and snot mixing. The metallic smell fills the air—copper and fear and violence. Each punch punctuated by his words echoing in my head. Ice queen. Damaged. Insane. Whore. My knuckles split open but I don't stop.
Konstantin steps forward. "Boss. Careful. You'll kill him before we're done."
I stop. Breathing hard. Knuckles bleeding. Oliver's face is hamburger meat—blood and tears and snot mixing together. He's sobbing now. The rage gone. Just terror left.
"Please—" he chokes out. "Please—I didn't mean—she's not—I was just angry—"
"Angry," I repeat. "You were angry. Because she wouldn't fuck you fast enough for your bet."
"I'm sorry! I'M SORRY! PLEASE!"
I crouch again. Grab his hair. Yank his head back so he's looking at me. Blood streams down his face, dripping onto the concrete. "You called her a whore," I whisper. "You called her crazy. Damaged. A mess. You said she should be gratefulyou paid attention to her. You had a bet. To fuck her. For five thousand pounds. You were doing her a favor."
"I'm sorry! I'M SORRY! PLEASE!"
I let go of his hair. Stand. Wipe the blood off my face with my sleeve. Walk toward the door. "Konstantin."
"Yes, boss?"
"Take care of it."
Konstantin nods. Reaches for the knife on his belt.
"Wait—WAIT—" Oliver's screaming now. Full panic. "I'LL LEAVE! I'LL GO! PLEASE! I HAVE MONEY! I CAN PAY YOU! NAME YOUR PRICE! ANYTHING!"
I stop at the door. Don't turn around. "There is no price for her. There never was."
