Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
‘Look. This is silly. All right. You don’t have to marry him. You have my word.’
‘You think you’re here because of that?’
The first flash of fear crosses his eyes. ‘Then what?’
‘You sent someone into my bedroom to kill Sergei. He was like my son, Papa. He was an innocent little thing and I loved him with all of my heart, and you just took him away. How could you? How could you?’ I sob. The tears are rushing down my cheeks, and I’m ugly crying, but I don’t care anymore.
‘Solnyshko, Sergei was not your son. Sergei was a dog. One day you will have a child and you will understand. You are my daughter, my flesh and blood. Everything I have done is for your own good. All of this we can put aside … and start again. Maybe I’ve been too harsh with you. I’ll change … I’ll be a better father. What do you say?’ His voice is soft and manipulative.
‘As if that wasn’t enough, you then took the only man I’ve ever wanted. I loved Noah, Papa. I would have given up my life for him. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him. You took everything away from me.’
‘Solnyshko, listen to me,’ he says, his voice is not sorry or remorseful. It is just wheedling. It’s all just a technique. A trick. A bluff. As if I’m stupid.
For a few seconds I continue to stare at his pathetic attempt at finding a way out of his mess.
‘You are young and beautiful. You will find someone else,’ he says.
I walk over to where my rucksack is on the floor and feel his eyes follow. I kneel down, pull out the untraceable handgun I got from Dimitri’s men, and take the safety catch off. I get to my feet and walk towards him with the gun in my hand. What irony that it was my father who taught me how to use a gun.
Thirty-six
Tasha Evanoff
If rain drops were kisses. I could send you showers. If hugs were seas. I’d send you oceans. If love was a person I’d send you me!
-Shahid Abbas
‘It’s too late for that,’ I say softly.
My heart feels like a piece of ice. ‘You are a destructive rabid dog. The poison is in your bloodstream and the only humane thing to do is to put you down.’
He struggles instinctively, making the chair rock so violently on the concrete floor it almost topples over. Curiously, for I have become quite removed from the scene around me, I see real uncontrollable fear slither into the bully’s face. He’s beginning to sweat. For the first time in our lives the power is in my hands.
Without warning he stops struggling and makes a great effort to control himself. He’s changing tactics. He laughs. It has a harsh hollow sound to it.
‘You think it is so easy to take a man’s life? It doesn’t end when you have pulled the trigger. Let me tell you about the nightmares. They come back. Their souls haunt you. There’s nowhere to run. Kill me in cold blood, you want me in your nightmares, because I swear, Tasha, I will never forget this ingratitude. I will haunt you until your dying day, and after you are dead I will be waiting for you in hell.’
My hand shakes so I use the other one and try to keep it steady.
‘Look at you. Shaking like a leaf. You’re not a killer. You haven’t got it in you. Just like that bitch who bore you. Weak. Go on. I dare you. Pull the trigger and see what happens after. It won’t be unicorns shitting rainbows,’ he taunts.
His words have a strange effect on me. They make me feel light-headed. I swallow back the strange sensation and try to stay focused.
‘This is for Sergei and Noah,’ I say, but my voice is weak and uncertain compared to his loud, aggressive threats and taunts.
‘Stop this now, Tasha, and I promise there will be no repercussions. I will put it down to temporary madness caused by grief over your dog. I give you my word here. You know me. I have never broken my word to you ever, have I?’
I bring the gun up to his chest height, with one finger on the trigger and the other tightly clasping my firing hand.
He changes strategy again. ‘For God’s sake, Tasha, you can't shoot your father. What will your life be after this? Do you want this on your conscience?’ he cries.
The more he talks the more confused I become.
I try to think of my poor Sergei, and Noah, and how much I hate my father, but it is not like in the movies. Pulling the trigger is difficult. Sweat prickles across my neck and my armpits are drenched. I straighten my body, point the gun, close my eyes, but I just can’t hold the gun straight.