Apparently, his delusions of grandeur go much deeper than I anticipated.
Tucking my tools back into my pocket, I step inside and set about searching the condo before Pavel gets home.
When he was messing with the warehouses, that was one thing. He was throwing around weight that he didn’t have, but it was inconsequential. I only own them as something I can claim on my taxes.
But Pavel got sloppy when he destroyed the last one. It took more digging than I was expecting, but between me and Lev,we were able to find a camera that caught him down the street before he torched it, a ski mask in hand.
It probably wouldn’t have been enough to convince Maksim, but it was enough for me. It gave me something I could hold over his head and force him to back off.
He pissed me off, but I wasn’t about to go out of my way to ruin his life for some property damage.
I would’ve let him live his life in peace if he hadn’t fucked with Blair’s peace of mind. Now he’s left me with no choice but to end this pissing match for good.
Fuck, I should’ve ended it years ago.
I pull back the cushion of the couch, pulling another knife out, and add it to the stash of weapons I’ve managed to find. There aren’t nearly as many as I’d imagined there would be. I should be weighed down by so many guns and knives that I’m struggling to find somewhere to hide them before Pavel gets home, but I only have a handful.
There was a single handgun in the bedside table, a handful of knives in the main living area, and brass knuckles in the bathroom. Too few weapons scattered too far apart to be of any real use in a fight.
I dump them behind one of the heavy curtains and slip away from the main room to wait for him. I already know he’s out partying, and the only thing I’m leaving to chance is whether he comes home alone or not. If he does, great. If he doesn’t, it’s a minor inconvenience, but I’ll handle it.
The arrogance in his lack of security is ridiculous for a multitude of reasons, the main one being that he holds his routines so closely. Which means I can check my watch and have a decentestimate of how long it’ll be before he stumbles home, half blind and sloppy drunk.
Right on cue, the front door opens and slams shut, a single set of footsteps shuffling through the living room, muffled as he makes his way onto the rug. I wait a while longer, listening to the sound of him throwing himself down on the hideous leather couch, then drunken snoring.
I wait another five minutes before I return to the living room, rolling my eyes at the way his arm is thrown over his eyes and how he wears the stench of debauchery like a favored coat. Booze, sweat, and cheap perfume fill the room in a nauseating mixture.
I’m willing to bet that if I looked close enough, he’s still covered in a sheen of body glitter from whichever stripper had the misfortune of spending an hour with him.
A quick glance at the heavy curtain shows it’s undisturbed.
The whole space is a perfect reflection of Pavel. Brutal lines, repugnant red walls, and disgusting art pieces on the wall that look like something he would’ve had to talk the interior decorator into. The curtains are closed tightly over the windows, blocking out the lights of the city below.
For a moment, the heavy fabric is reminiscent of his father’s office, and I wonder if it’s intentional or not. Either way, they work in my favor, so I choose not to think about it too much.
I crouch next to him, watching his chest heaving, even in his sleep. It’s as if he’s climbed a mountain instead of drinking himself into a stupor. I wait several long minutes before they finally even out and then decidefuck it.
I roll my neck, remembering the way Blair’s eyes were still red when she woke up this morning, and stand for leverage before I punch him in the face, a satisfying crunch immediately following. He jolts awake, gasping wetly as he scrambles into a sitting position, swinging at the empty air in front of him.
Blood flows steadily from his nose as he blinks, and I take a single step back when he swings hard enough that he falls forward, nearly tumbling off the couch in his panic.
I don’t normally take pleasure in killing people. It’s a dangerous habit to fall into, and I don’t want to do anything that will add any risk to the rest of my life. Especially now that Blair’s in it.
But I’m sick and tired of Pavel, and the prospect of killing him feels like a reward for all the shit he’s put me through.
Right now, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yells when his watery eyes clear enough to see me standing before him. He sways as he pats himself down for a weapon. “Are you trying to get yourself killed,suka?”
“Not today.”
His face is red, and his movements are jerky as he steps toward me. I shake out my fist and punch him again, sending him stumbling back onto the couch. I feel the skin on my knuckles split open, but the pain is more than worth the sight of his busted lip and obviously broken nose.
He lunges toward me, stumbling over his feet when I sidestep him.
Hitting him felt good, but I’m not looking for this to become a whole fight. He’s drunk enough that it’s worth losing theadvantage of surprise, but I don’t want to give him a chance to let his adrenaline sober him up.
As he falls, he grabs onto my arm, pulling me down to the floor on top of him. Using my weight to pin him in place, I grab blindly at the couch. With a pillow or cushion, this can be done within a matter of minutes.
