Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(32)

I walk back to my car, open the trunk, and take out a toolbox. On the outside, it looks like an ordinary toolkit, but removing the interior box reveals a hidden compartment, where I keep the real tools of my trade. I grab one of the syringes and a scalpel, and head back.

“What’s that?” Denis asks, pointing to the syringe.

“Adrenalin shot,” I say as I bury the needle into the side of the guy’s neck. “It might make him more coherent for a little bit. I’ve never tried it on someone with a concussion.”

“So, it will make him better? Why didn’t Doc think of that?”

“Because Doc doesn’t kill people for a living.” I throw the syringe to the side, crouch, and take the Albanian’s hand. “When the adrenalin leaves his system, he’ll crash. Hard. Grab his shoulders and keep him still.”

Holding the guy by his wrist, I force his palm to the floor and place the scalpel at the root of his thumb. The Albanian comes to at the exact moment I cut off his finger and starts screaming.

“Shut the fuck up.” I slap him across his face. Not the wisest thing to do considering his condition, but I’m in a bad mood. “Listen to me carefully. You are going to die tonight. It can be quick, or I can make sure it’s extremely painful and long-lasting. Nod if you understand.”

He whimpers and nods, trying to pull out his hand from my grip. I swipe the scalpel and cut off another of his fingers, which results in another screaming fit.

“Who sent you to intercept us, and what were your orders?” I yell into his face.

“I don‘t know,” he chokes out. “Arben talked with the guy who paid for the job.”

“Who is Arben?”

He mumbles something and closes his eyes. It looks like the adrenalin isn’t working.

I slap him again. “I said, who is Arben?”

“The driver.”

One of the guys I shot. Shit. “What did they want you to do?”

“Kill the man with the eyepatch.” He looks up at me and shudders. “It was just a job.”

“What about the woman?”

“The guy said she is not important.”

Not important. I take a deep breath, trying to keep myself from killing him right away. “Anything else?”

“N-n-no.”

“Do you know what the man who met with Arben looked like?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible now.

Fuck. I stand up and take the gun from the holster under my jacket. “Not important,” I spit out and shoot him in the head.

Turning toward Denis, I pin him with my gaze. “Make sure you are not late next time, Denis.”

He takes a step back. “Of course, boss.”

“Good. Clean up this mess.”





It’s almost midnight and I’m starting to worry. Where is Mikhail?

When Lena fell asleep, I went to the kitchen to tidy up the mess, and then took a quick shower, expecting him to be back by the time I finished. Did something happen?

I take one of his T-shirts that I stole and put it on. I’m finishing braiding my hair when I feel rough palms covering my hands. I release the strands, and my hair falls as I look up at Mikhail’s reflection in the mirror. He stands behind me and divides my hair into three sections again, then starts braiding my hair for me. His moves might be a little clumsy, but it looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“My sister always pestered me to braid her hair when our mother wasn’t around,” he says without meeting my eyes, and there is so much pain in that one sentence, it pierces me right through my heart.

“Oksana was deaf from birth. She was four years older than me, so I learned sign language before I learned to read.”

It’s not just the fact that he’s using the past tense. I can feel it in the tone of his voice… Something bad happened to his sister. Mikhail raises his head, then and our gazes collide in the mirror. There is such a haunted look in his eye, that I know for certain that whatever happened is much worse than I can imagine.

I take the hair tie from the cupboard, offer it to Mikhail, and wait for him to secure the braid.

“Not my best work, I’m afraid.” He sighs. “You might want to do it again.”

“It’s perfect,” I sign into the mirror.

Mikhail places his hands on my hips, turns me around, and raises his hand to run a finger down the side of my face. “I’m sorry.”

I sigh, pull on his arm until he bends, and I place a kiss on his lips.

“Am I forgiven?”

“Not yet. You will need to work much more for that.”

He raises his left eyebrow, and his lips widen slightly. “What did you have in mind? Some kind of manual labor?”

“Yes.” I smile and start unbuttoning his shirt.

I feel his hands on my stomach, going up and pulling on my shirt. “I better start then.”

He pulls the shirt over my head, removes my panties, and turns me to face the mirror, with my bare back pressed to his chest. I stare at our reflections—me completely naked, and him standing behind me in his black shirt and dress pants. He places a kiss on my neck while his hands come to my waist and slowly start sliding down, over my hip bones and then lower.

“I want you to watch”—his right hand slides even lower, between my legs—“how beautiful you are when you come.”