Page 57 of Dirty Roxie

“How close do you think I am to the femoral artery, father?” Daria asks, a sickly sweet smile on her face.

“I will end you,” Viktor bites out.

“Yet, I’m the one holding the blade in your thigh.”

I squeeze Daria’s thigh with my hand. Do I want her killing her father? Not exactly, but if that’s what she needs, she should do it. But here in public, where she could be arrested and thrown in a Colombian jail? Absofuckinglutely not.

“You want to kill me? Fine, go ahead and try.” Viktor forces out a laugh.

“Maybe.” Daria lets go of the knife and sits back in her chair, taking a sip of her vodka, her eyes never leaving Viktor. “But not right now. I will let you walk out of here, with the knife in place. Unless you’re stupid enough to pull it out, you’ll probably live. In return, you will bring us Andrei.”

Well played, Daria.

“I have no control over what that man does,” Viktor protests.

“Not what I heard,” I add. “Word has it, you ordered the hit on David Tremblay after he killed Katya. And you made Andrei do it. Sounds like control to me.”

Daria’s muscles tighten under my palm, the movement imperceptible to the eye. But I can read her easily. I just didn’t realize she didn’t yet know about Viktor ordering Andrei to kill David.

Shit.

And, judging from the look on his face, Viktor didn’t know that was now public knowledge.

“You don’t tell me what to do.” Viktor’s last-ditch effort at controlling Daria almost makes me laugh.

“My knife in your thigh says otherwise,” Daria smirks.

“This will not end well for you, Daria,” Viktor says.

“Nor you, father. I can promise you that.”

Viktor moves to get out of the booth, pushing himself out using his non-injured leg. He grabs a cloth napkin from the table and holds it in front of the knife as he limps away, almost dragging the stabbed limb behind him.

“He killed my mother,” Daria fumes. “I hate him.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” I pull her into me. “If it helps at all, I’m sure he hired someone else to do it.”

She scoffs. “I know he did. He will not get his own hands dirty if he doesn’t have to. That’s not the kind of man he is.”

“I’m proud of you for not killing him here at the table.”

“Thank you for recognizing my self-restraint. It was hard. I’m proud of me too.”

“And to miss the femoral artery when you stabbed him, using your left hand, and going in blind under the table. You’ve got some mad skills, lady.”

“Oh, that was just luck. Right then, I didn’t care where I stabbed or if I killed him.”

I laugh. “Wanna get out of here?”

She finishes her vodka in one gulp, slamming the glass down on the table when she’s through. “Yes.”

A small trail of blood leads from our table to the exit.

I nod toward it.

Daria turns to look. “Aren’t you security? Shouldn’t you look into that?”

“Smart-ass.”