“I won’t,” I lied. “If you answer my questions.”
“You want to know about Evgeniy, right? You want to know his location.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her, and the little boy climbed on the sofa, sitting right next to me. “Yes.”
He had hair as dark as midnight, and a curiosity of a little dog. I pulled a knife out of my pocket and handed it to him, the blade shining under the sunlight coming through the windows. I was hoping it would rain.
It sets the whole mood up.
“Keep talking, Svetlana.”
“Please don’t hurt him. Please.” Sobs wracked her body, but she didn’t move from the chair. I knew she could if she tried, but we both also knew that this would be over much faster if she did so. “Misha is my whole world.”
“Ah.” I touched his head. “Misha.”
He lifted his head, his attention going from me to the knife in his hands. As soon as I saw the red handle in the safehouse, I knew I had to have this knife. Maybe I could put it with the rest of my collection.
“I don’t know where Evgeniy is!” she yelled at me, and I tightened my hold on the boy’s head.
“Careful now, Svetlana.” I laughed. “We don’t want this to be over even before it starts.”
“I am begging you. Please let us go.”
“But I can’t do that, love.” I stood up, taking the boy’s hand in my own, and walked closer to her. “Because I know you have the necessary information. I know he contacted you just yesterday, and judging by those suitcases,” I pointed to the two suitcases stationed next to the door. “You also know where you’ll be going.”
“Please.” Tears cascaded down her face freely. I kneeled behind Misha, looking at her over his shoulder.
“Where is Evgeniy, Svetlana?”
“I don’t know!” she screamed.
I blew a raspberry on Misha’s cheek, and his laughter vibrated around us.
“Are you sure about that?” I stood up and placed my hands on Misha’s shoulders. He craned his head back, and looked at me with a childish smile, not a worry in the world. I caressed his cheek as Svetlana started pulling at the zip ties, trying to break free.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t fucking know!” Her body went limp in the chair, her eyes as well as her face, red from crying. “Just let us go.”
“You see,” I took the knife from Misha, and a small frown started at his face, “I think you just need an incentive to talk.”
“What?” Her eyes followed my every movement. I pulled Misha closer to me. “What are you going to do? You aren’t going to kill a child?”
She smiled—a forced smile—because even she knew I would do everything in order to get what I wanted.
“Maybe,” I brought the knife closer to his face. “Maybe not.”
“You’re a psychopath!”
“I prefer creative. Now,” I pulled the little boy’s hair, exposing his neck to my blade, “for the last time, where is he? Where is your husband?”
Her eyes frantically jumped from me to the door, but even if she managed to run outside, she would have to leave her son behind, and that wasn’t going to happen.
“Where is Evgeniy?” I yelled at her. “I promise you, if you give me his location, no harm will come to either of you. You have my word.”
“He’s in Volgograd!” she suddenly screamed. “He’s in Volgograd and yes, he contacted me, but only to tell me to leave the city and go somewhere safe. Please, please,” she sobbed. “That’s all I know. He never said his address or anything like that. I just know the city he’s in.”
“I believe you—”
“Please, let us go.”
“I believe you, okay?” She stopped struggling for a moment, her breathing calming down.
“Thank you.”
“But that doesn’t help me, which means,” I smirked at her, “that this was just a waste of my time.”
“What—”
The Syndicate had one rule that had to be followed no matter what. One rule, that if broken, could cost us all our lives, freedom and our families.
No witnesses. It didn’t matter if they were young or old, children or adults, they had to be removed. We couldn’t have all these people running around trying to destroy us.
And this boy… This boy could be one of them if kept alive.
Before she could finish the sentence, I sliced the blade across the boy’s throat. Blood rushed out immediately, and the gurgling sounds of him choking echoed around us. She screamed, but I could only see red coating his blue shirt. His eyes lost focus, and I grabbed his throat, squeezing the blood out. Misha’s little body collapsed to the floor, his blood coloring the white carpet red.
“Misha!” I wiped the blade of the knife on the back of his shirt. I really hated it when they bled so much. Who would’ve thought that a toddler could have such an amount of blood? I mean, I didn’t cut through his artery.
“Murderer!” She continued her screaming. “Psychopath! What have you done?” Her full body was shaking, and I understood where she was coming from. Not that I cared, but still. I noticed a tray on the kitchen table filled with what seemed to be chocolate cookies.
“Oh.” I stepped around the body and walked toward them. “Are these chocolate ones?”
“I am going to kill you, you fucking bitch!”
They seemed like chocolate ones. The ones with raisins were always disgusting to me, so it was chocolate or nothing.
“Can I take one?” I asked her as she struggled to get free. “I will take one. I hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t had chocolate in quite some time.”
“I am going to gut you like an animal. Slice your chest open and watch you bleed.”
I bit into the cookie, the softness melting in my mouth. I almost moaned from the attack on my taste buds. It was really tasty.
“You killed my baby.” She started crying again. “You killed the sun of my life. My sunshine, my little bear.”
Should I take another one? Maybe one more, just for the road.
“How could you do this?”
I strapped the knife inside its holder, and pulled the gun already equipped with a silencer. I took another bite, and lifted the gun with my left hand, pointing it at her.
“You’re a devil!”
And everybody else was a saint. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the story before.
“You will burn in Hell!”
“Lady,” I swallowed, “I am already in Hell.” Her head flew backwards as I released the bullet from the gun.
“Jesus fuck.” I placed the gun on top of the table. “She was talking too much.”
Just as I took another cookie, my phone rang, the display showing my father’s number.
“Funeral services,” I joked. “This is Ophelia speaking.”
“Cut the crap,” he barked out. “Is it done?”
I bit into the cookie and started chewing. “Yep.”
“Are you eating?”
“Yep.” This thing was really delicious. Shit, I needed to find out which recipe she was using.
“You’re unbelievable.”