Painted Scars: Chapter 16

“We could have stayed home.” I gather my skirt and take Roman’s hand to exit the car.

“I owed you a dinner.”

“We should have gone back home after the restaurant. The club could have been left for some other time.”

“I have some business with Pavel here anyway, we won’t stay long.”

He could have discussed business with Pavel at the house; he’s doing this because of me. I just mentioned the club in passing yesterday, saying I had a great time and would like to go again sometime. I didn’t expect it to be the following day, damn it. He had to spend the whole day in the wheelchair after that stunt he pulled, and I hate that he’s pushing himself on my account. However, there is no discussion with Roman when he gets something into that thick head of his.

We arrive later than we did on our last visit, so the club is already packed. It takes serious maneuvering to get across the first room, even with Ivan leading the way. After we are seated, the waiter brings us drinks. I lean on Roman and turn to tell him something when I notice a tall blond man on the other side of the room. He’s standing with his back to me, chatting with a few other guys. I feel Roman’s hand come around my waist, and he asks me something. I don’t hear the words, my attention is focused on the blond guy. The more I look at him, the shallower my breathing becomes. Someone calls for him. He turns, and it feels like his movements are in slow-motion. Then, his face finally becomes visible. He looks up, our gazes clash, and I stop breathing.

I feel Nina stiffen next to me. It lasts for a few seconds, and then the hand she placed on my thigh starts shaking.

“Malysh? What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t react. It’s like she hasn’t even heard me. She just stares at the crowd. I follow her gaze, trying to see what may have spooked her, but I can’t find anything out of ordinary. People are drinking and talking, and nothing stands out except a man near the exit, looking in our direction. I don’t like other men looking at my wife, but it’s a common occurrence. Nina has an exotic beauty that attracts attention. However, the way this man is staring at her, it’s beyond ordinary interest—a mix of recognition and malice. He’s close to my height, so combined with the horrified way Nina is staring at him, the pieces of the puzzle click into place. Trying hard to control my rage, I take Nina’s chin and turn her head to face me.

“Is that the man who hurt you, milaya?”

She looks into my eyes without blinking, her lips pressed into a hard line.

“It’s him, isn’t it. He’ll pay, malysh. He’ll pay dearly. I’ll make sure of it,” I whisper and turn to take my crutches.

Nina grabs my arm. “No. You promised you wouldn’t kill anyone because of me.”

I never promised such a thing, but her voice is so small and upset, I don’t want to distress her further. I’ll deal with the bastard later.

“Ivan!” I bark and wait for him to approach. “See that motherfucker? There, below the exit sign. Blond, beard, tall. I want him thrown out of my club, and make sure the bouncers know he’s never to be let inside again.”

“Yes, Pakhan,” he says, and I feel Nina’s body relax slightly next to me.

“Good.” I put my arm around her back, turn to Ivan, and add in Russian, “Bag him and wait for my call.”

Ivan looks at me, and I let him see what I left unsaid written on my face. He nods, turns, and heads down to the dance floor.

I hold Nina next to me while Ivan and one of the bouncers manhandle the bastard. When I’m sure they are gone, I lead her out of the club. She’s silent for the whole trip home, and when we arrive, she heads straight to bed.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I whisper in her ear when I join her in bed.

She doesn’t answer, just curls into my side, and buries her face in the crook of my neck. After an hour, I finally feel her relax and her breathing evens out. I wait for half an hour more, until I’m sure she’s sleeping deeply, then get up and leave the room.

“Where is he?” I ask as soon as Ivan takes the call.

“Pavel has him in his trunk.”

“Take him to the basement.” I put the phone on the dining room table and leave the suite.

Maneuvering the narrow stairs down to the basement on crutches is a bitch, but I manage, and cross the short hallway that leads into the back room. Inside, the bastard is tied to a chair above the drain, his mouth gagged.

“Remove his shirt,” I say to Ivan who’s waiting in the corner, and turn toward the table by the wall to inspect the assortment of knives and other tools.

“Pakhan? Do you want me to call Mikhail?”

“Nope.” I take one of Mikhail’s knives and smile. “This one is mine.”

The street in front of me is dark, but I keep running. The sound of my footfalls echoes off the cobblestones lining the ground. Even though I push myself with all my strength, I feel like I’m treading through mud, my legs heavy and slow. A figure of a man comes around the corner, grabs me around my neck, and starts choking me.

I wake with the start and sit up in bed, panting heavily. The lamp in the corner is on, and I find the bed next to me empty. I reach for the phone on the nightstand and check the time. Half past four.

“Roman?” I call out. Nothing but silence answers me.

A sick kind of dread settles in my stomach. I jump out of the bed and run, hoping to find Roman in the kitchen. He isn’t there, and I stand in the middle of the room. Did he have some kind of business emergency? But then, my eyes fall on his phone lying on the corner of the dining room table. There is no way he’d leave his phone behind.

I pad down the long hallway on bare feet, and open the door to the gym. The lights are out, so I head downstairs to check Roman’s office. He is not there, and the whole house is silent. I close his office door, and head toward the main kitchen when my eyes come to the door that leads into the basement. I’ve never seen anyone going inside, but something urges me to reach for the handle.

The light above the stairs is on, and I hear Roman’s voice in the distance below, mixed with some strange sounds of scraping wood. The door must have been soundproofed because I didn’t hear anything from the outside. Slowly, I descend the stairs and find myself in a bare room with metal shelves lining the walls. The sounds are louder here. Roman’s voice is coming from the direction of the door on the other side that’s been left slightly ajar, but I can’t decipher what is being said because it’s in Russian.

I don’t want to see what’s happening behind that door, because deep down I know what I’ll find inside. But my feet keep leading me forward. I put my palm on the wooden surface and push.

Brian is sitting on a chair in the middle of the tiled floor, his feet and wrists tied to it. On the floor next to his feet, several severed fingers lay scattered in a huge puddle of blood. Roman is standing in front of him, leaning on one crutch with his left hand, and his right is holding a knife that’s lodged into Brian’s stomach to the hilt. He barks something at him, and starts rotating the knife. I stare in horror at the blood pouring from the wound.

A strange, choked sound leaves my lips, and I clutch the doorway next to me as my vision starts to blur. Roman turns abruptly, his eyes going wide. He takes a step toward me, and I start retreating, staring at his blood-covered hands. When Roman takes another step in my direction, I turn and run. I don’t remember leaving the basement or going up the great stairwell. When I reach the suite, I stumble through my room to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I take a few shaking breaths, then lunge for the toilet and vomit.

I’m still clutching the sides of the toilet when I hear the knock on the door.

“Leave,” I choke out.

“Nina, I—”

“LEAVE!” I scream and then vomit again.

I’m sitting on the floor, next to the toilet, when footsteps approach and Varya’s voice calls for me from the other side of the door. It’s been an hour or so since I vomited the last time, so I stand up slowly and hunch over the sink. After splashing some cold water onto my face, I unlock the door.

“Dear child,” Varya says and reaches for me, but I take a step back.

“I need you to call me a taxi. Please.”

“Don’t leave. It’ll destroy him, Nina. Please, let him explain.”

“Taxi,” I rasp. “Or I’m going on foot.”

Varya looks at me sadly and nods. I see one tear escape and roll down her cheek before she reaches for her phone.

There is a knock at the door, but I remain seated in the recliner facing the window and watch the yellow car idling in the driveway.

“Pakhan.”

“Yes, Dimitri?”

“There is a taxi waiting out front. Varya said that Nina Petrova is leaving.”

“She is.”

“Should I stop her?”

I think about it, then shake my head. “No. Send two men to follow her discreetly. Have them call me when she reaches her destination.”

“Do you want them to stay there, or come back here?”

“They will stay. I want two men on her constantly. Arrange the shifts. Tell them to make sure they are out of sight.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s all for now.”

A few minutes later, Nina hurries down the steps and gets into the cab. She’s wearing jeans and her old hoodie, carrying a small suitcase. I watch her, waiting for her to turn around and come back inside. She doesn’t. The cab leaves.

I grab the crystal bottle of whiskey, pour myself three fingers, and then hurl the bottle across the room, where it shatters against the wall.