Page 46 of Savage Beauty

My husband turns toward the man who took my childhood innocence and sold it to the highest bidder.

31

Sasha

Carl Ellis’s neck is scrawny, like an under-fed chicken, and I’m sure I could choke him out with just one hand. As I approach, I recognize his wily strength and good instincts; he spins around, seeing my approach before I get within arm’s length.

“I can’t believe you had the gall to show up,” I say. “I mean, I hoped you’d be as dumb as you are disgusting, but this takes the fucking cake.”

“You invited me.” Carl leans forward and smiles. “At least, you may as well have done. This isn’t exactly a private affair. I just walked right in.” He waves a hand at the room. “So, with all these well-dressed people here, I assume you won’t want any drama. My business is with Josie, not you, so fuck off.”

“My wife has no business that isn’t mine also,” I say. “And you’d better believe me when I say I’d be delighted to kill you right here in front of everyone. Did you expect Josie to still be that frightened little girl you used to abuse?” I step closer and lash out my arm like a whip, gripping his collar in my fist. “She has me now. I know all about her past and love hermorefor it. She’s stronger than a piece of shit like you could ever understand.”

Carl never anticipated that his leverage would evaporate in an instant. His eyes are wild as he realizes his grave error, and a thin scream escapes him, drawing the whole room’s attention. The harpist stops playing, and only the man’s cries reverberate around the vast space.

I turn him quickly and grab his neck from behind, bringing my knee up firmly into the small of his back. He stumbles as I walk him toward Josie, coughing as I hold him aloft by his throat. Josie draws herself up to her full height, her expression cold as I dump the wheezing loser at her feet.

The only thing that stops me from tearing this fucker to pieces is the knowledge that it’s not my right. Not yet. My wife deserves to look into the eyes of the man who took her grieving, lonely young soul and tried to crush it. Carl Ellis needs to see Josie, unbeaten and unbowed, standing tall. Then I will drain the life from him if that’s what she wants, and he’ll die knowing she wished it so.

“Don’t hurt me,” Carl whimpers. He sits up on his heels and looks at me as he speaks. “I’m an old man now. I’ll leave you alone. I was only joking anyway.”

Josie ducks down and looks at Carl’s face. He turns away, unwilling to look her in the eye, and I grab his neck again.

“You don’t get to look away,” I snarl. “Don’t beg me for your life. Begher.”

Carl drags his eyes to Josie’s. “I was kind to you. Jane and I took you in when no one else would. Fed you, clothed you.” He holds out his hands. “I got nothing anymore. Doesn’t that matter to you? We werefamily.”

Josie closes her eyes. “You werenevermy family,” she says. “My mom was all I needed, and I lost her. I sure as hell won’t mourn you. No one will.” She gives him her back. “You’re finished, Carl.”

That’s enough for me, but I’m not prepared to shoot the man in the middle of the reception—there are children here, and we Kislevs know from past experience that murdering someone at a wedding trashes the ambiance. But there’s no way I’m outsourcing this one.

I drag Ellis onto his feet and march him to the door, catching Arman’s eye. He’s already on the phone, doing what he does best.

Ellis begins to scream in earnest as I shove him outside, and as the door swings closed behind us, I hear the music and hubbub again. Before us is the steep flight of steps that lead to the sidewalk.

We wait for a minute, and sure enough, a yellow taxi pulls up. No one pays any attention to the frightened Ellis as I bundle him onto the back seat, and I get in beside him, closing the door.

It takes less than a minute to squeeze the worthless life out of him. I had planned to shoot him, but this cabbie is a loyal and reliable waste-disposal expert, and I don’t want to make a mess of his vehicle. Or it could just be because I want to watch the filthy cunt suffer. I’ll admit, seeing the blood vessels in his eyes burst under pressure is satisfying. With a final shudder, Carl Ellis is dead, and it’s the best wedding present I could have asked for.

I throw the cabbie a roll of hundreds. “Get rid of him. Same protocol as usual. And thanks for getting here so fast.”

He takes the money with a deferential tilt of his head. “Da, Sasha. And congratulations, by the way.”

* * *

When I go back inside, the party is getting a little raucous. There’s nothing like knowing someone’s getting killed outside to drive people to drink, and trays of vodka shots are rapidly doing the rounds.

Josie runs into my arms, and I hold her tight to a massive cheer from the room. It’s our turn for the stupid shots-and-kissing Russian wedding tradition; the guests shoutgorko, we kiss, and our love makes the vodka sweet instead of bitter. Or so they say. Who are we to disagree?

Josie looks up at me, her eyes shining. “Is he dead?” she asks, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Tell me that vicious bastard is dead, Sasha. Tell me you destroyed him.”

The cry goes up. “Gorko!”

I lean in close to her ear. “He’s not just dead. I’ve taken everything from him. He will have no grave, no resting place, no nothing. Roadkill has more dignity in passing than Carl Ellis. I promise you that.”

Someone yells again. “Gorko!”

I heed the call of tradition and lower my lips to hers. They taste salty from her tears, and as our guests applaud, I pull her close, cupping her cheek tenderly. Her hands cling to me like a frightened child. She seems so fragile, so broken.

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