The Marriage (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 3), Bethany-Kris [books for 8th graders txt] 📗

Like he was bored.

Goosebumps bloomed on her arms, and like she was floating in a dream, with no control over her own legs, she strolled into the room when the man opened the door. He shut it noiselessly behind her.

The bedroom was big, but not well-decorated with Dima standing at the end of the bed. A glass of vodka in his hand, and the big screen TV with a rugby game playing that he put on mute explained the muffled noise. His eyes remained glued to the screen even while she stood there, trembling at the sight of him.

She was too close to him.

Her heart didn’t just race, it screamed.

Karine had spent every waking and sleeping moment these past months—hoping she would never have to see him again.

And there he was.

Dima held the glass up to his lips, without glancing at her once. “Take off your clothes and open the drawer next to the bed.”

He usually starts with a belt ...

“You’ll find what I want in there. Bring it to me on your knees.”

Karine breathed in deeply—just once so she could feel all that air fill up her lungs, as dusty as it tasted on her tongue, it still settled her. She said nothing as she slipped out of the dress, but she did feel Dima’s gaze following her as her back was turned. Maybe the long blonde hair did it, but as the dress dropped to the floor, he didn’t seem to recognize the body he’d used and abused for years.

In fact, the TV came off mute, and when she chanced a glance over her shoulder, under the brim of the hat, she found him watching the game again.

Karine didn’t bother losing the hat.

Or her bra and panties.

Not even the heels.

She did open the drawer, and there, she found the belt. As she picked it up, she found the other thing Cherie promised the girls reported that Dima kept in the drawer.

A knife.

He truly did enjoy scaring them.

He got off on the fear.

Karine picked the blade up, too.

Then, she turned for him, getting close enough to make him turn to her. His brows furrowed while his face darkened with irritation.

“Didn’t you fucking hear what I just said? Get that stupid fucking hat off your head, and the rest, too,” he snarled.

Karine held out the belt instead, keeping the knife hidden behind her other hand at her side. Angrily, Dima reached for it, angry his scene wasn’t playing out the way he’d scripted it.

He didn’t see the knife coming, and every stab she made into his throat left her with a slice of her own to pay for what she had to do.

She didn’t even feel it, though.

All she saw was the blood.

*

“It’s very personal,” Cherie had told Karine earlier. “Stabbing someone, I mean. You’ll have to make it fast, hard, right in his throat, and then don’t stop until he’s not moving. I don’t think you realize—”

“What other choice do I have? Can I walk in there with a gun?”

Would she have even been able to shoot it?

She understood what Cherie really wanted to ask—do you know how to kill a man? The sad thing was, she did. Cruelly, Dima showed her once exactly how to get the job done.

Nonetheless, the madame had been right. Karine didn’t realize just how much work it would take, how close she would be when Dima took his last breath, or even the way his dark pupils would blow so wide as he mumbled his final gurgled words ...

And she couldn’t forget it.

It sounded so much better than the memories of Katina’s death.

If there were ever a time for Karine to disassociate, tonight would have been it. Yet, she maintained control. Whether or not that was a sign things were changing for her, she didn’t know.

But she dared to hope.

Karine kept a tight hold on the bloody knife that she’d used to kill Dima as she headed back downstairs. It left a trail of tiny drops the whole way.

Cherie hadn’t left the entry of the large home. Karine hadn’t been able to take a gun up with her, but she knew the madame had brought along two that she kept hidden inside her fur coat.

“It’s done?” she asked when Karine reached the bottom steps.

“His stable is yours.”

The woman smiled and looked in the direction of the room at the far end of the entry, down the hall beyond the winding staircase. “That’s his office—if Dima’s distracted, his boys think it’s time to play. I always bring them a little something, too.”

Karine raised a brow at that.

Cherie only shrugged. “I do what I’ve got to do. I laced the coke with fentanyl. You’re a mess.”

She didn’t know what to make of this woman.

Or was that entirely the point?

“Do you know who I really am?” Karine asked the madame, ignoring the way her hands stung and ached from the many cuts that crisscrossed her palms and fingers.

Cherie was already heading for the office, pulling the guns from beneath her coat. “Of course I do—a long time ago, Maxim paid well, too.”

Just like Cherie said, the three men in the room were already high.

And starting to nod off.

For the first time in her life—Karine wasn’t afraid of walking in through a door without knowing what she would find on the other side. The men who should have been watching Dima’s back barely reacted to the women slipping inside the room, and one even started to lift his head up where he’d slumped in a chair.

That was the man Cherie shot first.

Right between the eyes.

Only then did the other two move.

“Holy fuck—”

Karine ignored the brain matter spattered up the wall as she took the high-back chair behind the large, old desk and sat down, declaring as she did, “Chicago is being taken over by the Avdonins.”

She kept her back straight in that chair and spoke in the same manner she had witnessed her father use all her life. Back when all she could do was