Hanna is asleep, and I’m sitting in the bed in my black tank top trying to figure out what to do. The alcohol is slowly leaving my system, and I need Hutch to hold me. I’m so afraid, and I know having his arms around me would at least help me sleep.
Taking out my phone one last time, I send a text. Wish I could kiss you goodnight. Maybe good morning?
The apartment is so quiet, and I glance at the clock. It’s one-thirty. Hana is breathing heavily from the other side of the bed, and a little buzz indicates I have a text. My stomach relaxes, and I’m sure it’s Hutch.
Tapping in my code, I’m all ready to see his reply when my heart stops. Cramps filter up the sides of my stomach, and I sit up fast not believing what I’m seeing.
It’s a text from Debbie, and I swipe so fast, I almost drop my phone. I can’t breathe as I read the words. Very bad traffic in Milan. Vv bad. Grisha is here, not getting out.
It was sent the night she died, but I’m only seeing it now. Shaking my head, I try to understand. Why am I just now getting this? Was it delayed somehow?
The scar above my left eyebrow burns, and the fear in my chest twists into anger. I’ve never backed down from a bully, and after what I’ve learned about Hana, now this? He’s a fucking liar. He’s a devil and a killer, and if he thinks he’s getting away with it, he’s wrong.
Tears heat my eyes, and I’m out of bed so fast, I don’t even consider the consequences. I scoop a pair of jeans off my pile of clothes, pulling them over my hips without stopping. I’m running through the house when I see the duffel bag Hutch brought sitting on the table.
It’s unzipped, and my eyes land on the steel-gray handle of his gun tucked in a side pocket. Grabbing my coat off the back of a chair, I take the heavy gun from his bag and shove it in the inside pocket. Then, I step into my shoes and head out into the night.
I’ve only been to Greg’s loft in SoHo one other time, with Debbie. It’s a third-floor walk-up on Prince Street, and the rain has stopped when I step out of the cab in front of the twelve-story building.
Hesitating on the wet concrete, I slip my hand inside my coat pocket to touch the handle of the Beretta. Doubt tried to creep in on the short ride down, but justice strengthened my resolve. This ends tonight.
Tucking my chin, I go to the front door and press the buzzer. He doesn’t even ask. He simply presses the release button allowing me access to the building.
Jogging up the stairs, I walk down the narrow hall to where his door isn’t even locked. When I enter, he’s standing in the kitchen with his back to the entrance, pouring a tumbler of vodka.
“I wondered how long I’d have to wait before you came here.” Turning slowly, he gestures to me with the bottle. “Can I fix you a drink?”
“No, thank you.” My voice is level, and he arches an eyebrow.
“Funny, last time I checked you were a fan of Mamont.”
“I’m not here to socialize.” The noise of my footsteps is muffled by the thin Persian rug covering the dark brown wooden floors.
His loft is a single, long room divided into thirds by exposed brick half-walls. The front is the kitchen-dining area, and I watch as he strolls into the middle, living room. I don’t want to get too close, so I stand just inside the brick wall.
“Why are you here? Did you come to confess what I already know, or is this something else?”
“You killed her.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.” His thin blond hair is smoothed back from his pale face, and his black eyes show no emotion.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I do my best to steady my voice. “Debbie sent me a text the night she died. You were there.”
He takes another, slow sip of alcohol. “I’ve already established I was out of town the night she died.”
“You were there. You threw her off that balcony, and I want to know why.”
My heart beats faster as his eyes turn deadly, and he takes a step closer. “Be careful hurling accusations, Blake. You might go too far.”
“She was my best friend, and you were supposed to love her.”
“Was I?” His gaze is so flat, so devoid of emotion, so terrifying.
He takes another step closer, and I take a step to the side, putting a chair between the two of us.
Setting aside his now-empty glass, he watches me. “There's an essential cruelty in the universe. No one expects the killer whale tossing a bloody, baby seal in the waves to be concerned with its pain. Or the cat playing with the mouse.”
“So you’re saying you never cared about her? You were only playing with her?”
“Debbie knew too much. She asked too many questions. I don’t like people who ask too many questions.” We’re slowly circling his narrow apartment, getting closer with each rotation.
“You’re a psychopath.” Tremors move through my chest, but I won’t show any signs of fear. I won’t feed his hunger.
“I’m neither of those things. Debbie got in my way.” His lips spread in a sinister, toothy grin. “Don’t get in my way, Blake.”
Slipping my hand inside my coat pocket, I know what I have to do. My fingers close around the gun, and my voice grows stronger. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning.”
“I have a warning for you.” Pulling the pistol out, I hold it steady. He’s close enough that I have it leveled on his heart. “Stay away from my family.”
He takes a step back, dark eyes go from the gun to me. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? I’m not afraid of you, little girl.”
“You’d better be afraid.” At the sound of Hutch’s deep voice, I almost collapse, but I don’t.
My eyes stay focused on my target, as Trip enters the room followed closely by my smoldering knight.
“Why the fuck did you bring him here?” Greg hisses.
“I didn’t. He followed me.” Trip casually goes to the kitchen. “Why, yes, I will have a drink. Thanks for offering. What’s this I hear about you murdering Debbie?”
“Idiot. I told you I was at Gibson’s with Ivanov.” Greg’s black eyes flash from Hutch to Trip and back to me, and for the first time, I see him flinch.
It renews my strength. “You’re losing track of your story. You said you were out of town that night.”
“Perhaps he went out of town after going to Gibson’s.” Hutch’s smooth voice takes on an edge, and my confidence strengthens.
“Blake’s guard dog. Always a few steps behind.” Greg is slowly backing towards the wall, and I notice a hollow in the bookcase–a perfect hiding place for a weapon. “Please know I say this with the deepest respect. I’m not afraid of you.”
I haven’t taken my gaze off his dead, shark-eyes, and I’m closing the space between us, ready to cut him off if he pulls out a gun.
Hutch remains calm, even cracking a grin. “You know, Grish, the thing about being licensed to kill is I don’t need a reason to take you out. All I need is probable cause.”
“So many threats and so few brains.” Greg slides his hand into the books. “I’ll take you out.”
“Not so fast.” My finger curls on the trigger, but Greg lunges at me.