Page 172 of Dirty Grovel

“The takedown is officially underway then?”

“I have a sniper sitting outside Matvey Martinek’s house as we speak. He’s just waiting for me to give him the signal.”

Artem runs a hand through his hair. “It’s really happening then.”

“It’s time the fucking Martineks realized that you don’t mess with Oleg Pavlov and get away with it. I’m gonna send a message to the world: Fuck with my family, and you die.”

“The thing is Matvey Martinek has two younger brothers,” Artem reminds me.

“I’ll get to them in good time,” I vow. “But right now, I don’t know where either one is.”

“Funny you should say that.” Artem smirks. “Because I do.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What do you mean? You know where Igor and Misha are?”

He points to the large screen, at the coordinates I dismissed earlier. “Igor and Misha Martinek are playing weekend warrior on a yacht in Exuma with their buddies. I was able to pinpoint their exact location.”

I gawk at the screen, already drooling like a wolf with a deer in its sights. “How long have we got?”

“My sources say they will be sailing away from Exuma in a day or two. Their plans aren’t clear.”

“No, but mine are.” I turn to Ilya. “Ilya, readyThe Bullet.It’s the fastest boat we’ve got. We move out in fifteen.”

“Fuck,” Artem curses, although he’s smiling excitedly. “We’re really doing this.”

“You know what’s better than taking out each Martinek heir one by one?” I ask rhetorically. “Taking them all out together. That’s a message that Vladimir Martinek won’t soon forget.”

55

OLEG

The setting sun streaks across the sky like a vengeful comet.

I see vermillion splattered along the edge of the horizon. Scarlet. Crimson. Garnet and more. Each new shade I see, I imagine to be the blood of a different Martinek brother.

Look at me… Oriana had predicted it early on.

“You strut around like you’re the top dog,” she said to me once. “But deep down, you’re a poet, Oleg Pavlov.”

She turned out to be right—I am a poet.

And blood is the medium I choose to paint in.

“We’re coming up on them, brother,” Artem says from my right shoulder. “It’s open water, so they’re going to see us coming.”

“Let them.” I glance back over my shoulder to the four men standing at my back, just in front of enough firepower to blow up Moby fucking Dick. “You boys ready? We can’t afford mistakes.”

All four stand at attention, their eyes homed in on the horizon, at the tiny dot in the distance that’s getting bigger and bigger with each passing second.

The music hits us first. Themudakshave cranked up the rap so loud that the echoes send ripples across the water. I can practically see the sea life racing for their earmuffs.

Just another reason to kill them all.

“Rifle!” I call, throwing my palm out.

The cool metal lands against my hand.

I raise it and squint down the laser scope. Through it, I can make out figures hunched over a table on the bow of the yacht.

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