I knew it was true, but it didn’t matter. “You think that excuse is going to save you?”
He began to shake. Not so much a tremble in fear, but with frustration. Like he knew this day was coming. “Look, kid, I didn’t want to do it, just like I’m sure you don’t want to do this.”
He was even dumber than he looked, and I sneered. “You don’t know shit.” Actually, not true. He knew one vital piece of information I wanted. I had my suspicions, but needed him to confirm it. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you, you pathetic piece of shit? You murdered an innocent woman, after smearing her name. She had two fucking kids.”
David’s body quaked violently. He didn’t argue the statement, so this was pure guilt.
There was plenty of blame to share between my father and uncle for my mother’s death, but David’s reaction meant I was now staring at the man who’d physically killed her. The gun burned in my hand, all the way through my gloves.
“I know she did.” His voice was tiny. “I think about them a lot, actually.”
My mind went white-hot with rage. I wasn’t going to stand for bullshit. “You do, huh?” My eyebrow tugged upward so hard, it hurt. “How old do you think they might be these days? The younger one would be, what? Twenty-four?”
He jolted. His mouth fell open, and his eyes went so wide they were nearly all white. I watched with rich, evil satisfaction as the realization dawned on him. He was totally and completely fucked.
“Vasilije?” he whispered.
The smallest amount of pressure on the trigger was all it took, and the gun went off.
Even though I hit him with my first shot, I gave him several more slugs to the chest. I stopped as his body began to fall and before I used the entire magazine, though. That was proof how much I’d improved my impulse control.
Once David collapsed into a heap, and his brains and blood were soaking into the carpet, I dug my pair of wireless headphones out of a pocket and hooked one onto each ear. I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and scrolled to the app I was looking for.
After the shower this morning, Oksana had asked for more time before playing me what she was working on. She was close to being done with the first song, she’d said, so I’d given her until after dinner. The music would be better when it wasn’t so bright in the house anyway, I’d convinced myself. I was impatient, though. I really fucking wanted to hear it.
She’d mentioned the bruises I’d put on her ass hurt, and when she sat down at the piano to play for me, she winced. Her body was tight with apprehension, and she hesitantly set her fingers on the keys. But once she started to play, she dove headfirst into the music. Her long fingers attacked the keys, striking them at times in a similar way that I struck her.
Calculating. With purpose.
When she’d played the final note, she took in a deep breath and turned to me, desperate for feedback.
“It’s good,” I said simply.
Her lips parted, and shock overtook her. She’d expected me to hate it, or at least have more to say, but I just shrugged and got out my phone.
“Play it again,” I demanded, setting my finger over the button onscreen to start recording.
I’d been lying through my teeth to her. The song wasn’t good; it was magnificent. I couldn’t tell her that, though. Didn’t need her getting a big head and then deciding one song was enough. I wanted more from her.
As I stood over David’s body, the gun still warm from firing, I pressed ‘play’ and the opening song of my symphony began. Fuck, Oksana had composed it perfectly. From now on, every time I listened to it, I’d remember this moment. Her music had captured my satisfaction so I could enjoy it again and again. Endlessly.
I couldn’t wait to tell her about it.
28
Oksana
Movement among the bushes caught John’s attention, and I followed his gaze out the window. The tight feeling around my racing heart evaporated as Vasilije burst from beneath a tree and barreled for the Lexus. I didn’t get a good look because of how fast he was moving, but he seemed okay. The engine purred to life while he yanked open the door and ducked inside, and the second it thudded closed, John put the car in gear.
Off came Vasilije’s gloves. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his face, even though it was freezing outside. What had happened? Had David put up a fight? I scoured the boy sitting beside me, looking for signs of injury, but if he were bleeding, I couldn’t tell with his dark clothes. Vasilije didn’t have any holes in him, which was good. And he hadn’t come to the car limping or clutching a part of his body—