Page 138 of Dirty Grovel

I point towards the long security detail parked along the drive outside our idyllic new home. “Do you see how much backup I have? How can anything go wrong?”

Sydney keeps chewing on her bottom lip as she surveys the long line of monstrous black SUVs.

I take the opportunity to turn to Oleg.

“I have to do this,” I tell him softly. “I’m the one he wants to destroy. Which means I should be the one to take him out. It’s important for me to know I can do this, Oleg. What is it they say? ‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword’?”

Oleg frowns. “Which fairy tale is that from?”

“It’s not from a fairy tale,” I admit with a giggle. “It’s fromGame of Thrones.”

He laughs, but it quickly morphs into a weary sigh. “You do seem ready.”

I push my hand out, holding it steady. “Not a tremor in sight.”

Oleg closes his eyes for a moment, the breath coming in and out hard through his nostrils.

Then he nods. “Sydney, she’s got this.” His eyes glom onto mine. “Stick to the plan. Don’t you dare go rogue on me.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” I assure him.

He pulls out a small black device and hooks it into my ear. “Your earpiece,” he explains. “So that we can stay in communication during Mission Dead Cockroach.”

Laughter bubbles up in me. I’m on the verge of losing it completely and breaking into guffaws before I realize that the nerves might be catching up to me after all.

Suppressing the urge, I give Oleg a curt nod and a kiss on the cheek.

Then I turn to my sister.

Sydney doesn’t look as convinced about my capabilities as Oleg, however. She doesn’t return my hug. Her hands remain stubbornly limp as I pull her into a tight embrace.

“I’ll be alright,” I assure her. “See you soon.”

I press a kiss to her cheek and head towards the lead car.

I get behind the wheel and buckle up. From my side mirror, I can see Oleg getting into the vehicle right behind mine.

Sydney is standing off to the side by the rose bushes, looking pale as a ghost.

I wave but she’s not looking at me. With a sigh, I turn the engine on and steer down the driveway. The rest of the caravan follows me in a neat procession.

It’s quiet in here. Eerily, unsettlingly quiet.

But I’m not exactly about to cue up Taylor Swift as I drive to a potentially violent meeting with my shitbag ex.

No, this day calls for heavy metal motivation.

So I crank up Metallica, letting the harsh rhythm sync with the frenetic beat of my heart.

The Pavlov security flanks me like faithful dogs. Every time I step on the accelerator, they speed up to match me. Every time I slow down, they follow suit.

I’m the maestro of a moving orchestra.

Anarmed,moving orchestra.

I glance towards the backpack sitting on the passenger seat. It will have to suffice as my talisman for today, a necessary prop to convince Drew that I mean business.

Just not the kind of business he expects.

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