“Where’s Kingsley?”
He can’t really focus on me. His one open eye is so bloodshot that the blue looks a deep violet.
“Why does the Russian want you so badly?” It can’t all be about the money.
His mouth tips to the side in a snarl-like grin. “First rule of business—Trust. No. One. Trust makes you weak.”
I’m reminding myself of my promise not to end him here and now when Fleur turns to look at him.
“Is that why you took his money?” she asks. “Because that’s pretty fucking stupid. There’s not trusting, and there’s digging your own grave.”
Fleur puts his plate of food down in front of him. She pours him a plastic cup of wine from the bottle she used for cooking. She does the same for us.
Sitting at the table in her pretty dress and the cook’s apron, she looks positively harmless. But there’s a gleam in her eyes when he drinks the wine, chugging it down in one.
“Would you like some more?” she asks with a sweet, needy smile on her face.
“I’m not a drunk talker.”
Standing, she pours him what’s left in the bottle. “You should eat the food. It’s probably going to be your last meal here. I don’t know what the Russian will do to you, but it can’t be good.”
“Dimitry knows better than to touch me.” He takes a spoonful of the pasta tubes with the sauce. “It’s almost like old times.”
“Did you know he has Lucy Stanton?” she asks, eating a small spoonful of her own.
“He wants to trade her for you.” I watch him closely. A look of confusion twists his already messed up face.
“Who knew he’d grow tired of that whore…”
Fleur looks up at me, looking as though she’s about to lose her rag completely. “Is that what every woman is to you?”
He doesn’t answer, opting to eat another spoon of food. “Why does he want to trade her for you now?”
“He wants his money.” A calculated sneer crosses his face. “Your problem is that I don’t have it, not all of it. The only way to trust a man is to withhold part of what belongs to him.”
“What do you mean withhold part? Do you have his money or not?” I don’t know why he’s still playing games. He knows he’s fucked.
“Kingsley and I split the money.”
“Where is it?”
“All over. Here…there…”
“You really don’t value your life, do you?”
“Let’s face it, you get rid of me and he’ll come for you all. Every single one of you.”
That’s what breaks her. Standing from her seat abruptly, she stabs a steak knife through the back of the hand that’s flattened to the table.
“Here’s the thing, Charles,” she hisses. “That nice wine you lapped up in one? It was laced with rat poison. Do you know what rat poison does to you? To your insides?”
Fuck! That’s why she was watching him drink it up so intently and with so much satisfaction.
“What the fuck did you do?” I round the table to where she’s standing over him, his bruised face blanching to the point that the purpling bruises look muddy.
“Someone had to take care of the problem.” Fleur turns to me, her face set hard.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much hatred on such a beautiful face.