Page 34 of Kristoff

“When this is all over and you’re back to yourself, we’re going to talk about appropriate behavior,” I mutter to myself, but make sure she overhears me. Her eyes snap to me, and for a moment I’m afraid I’ve made her retreat back inside herself. The soft blush blossoming on her cheeks tell me there’s hope. She’s still in there.

While she’s working her way into the clothes, I leave her to open my apartment door. Carlos is waiting outside looking as much of a bastard as ever. He has more tattoos than skin I think, and his shaved head shimmers from the overhead lighting.

“Fuck, you’re going to terrify her,” I say, slapping his back when he walks into my room.

“No more than you, my friend,” he says with a nod. “I have the place ready. Are those jackasses downstairs going to give me trouble?” he asks, jerking a finger at the front door.

“No. I’ll take you two down the back exit. If we run into anyone, I’ll handle it.” I look toward the bedroom door. I hadn’t locked it and now it’s opening. Magdalena is standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and her feet bare. Shit.

“Shoes.” I hold up a finger and run to the closet.

“You’re Carlos?” she asks in her journalist voice again.

“I am.” Carlos doesn’t move toward her.

“Why would you help Kristoff get me away from his father? From Maksim. You know either of them would kill you for doing it.” She’s not wrong.

Carlos isn’t the sort to let a little threat of death stop him. “I owe Kristoff my sister’s life, and my own. If I die helping him, so be it.”

I grab her shoes from my closet. Her clothes had been cut from her when she was brought in, but I saved the shoes.

“Why do you owe him?” she asks when I hand her the shoes.

“He’ll tell you later, get these on.” I point to the shoes. I move around the room, grabbing everything I need. A second gun, more ammo, and a burner phone.

“I think I should know now,” she says, still not moving.

My teeth snap, and I take a deep breath. “Magdalena, I’m trying here, baby. I’m trying to keep my cool, but if you don’t start listening to me in three seconds, I’m going to have to find a way to punish you. And I can’t spank you, so my options are going to be a bit more sinister.”

A shudder runs through her body. I saw it. Her pupils dilate, and her chest thrusts out. Ah. There’s my girl.

“Whatever.” She snorts and moves to the couch to stuff her feet into the shoes.

I grin at Carlos. “Call me as soon as you get to the location.” I throw him the burner. “I won’t make a move until I know she’s safe.”

“You sure you got this?” he asks me. “Going up against your father - you can’t come back from that shit.”

“I don’t want to. And I’m not going against him, I’m taking him down,” I explain.

“My men are waiting for your signal. Once you give it, they’ll charge in.”

I nod and grab his hand to shake appreciatively. He’s taking a big risk here. His men may not make it home after this.

I swirl the silencer into place on my gun and grab Magdalena’s hand, pulling her along through my apartment to the back hall. She’s never seen outside my bedroom, aside from the dungeon. And she never will. Once this is done, we are never coming back here.

We make our way down the back stairwell without any trouble. Carlos’ car is just outside the gates, and we manage to get there without meeting anyone. My father is confident that everything is going as planned. His stunt yesterday with Magdalena has him thinking he’s put me back in my place.

“Kristoff? What are you doing?” Viktor calls out to us. When my eyes land on him, the blood drains from his face. He knows I know. Frantically, he looks from me to Magdalena then back. “Look, man, she - fuck, your father said - I had no fucking choice,” he cries like a beggar.

I step away from Carlos and Magdalena, making my way over to him. He’s in a panic, and he fucking should be. He should be running away, but he’s a fucking idiot and stands still, waiting for me to come to him. Did he think I’d forgive him?

When I’m close enough, I throw the heel of my hand into his nose. The crunch isn’t satisfying enough, nor is the scream of pain he unleashes. Once he’s on the ground, holding his nose, I point my gun and shoot through his neck. His cries are garbled. Blood pours from his wound, but it’s not a fatal shot. Just enough to shut him up.

I step over him, straddling his chest and squat down to look into his face. “You thought you could touch what’s mine and live?” I ask, but don’t expect an answer. He’s grabbing for his throat, wiggling beneath me in pain.

Moving down the length of his body, I press the silencer to his groin. I look up at him, catch his horrified look as I pull the trigger, sending a bullet through his balls. I send another one through. Blood pours from his groin onto the gravel beneath him.

Between the neck wound, and groin, he’s going to live another few minutes. Long enough to feel every bit of the pain I put him in. But just to be sure, I press the heel of my boot to the wound. Stepping on his balls makes his body shudder with pain. He’s lost too much blood now to do much else but lie there and moan.

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