Page 7 of Wicked Proposal

He doesn’t hesitate. A second later, a sickeningcrunchechoes across the line, followed by a scream.

“Let’s try this again,” I growl. “I will ask. You will answer. Say you understand.”

Boyan’s wails turn to silent sobs. “Y-yes. I understand.”

“Good. Then tell me how you knew Nikita.”

“I d-didn’t,” the man sniffles. “I swear, I?—”

“Maksim. Break another.”

A secondcrunch.

A second scream.

“T-that wasn’t the deal!” Boyan cries. “I answered your question!”

“And I didn’t fucking like it,” I snarl. “So do better.”

“I was hired! I-I swear, I?—”

Bingo.

“Tell me what they hired you to do,” I demand. “You have five seconds.”

To Boyan’s credit, it only takes him two to answer this time.

“T-to clean up!” he blurts. “I was s-supposed to clean her place. Like, wipe down the surfaces, get rid of traces.”

“Doesn’t sound like a normal cleaning gig to me.”

“I needed the money,” he sobs. “I c-couldn’t be picky. Please, sir, let me go, I promise I won’t tell?—”

“Name your client. Then I’ll consider it.”

Boyan’s breath stutters. “N-name?”

“Yes,” I grit. “I want a name.”

“I c-can’t?—”

“Maksim.”

“Please, no!”

I hear scuffling, then another familiar sound—the sweet snapping of bone.

“Arghh!I don’t know! T-they never say who they are! They hire through notes and pay cash! I swear, I have no idea who it is!”

They never say who they are.

Boyan’s words burrow deep into me.

My blood turns to ice water, carrying a numbing cold through me—the cold of suspicion.

Of memories.

Blood on the floor. Blood everywhere. The smell of gunpowder in the air, the echoes of screams.