Page 6 of Emerald

Nina sits up, annoyed. Her dark red hair tumbles down around the full breasts her husband recently paid for but has barely been allowed to enjoy. According to Nina, he’s only able to rise to the occasion about half the time anyway—the perils of marriages between young women and old men.

“Are you going to drive me home at least?” Nina asks.

“No,” I say. “Get a cab.”

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” she says.

“Have I ever fucked you like a gentleman?” I say, buttoning up the last button on my shirt.

Nina smirks. She thinks I’m flirting with her. But the truth is, I’m already tired of her. Why do so many beautiful women cease to be beautiful as soon as you get to know them?

Nina isn’t catching on. She hops out of the bed, trying to get in front of me, running her hands over my chest and purring up at me.

“We should go on a trip together. Somewhere warm and tropical . . .”

“How are you going to explain that to your husband?”

“I’m getting tired of sneaking around,” she says. “I was thinking it might be time for you and I to make things official. I was talking to a lawyer and—“

I cut her off.

“Do you think I would actually date you?”

She stops talking, her mouth hanging open and looking as stunned as if I’d slapped her across the face.

“What?”

“I said,” I make my words distinct and deliberate, “do you think I would actually date you?”

“But . . . we are dating.”

“No,” I say. “We’re fucking. There’s a difference.”

She’s sputtering, so outraged she can’t even form words.

I explain it to her, like she’s a child.

“Do you think I would actually date someone disloyal enough to cheat on their husband?”

“You hypocrite!” she shrieks. “You’re just as bad!”

“You spoke the vows, not me,” I tell her. “You promised to honor, obey, and always be true. I never promised Egorov I wouldn’t fuck his wife.”

“Well you’re a murderer!” she shouts at me. “You’re a killer and a gangster and a thief and a . . . a . . . a liar!” she finishes, her pretty face contorted with rage, and her spit flying up in my face.

She’s tearing at the front of my shirt, beating her fists against me. I grab her wrists in one hand, squeezing them with less than half my strength, but hard enough to make her squirm.

“I don’t lie,” I say, my voice deadly quiet. “Ialwayskeep my promises. So you know I mean it when I say that if you see my face again, it’s the last thing you’ll ever see.”

She stares up at me, her eyes round with terror.

“Because you’re right about one thing,” I tell her. “I am a killer.”

I let go of her wrists, which sink limply to her sides.

I leave her behind in the hotel room, not bothering to give her money for a cab like I usually would.

It was probably overkill, to threaten her like that. But I’m in a foul mood about the botched delivery. The idea of Nina trying to whine and cajole her way back into my life is something I don’t want to deal with. Better to burn that bridge right now.