Page 51 of Reaper
“It’s fine, I’m used to it.”
Without any more words, I make my way to Logan’s bedroom. Instead of sleeping in the spare bedroom, I’ve been staying in his. Pathetic, I know, but somehow with all his things around me, it makes me feel closer to him. Although his scent is gone, I can still feel the lingering weight of his presence. So, when I close the door behind me, I lay down and curl up with his pillow in my arms letting all the pain I’ve been feeling surface, then I cry myself to sleep.
Reaper
Thesoundofsilverwarescraping against porcelain plates fills the air of the restaurant. Despite the relaxed postures of everyone, a palpable tension hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to taste.
King requested a sit down with the Pakhan, but I’m not sure this is going to go as smoothly as King wants. Sometimes violence is the only answer, especially with someone like Oleg. Although he’s old school, he’s just as much of a bastard as his son. Both deserve to die, and I don’t think that’s something King disagrees with.
It took some time for the Pakhan to respond to the Sinners request, no doubt trying to make us nervous. It pissed me off more than anything, but what can I do about it? King wants to go about things diplomatically, so I’m trying to keep my temper under control and hold my tongue. But if it was up to me, I’d slice his throat.
We’re sitting in one of Petrov’s restaurants as he casually takes a sip of vodka while eating a deep magenta colored broth full of cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and some type of meat. A slightlysweet, and savory aroma drifts from the dish, but its appearance contrasts sharply with Oleg’s evident enjoyment as he hums when he takes another bite.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be with Paris, especially after Tongue called me a few days ago when she heard the news about her brother killing himself. At the time, we didn’t know it had been a suicide, despite the reports. Oleg has a bounty on his head since she escaped, so he still owes a debt to the Bratva. But later the coroner confirmed it with Paris when she claimed his body.
I’m glad Oya and Alana took it upon themselves to help her out during this time because she doesn’t want me around. I don’t fault her for her decision to stay away from me. But out of respect for her, the Sinners cremated his remains. I don’t want her to have to pay for a funeral for that piece of shit. According to Oya, she dumped his ashes in the Bay.
I know I need to be at this meeting to make sure the Bratva ends their hunt for her. While I think her brother is nothing but a coward who didn’t want to deal with the consequences of his actions, his death means the debt is null and void in my opinion. If not, I have no problem killing Oleg, just like I killed Nikita.
As Oleg drones on and on about how disrespectful the Sinners have been toward the Petrovs, I’m getting more impatient. I only want to hear one thing—he’s done going after Paris. Although, I’d love nothing more than to put a bullet in the bodies of every one of these motherfuckers, I know that won’t end well for us. We’ll lose and more than likely we’ll get arrested or end up dead. But I made sure to have a plan for this sit down after King confirmed it was a go.
“I understand you’re still grieving, Oleg,” King says in that diplomatic voice he uses when dealing with other organizations, but I also hear the agitation in his voice. He’s ready to get this over with just as much as I am.
Oleg drops his spoon in his soup or whatever the hell it is, and glares at King. I lean back in my chair, and rub my hands against my pants legs, trying to give them something to do other than wrap them around his fat neck.
“Then you understand that this isn’t the time to come to me looking for an agreement. That bitch tried to kill my son, and you expect me to let that go?”
“And how do you know that?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Where’s your evidence that she did anything to your son? His guards? The guards who let it happen in the first place?”
“Who else could it have been?” he sneers at me. “Or are you confessing to the crime? I know you were there that night, too?”
I shrug. “I was there, Oleg. I’ve never said I wasn’t. However, she was gone by the time Nikita had been killed because she left with me. Nikita sent his goons away, and we came to an agreement.”
Oleg arches his brow. “My son made an agreement with you for the girl?”
The disbelief is evident in his voice, but there’s no way he can prove I’m lying. Nikita’s guards had been sent away. The only people who were there and know the truth—me, Paris, and Nikita. And only two of us are alive.
“We did. I’ve tried over and over again to get this information to you, but you can imagine how difficult it’s been,” I say, lying through my teeth. “You know since everyone’s been trying to kill me.”
“Oleg, I’ve come to you in good faith,” King says. “You know I don’t bend to threats or attacks against my people. But I understand you’ve lost your son and I’m willing to look at this as a misunderstanding this one time.”
“And if I don’t stand down?”
He gives both King and I this smug look which says he’s not going to stop, but I’ve got a surprise for him. I gaze at my watchthen look back at Oleg. It should be any minute. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t stand down. He dies anyway.
“Because I don’t believe a goddamn word, he just said to me.” He looks at me before his eyes slide back to King. “That bitch killed my son, and I’ll have her life for it.”
Oleg snatches the napkin he has stuffed inside the collar of his shirt, then wipes his brow with it and a flush immediately spreads across his face. King gives me a ‘what the hell look’ and I can’t stop the smile from crossing my face.
Oleg tosses the napkin on the table, then pulls at the collar of his dress shirt like it’s too tight around his fat neck. Not only is his face getting redder by the second, but his lips are also tinged blue. He’s having trouble breathing now. I know it’s only a matter of time, so I tap King on the leg. He looks at me with his eyes narrowed, then we both stand as Oleg starts to cough, grasping at his neck.
“Oleg are you alright?” I ask, trying to put as much concern in my voice I can. “You guys, something is wrong with your boss! You might want to call 911.”
Chaos erupts around the room as Oleg slumps over, his face landing in his bowl of purple soup. Both King and I slip out of the restaurant, as they try to get Oleg help.
I paid a shit ton of money to have his chef dose his food with the same shit that killed Nikita. Untraceable and effective. It’ll look like a heart attack brought on by the death of his son. Paris doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for the Sinners to take the diplomatic route with Oleg. Now she’s free.
“What the fuck did you do?” King asks, as we both slip on our motorcycles.
