Page 129 of Jewel of the Assassin

“Your next song, Valya?” he asks as “Like a Prayer” fades.

Only a few dwindlers remain. And two of them…oh, those two have been hiding like the cowardly bitchass dogs they are.

So, I look up at Zina, blow her a kiss, and sing out, “Play NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye”!”

42

“God, this must be better than drugs.”

ROMAN

Fuck, I could not love her more.

My wife moves down the aisle like a violent poem, graceful and lithe even as she steps right on the bodies piling up.

The chapel reeks of copper and salt, but all I smell is Valentina, her musk, the notes of her own perfume. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Fleur weaving in and out of the bodies, showering flowers upon the corpses.

I shake my head with a chuffed laugh. I read the language in the three blooms.

Black Dahlias: betrayal, dishonor, and dark fate. A perfect curse-flower.

Belladonna: poisonous, historically tied to curses and death.

And last but not least, hemlock: associated with execution, a curse of justice against the damned.

Only Fleur could toss symbolic blossoms of eternal hell upon the dead, looking every inch a Gothic queen. If Levka is King ofSpirits, then Fleur is officially our Queen of Flowers…and Darkness. If they prefer the term Queen.

At the sound of a strident caw, I turn to see Shalun picking away at the dead. Da, he will have a great feast tonight.

Levka is at the head of the chapel, standing sentry with his eyes locked on Fleur. Mikhail never takes his eyes off my brother. Anton still looks at me or Valentina, his upper lip occasionally lifting in a scowl. He won’t move. He knows Mikhail would shoot him in the leg. He knows his reckoning is coming.

Zina holds her post at the sound system, ready to cue another song at my signal. And fuck me, I almost laugh. She’s kicked back in the chair, bare feet up on the table, her usually immaculate hair wild and tumbling down her chest. A bloody beer bottle dangles from her hand like a trophy. At her feet, one of Anton’s guards sprawls facedown, a motherfucking shashka jutting from his spine.

“There you are,” Valentina chimes a few paces ahead of me, diverting my attention.

I know exactly who she is targeting.

I follow her down the aisle just as she locks one strong hand around ruby red hair and drags her out of the pew where she and her lover tried to hide. And like a bloody weakling, he runs in the opposite direction. I lift my dagger—and hurl it right at him, grinning when it embeds right in his goddamn ass. Just as planned. He howls. I make my way to him, mirroring my wife’s actions of dragging him to join his fellow rapist.

At the sound of a feral scream, I turn to find Valentina tearing at Selene’s clothes. Nothing held back. Fuck, she’s flawless—rage, retribution, and jubilation.

My pulse sprints through my veins. I reach into my jacket pocket, retrieving a small bottle of my strongest vodka.

I’ll give her this. I’ll stand back with a smile on my face and glory in every moment of my wife avenging me.

Alaric is a sobbing mess on the floor next to her, still bleeding from his ass. I’ll deal withthe poltroon soon.

Crouching over Selene with her hands wrapped around the foul woman’s throat, Valentina leans down and hums, “You want to know what I’m going to do to you?” Then, my wife flicks her eyes to mine. “Roman, honey, can you hand me one of your knives? A nice long one?”

“Yes, dear.” I reach into my belt, then hand her the blade.

Valentina presses the knife to Selene’s throat. But I know my wife. She’s not going to make it a simple one-and-done cut.

By now, Alaric has passed out—after pissing himself.

“First, you slut-bitch in a red wig, I’m going to have my husband teach me how to cut out your tongue.”

“No, pleeeease!” Selene screams, shrill and strident, thrashing, which only results in the blade slicing a thin line across her throat. “I’m sor?—”