Chapter 9 Episode 9

“My friend knows where I am,” she blurts out. “I told him I took a job on a boat called The Medusa. I told him I’d call him right after. If anything happens to me, he’ll know where to send the police.” I raise my eyebrows. “Was that your first time threatening someone?” “I’d call it more of a warning.” “Not much difference, when it comes down to it.” She glances towards the dead body again. She mumbles something under her breath that I don’t manage to catch. “What was that?” I press, inching closer to her. “‘The maker of sad stories,’” she repeats, louder this time. “That’s what you told me you were, back on the beach.” “You’re honest, but murder is okay?” “Every man has his principles.” “Then yours need some serious work,” she spits. “Who was the boy?” I arch an eyebrow. “You’re really asking for more information?” “He was the man’s son, wasn’t he?” She pushes on as though I haven’t spoken. “You killed the man in front of his own kid.” “The boy needed a reality check. He will thank me one day.” She shakes her head in disbelief, in amazement. “How could you be so cruel?” “There’s no room for kindness in my world.” “You could make room,” she insists. “It seems like you run this world, anyway.” I smile. “I’m glad you noticed.” “I’m not impressed, you know.” It’s amusing watching the evolution of emotions on her face. She wears it all so clearly, so obviously. Fear and shock give way to anger and indignation. The woman is certainly not a coward; I have to give her that. She’s standing opposite me and holding her own despite what she’s just seen. Despite the fact that the gun I used to kill a man is still warm on the table. “You were impressed earlier in the evening,” I remind her with a chuckle. “When you were screaming your pleasure at the sky.” Her anger gets more pronounced. “I didn’t realize what you were.” “Which is what, exactly?” I ask. “You have an odd way of bargaining for your life,” I say with amusement. “Is that what I’m supposed to do now?” she asks. “Beg?” I shrug. “It couldn’t hurt.” She looks lost for a moment, caught between her pride and her desire to live. I give her the space to think, because she’ll only get one chance at this. As her gears whirl, I find myself contemplating the two alternatives at my disposal. The first is easy—slice her throat and dump her body into the ocean. No fuss, no clean-up necessary. The second is far messier. Letting her live but making sure she keeps her mouth shut. One gives me peace of mind The other gives me homework. The decision should be easy. God knows I’ve made the same kind of choice again and again in the past, and I’ve always chosen the route of cleansing violence. And yet I find myself reluctant now to do what must be done, and I don’t have a f*****g clue why. “I won’t go to the cops,” she whispers. “I swear.” I laugh. “What assurance do I have of that?” “Why would I get involved in this?” she asks. “All I want to do is go back home and pretend this day never happened.” “I’d rather you not pretend. I’d rather you just forget.” “Don’t you think I’m going to be working towards that the moment I get off this godforsaken boat?” she demands. “Do you think I want to have nightmares for the rest of my life?” Her eyes glance towards the body on the floor again. It’s the most human reaction there is. The need to look at something that horrifies you. The need to try and make sense of something you don’t quite understand. “Please,” she whimpers. “Just let me off this boat.” I sigh and reach forward to pluck the gun from the table. “I wish it were that simple, Jessa. But unfortunately, I’m not in the habit of losing sight of my wild cards.” “I’m not a wild card, I swear!” she protests. “I’m just… I’m just… average. Normal. I just want to pay my rent and go to work and keep my head down. I don’t want this drama. God knows I have enough in my own life.” I take a step closer to her. “You can see how that would be difficult for me to believe?” “Oh, right,” she seethes, nostrils flaring. “I forgot. Your motto in life is ‘don’t trust anybody.’ And given what I’ve seen here today, I’m starting to understand why.” She had a moment of shock, but she is recovering remarkably fast. “What are you smirking about?” she snaps. “Is that the face you make right before you kill someone?” I chuckle. “I hope not. It would be a shame to kill you.” “Jesus,” she breathes, exhaling sharply. “Did I really think of you as this charming guy only a few minutes ago? How could I have gotten it so wrong?” “You didn’t get anything wrong,” I tell her. “I am charming when I choose to be.” She takes a step back, eyes riveted on mine. “You’re a killer.” “I am also that when I choose to be.” She swallows again, the sound echoing throughout the room. Once more, her eyes stray to the body. Most of Benyamin’s blood is soaked into the carpet. I’ll have to get the whole thing torn up and reupholstered. The stench of death is impossible to erase. “Why did that man have to die?” she whispers. She says it almost hopefully, as though she’s holding out for a justification that’ll absolve me and maybe relieve some of her guilt. “He betrayed the Stepanov Bratva,” I say calmly. I let my silence speak for itself while she processes. “Do you have proof he betrayed you?” “I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger if I didn’t.” “Something tells me that men like you pull the trigger first and look for the evidence later.” I regard her with amused curiosity. “And you have a lot of experience with men like me?” “My dad is a cop. Well, was a cop. He retired.” “The streets were too mean for him?” I nod, regarding her carefully. She’s got some steel in her. I’ve been in circumstances where things have gone south and there have been innocent women present. When business goes bad and guns come out and someone ends up on the floor with their brains on the carpet. And every single time, the women f*****g lose it. Tears and screaming. Vomit, on occasion. The rare fainting spell. But Jessa’s hazel-gold eyes are clear, steady. She’s overwhelmed and anxiety-ridden, but she’s holding her fear back, reining it in. Admirable. “Are you going to kill me?” she asks in a small voice that wavers but does not crack. “Tell me why I shouldn’t.” I step towards her and pin her against the wall. Up close, I sense her every movement, her every sensation, her every thought. I feel the gasp trapped in her chest and the frantic pounding of her heart. I taste her fear. “I’m more afraid of you than I am of the police,” she whispers. “How is that for a reason?” I like that answer, but I don’t let her see that. Perhaps I can find a way to keep her. The way her eyes are dilating, the way her lips part softly—it has my mind pivoting in a new direction. “Anton,” comes a voice from the hall. I curse under my breath and step away from Jessa. Lev is standing at the open door, his brows knitted together in a furious downward V. It might concern me if it wasn’t for the fact that he always looks that way. “The clean-up team is here,” he tells me. “And we need you above deck.” I push down my annoyance and nod. “Send the team in. I’ll be right up.” “You’re going to leave me here alone?” Jessa gasps, looking more alarmed to be left alone with the dead body than to be trapped under mine. “You won’t be alone,” I assure her. “Just keep out of their way.” Then I follow Lev out of the room. He doesn’t say anything until we’re on the narrow staircase that leads up to the bow. “What are you doing?” “That’s the craziest management philosophy I’ve ever seen.” “If you have something to say, I’d rather you just say it, Lev. Without all the f*****g dramatics.” He twists around on the staircase and blocks me. Lev is a tall man in his own right, but even still, we’re eye-to-eye despite the fact that I’m two steps below him. “She saw you kill Benyamin,” he points out in that teacher-saying-something-obvious voice I despise so much. “I’m aware. I was there.” “So why is she still alive?” he hisses. I shrug. “Because I can control her.” “I hate to break it to you, but your c**k isn’t a magic wand. She’ll have to take it out of her mouth eventually, and when she does, she’s gonna sing like a bird. Don’t be naïve, man.” I narrow my eyes. “When have I ever been naïve?” “I know you, Anton,” he says, lowering his voice a little. “The only reason you brought this chick onboard is because she interested you. How many times has a woman caught your attention in your entire adult life?” I open my mouth to answer, but he keeps going before I can get a word in.