Destroy (Sordid 2.5)

“Dragging it out like this, it’s kind of cruel.” He shook his head like it was a shame, but his eyes gleamed and said the opposite. It seemed like he enjoyed this idea quite a bit. “Don’t you think?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. If I sat still enough, perhaps he’d forget I existed. That had worked on Sidor, but . . . no. Not here. The man’s expression twisted with displeasure as he waited impatiently for my answer.

“Yes,” I whispered. “It’s very hard.”

His smile was evil, full of sharp teeth and wicked eyes. “Good.”

Bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“I don’t think I did.” He weighed his words and gave them more impact. “It’s Vasilije Markovic.”

I tensed, shredding the tissue further, and although I tried to stop it, a gasp cut off in my throat.

“Well, there’s a name you recognize.” He couldn’t have looked more pleased if he’d tried.

Sidor told me nothing about his business, but it was impossible to carry the Petrov last name and not know who the Markovics were. Sergey and Sidor had been fighting with the Serbians for the last year, and steadily gaining ground.

That is, right up until the moment someone put a bullet in my husband’s brain.

My gaze flicked to the call button on the wall, and that action wasn’t lost on Vasilije. Even if I made it across the room, I’d be dead before the nurse came to see what the issue was. He slowly blinked his black eyes, daring me to try it.

“Did you come here to kill me?” I asked, my thoughts scrambling and tripping over themselves to try to find a way to save myself. “Because you shouldn’t. You’d be doing Sergey a favor. I mean next to nothing to the Petrovs.” I echoed the same words Sidor had told me countless times. “I’m only a mail-order bride—a hot piece of ass for my husband to screw.”

Vasilije arched an eyebrow up into a sharp point. “Don’t think he’s going to be screwing you anymore.”

“No.” Not in the physical sense. My voice was much stronger than I felt. “Thankfully not.”

I didn’t enjoy sex, not with anyone, and it didn’t matter what kind it was. It could be slow and gentle, like it had been the first few months, back when Sidor wanted to make sure I’d stay, or it could be rough and cruel, like when he’d stopped caring.

It was a line item in the transaction of our marriage, and something I dealt with the same as a visit to the dentist. I viewed it as an unpleasant but necessary task if I wanted to keep all my teeth.

When I gave him what he wanted, he was far more likely to give me what I needed, and I found this an acceptable compromise. I used his money to purchase supplies for my “hobby,” until the day I had sold enough to become self-sufficient.

Yet, everything I earned was funneled back into my next project, and I still had two pieces left with no interested buyers.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Vasilije said, showing off his dimples. “What a stupid fucking thing to say.”

My shoulders ached from how hard I had them tensed. “You’ve come to finish off Sidor then?”

Had he picked up the sick spark of hope tinging my voice?

He frowned, put his hands on his hips, and cast his gaze toward the bed where my husband lay motionless. The only sign of life was the quiet, incessant hiss of the respirator.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.” I spoke just loud enough to be heard over it. “Not unless you wanted me to.”

He grinned widely. “You want your husband dead, Mrs. Petrov?”

“He is dead. A doctor declared it on Monday, but Sergey is fighting it. Do you see the straight line at the top of that screen? That’s Sidor’s brain activity.” Or lack thereof.

Vasilije glanced at the monitor. “Yeah, I’m sure it always looked like that. Your husband wasn’t too bright before he got shot in the head.”

“Please,” I whispered. “I’ve been trapped beneath him for seven years. You do this and you could help me escape. You’d be a hero, taking down a monster in the process.”

His sharp gaze cut me in two. “First off, I’m not a hero.” He said the word like it disgusted him. “And second—help you? Fuck off, lady. Why the hell would I help a Russian, let alone a disloyal one like you?” He motioned toward the hospital bed. “No, Sidor Petrov is exactly where he should be. If you want him dead? Well, you’re going to have to do that yourself.”

-4-

I’d risked a lot to have this dangerous conversation and gained nothing.

Vasilije Markovic stood in the center of the hospital room, and although he was just a man, his presence took up every inch of the space. It left no air for me to breathe.