There’s a tug at my hair, then a sudden jerk as Will pulls me close to him, his hands forcing me to look at the burning remains of the car.
“Take a good look, ma chérie,” he taunts me, “I don’t want you getting the wrong impression. Maksim Pavlenko is somewhere in there — or at least, bits and pieces of him are.”
I hate myself so much for having ever trusted Will, for having ever come close to letting myself feel attracted to this devil wearing human skin.
“What are you?” I say through choked sobs as Will strokes my hair. I want to kill him. I want so dearly to break that snide nose of his and toss him into the inferno along with the love of my life. I want so much, but I can do so little.
“Merely a man,” says Will, purring the words into my ear as I try to pull away. He glances to the man with me in the back, and he nods to him out the door. “Take a hold of her and get out. Confirm the bastard’s death.”
I’m pulled out into the smoky air, the smell of the burning car and gunshots mingling toxically with the otherwise pleasant scents of the French countryside in autumn. This is the kind of place bikers come careening through, or lovers come walking. I might have come here with Max one day, walking hand in hand with him without the faintest care in the world. Never in my darkest nightmares would I have imagined knowing such a forest as a place of death.
I try to pull part of my dress back up over my shoulder to cover myself. My shoes are long gone, and my captor’s sweaty hands have stained my ensemble. He yanks me with him as Will gets out and spreads his arms out wide, beaming. Men are stepping out of the woods now, guns pointed at the burning remains of the car as the shooting finally stops.
“I should say, Olivia,” Will says as the men approach the car and he turns to face me, stepping forward with a smile, “I’m genuinely sorry you became so personally involved in this business.” He reaches out and takes my chin in his hand the way Max used to, and I want to bite his fucking fingers off, but my face is swollen from crying and I can only stare into those heartless eyes.
“You know nothing about human caring,” I spit at him.
“Me? I know more than anyone here,” he practically hisses back at me, his eyes narrowing. “Do you think it’s for the money that I work with all these Chechens? Well, partly, but I find in them a lot of empathy in their hatred of the Russians, particularly of these Russian assassins.” Will flashes a quick smile to the man holding me, who nods back curtly. “But I must say, Liv,” Will goes on with a sigh, looking me up and down with ravenous eyes, “you do look lovely in your wedding gown, so it would be a shame to let you go through the whole day without the comfort of a man. Maybe I will be your groom instead? You seemed to be keen on that when we first met,” he says with a silky smile, and I want to burst with fury, my jaw clenched. “But I should introduce myself properly, first. My name is Guillaume Bouchard, and my brother Jean was murdered by a Russian pig, just like your late fiancé,” he growls, clenching his fist as he shoots a glare back at my lover’s fiery grave.
The men near the car, poking around different parts of it, and one of them holds up a burnt jacket —the tuxedo jacket Max was wearing. I’m unable to hold back another wave of tears, my head hanging.
“Fuck you,” I sob, “fuck you, fuck you.” I try to come up with something more biting, but I’ve had to be strong against these men so long that I feel utterly spent. Will — Guillaume — frowns, rolling his eyes at me.
“Stupid girl. You really are in love with him, aren’t you? Well, maybe your love for the Russian has ruined you for me. It’s a shame. I was looking forward to letting you live, but I see he’s made you far too much of a liability. So before you go thinking this is something personal on your part, dear Olivia,” he says, stroking my chin before taking his pistol out and pointing it at my head as my eyes focus on the barrel, my short life flashing before my eyes, “You can blame Mother Russia.”
A gunshot splits the air, and for a second, I wonder if this is what death feels like. Silent and like all the air has been sucked out of the world.
But then Will spins around, eyes wide, as one of his men near the car falls to the ground, dead. Shouts in Russian ring out in the forest, and men start taking cover as a firefight breaks out by the ruins of the car, and Will swears, ducking. The man holding my arms back jerks me to the side as he takes cover, but my heart jumps as I see a glimpse of something in the forest beyond the smoke, a tall, dark-haired figure, clothes half-burnt off and smoke staining his face, his piercing eyes unmistakable.