Page 6 of Hate to Love You

Igor steps forward and holds Murphy’s mouth open, allowing Calvin to pour the entire bag of poisoned rat pellets down his throat. He struggles for a minute, before foaming at the mouth and collapsing on the floor, seizing.

The crying woman on the chair wails, her entire face turning purple, aside from the streak of bright red blood dripping down her cheek from where Igor slapped her.

“What about her?” Igor asks. “What do we do with her?”

He runs his hands through the woman’s bright red hair as she squirms, trying to get away from him.

“Nothing,” Pasha snaps, stepping up into Igor’s face. “You’ll do absolutely nothing with her.”

“And why the fuck not?” Igor laughs.

“Because, she’s innocent.” Pasha continues. “Murphy and his goons earned their fate. This woman has not.”

“You’re joking, right?” Igor laughs.

I sigh.

Oh Pasha. So fucking soft.

“No,” I say, holstering my gun. “We’re not savages.”

“But Boss, she’ll talk!”

“No, she won’t,” I say, narrowing my eyes at the woman. “Cal, take her phone, ID’s and wallet, and drop her off…I don’t know, somewhere in Queens I suppose. By the time she makes her way back to our side of town, I’m sure she’ll have forgotten everything she saw here tonight.”

I kneel down in front of her, gently reaching up and ripping the duct-tape off her mouth.

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

But the woman says nothing.

Instead, all she does is glare up at me with her bright green eyes, as a single tear slowly streaks down her cheek. Beautiful, proud, and strong, this woman watched her boyfriend murdered in front of her, and yet, there’s no trace of fear in her eyes.

Only hatred.

But hatred is something I understand.

“Igor, cut her loose.”

“Boss, wait a—”

However, before he can finish his sentence I snap, and decide I’ve had enough of Igor’s mouth tonight. I immediately yank my gun from its holster and point it at him.

“I said,” I growl, my voice low and lethal. “Cut. The. Bitch. Loose.”

“S…sure, Boss,” he says, swallowing hard.

Keeping my gun pointed at him, I watch as he walks over to her and takes out his knife. She trembles slightly as he grabs her hands and cuts the zip ties.

Good. Now that’s settled.

“Cal, you can drop her off,” I say, turning back around. “A few miles from the bridge and—”

“Fuck you all!”

The woman’s pained cry suddenly rings out in the room.

“Roman, look out!” Pasha shouts.