Dirty Grovel: Chapter 43

This is it.

This is when the beast inside Sutton Palmer is finally unleashed.

Careful, Oleg Pavlov, I think to myself, adrenaline pumping through my veins, I’m coming for your title.

Now, if only I can find a way to get him to let go of my hand.

“We’ve been over every detail of this plan a thousand times,” I remind him. “I know the drill, Oleg. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve never done one of these operations before, Sutton,” he growls, his hand clenching protectively. “Sometimes being on the ground turns out very different than ‘the plan.’”

“It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” he grits out. “It’s the motherfucker you’re going to meet that I don’t trust.”

A new voice interrupts. “It should be me.”

Oh, no. Now there’s two of them.

I whirl around to face my sister, who’s dressed in a spare set of my pajamas, since she crashed with us last night without any warning.

Probably because she’s as determined as Oleg is to talk me out of this plan of mine.

“You should be in bed,” I chide. “Sleeping.”

“I slept plenty. You told me you weren’t leaving until ten,” she accuses. “It’s nine.”

Sighing, I try to pry my hands out of Oleg’s, but he still refuses to let go. “I just didn’t want you to worry, Syd. I figured you’d sleep through most of it and when you woke, it would be done.”

Oleg’s lips purse like he’s trying to stop himself from bursting my bubble. I’m not naïve here. I know it’s not going to be that fast or that simple.

But hey—a girl can dream, right?

I need to go into this confidently if I’m going into it at all. But that’s hard to do when I have my fiancé on one side and my sister on the other, both totally cramping my style.

“Let me go in your place!” Sydney tries one last time.

“Syd,” I sigh, “we’ve been over this before.”

“You didn’t give my suggestion a fair shake,” she insists, glancing towards Oleg like she’s hoping he might back her up. “He’s going to be expecting you. Maybe we should throw a wrench in the works and see how he reacts.”

“I can answer that: Badly,” I say. “He’s going to react badly. And need I remind you that you tried to meet with him several times? He never followed up. The moment I text the asshole, he takes the bait.”

Oleg’s hand tightens around mine.

“He’s showing up today for me, Sydney. I have to be there. I have to make him believe that I’m desperate enough to barter with him.”

“We don’t know what he’s capable of, Sutton.”

Gritting my teeth, I chance a glance in Oleg’s direction. The last thing I need is for Syd to talk Oleg out of this plan. Especially now, when it’s minutes from being executed.

“Maybe not. But you know what I’m capable of,” I declare confidently. “Put your faith in me. I can do this.”

“You’re pregnant.”

I point towards the long security detail parked along the drive outside our idyllic new home. “Do you see how much backup I have? How can anything go wrong?”

Sydney keeps chewing on her bottom lip as she surveys the long line of monstrous black SUVs.

I take the opportunity to turn to Oleg.

“I have to do this,” I tell him softly. “I’m the one he wants to destroy. Which means I should be the one to take him out. It’s important for me to know I can do this, Oleg. What is it they say? ‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword’?”

Oleg frowns. “Which fairy tale is that from?”

“It’s not from a fairy tale,” I admit with a giggle. “It’s from Game of Thrones.”

He laughs, but it quickly morphs into a weary sigh. “You do seem ready.”

I push my hand out, holding it steady. “Not a tremor in sight.”

Oleg closes his eyes for a moment, the breath coming in and out hard through his nostrils.

Then he nods. “Sydney, she’s got this.” His eyes glom onto mine. “Stick to the plan. Don’t you dare go rogue on me.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” I assure him.

He pulls out a small black device and hooks it into my ear. “Your earpiece,” he explains. “So that we can stay in communication during Mission Dead Cockroach.”

Laughter bubbles up in me. I’m on the verge of losing it completely and breaking into guffaws before I realize that the nerves might be catching up to me after all.

Suppressing the urge, I give Oleg a curt nod and a kiss on the cheek.

Then I turn to my sister.

Sydney doesn’t look as convinced about my capabilities as Oleg, however. She doesn’t return my hug. Her hands remain stubbornly limp as I pull her into a tight embrace.

“I’ll be alright,” I assure her. “See you soon.”

I press a kiss to her cheek and head towards the lead car.

I get behind the wheel and buckle up. From my side mirror, I can see Oleg getting into the vehicle right behind mine.

Sydney is standing off to the side by the rose bushes, looking pale as a ghost.

I wave but she’s not looking at me. With a sigh, I turn the engine on and steer down the driveway. The rest of the caravan follows me in a neat procession.

It’s quiet in here. Eerily, unsettlingly quiet.

But I’m not exactly about to cue up Taylor Swift as I drive to a potentially violent meeting with my shitbag ex.

No, this day calls for heavy metal motivation.

So I crank up Metallica, letting the harsh rhythm sync with the frenetic beat of my heart.

The Pavlov security flanks me like faithful dogs. Every time I step on the accelerator, they speed up to match me. Every time I slow down, they follow suit.

I’m the maestro of a moving orchestra.

An armed, moving orchestra.

I glance towards the backpack sitting on the passenger seat. It will have to suffice as my talisman for today, a necessary prop to convince Drew that I mean business.

Just not the kind of business he expects.

The problem is, the closer we get to the meeting point—a rest stop located at one of Palm Beach’s most frequented gas stations—I start to get more and more nervous.

“I can do this,” I murmur to myself.

The baby gives me a reassuring little kick, like it knows its mommy is about to clean house.

“Hey, princess,” Oleg’s voice whispers, deep and full, right in my ear.

I jump in my seat, hands tightening on the wheel to keep myself from spinning right off the road. I might not be spy material if a simple earpiece can throw me completely.

“Oleg,” I gasp. “Forgot you were there.”

He chuckles. “All good?”

I turn down Metallica. “Yes.”

“Still confident?”

I’m not sure white-knuckling the steering wheel is a ringing endorsement for my nerves, but what Oleg doesn’t see can’t hurt him.

“Definitely.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs proudly. “Let’s go over the steps one more time.”

“Again?!”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“I am prepared,” I insist. “I was dreaming of this plan in my sleep. And in case I need to remind you, I’m the one who came up with it in the first place.”

“You haven’t taken into account unforeseen circumstances.”

“Because they’re unforeseen,” I argue. “If they weren’t, then they’d be… seen circumstances.”

“Cute.”

“Aren’t I?” I tease. “Take a breath. This is going to go smoother than smooth can be.”

A tingle runs up my spine the moment I say those words. Did I just jinx myself?

I snort quietly. Of course not. No such thing as omens.

It’s just the luck we make for ourselves.

My dashboard tells me that we’re two minutes away from our destination. “Fall back and spread out,” I tell Oleg.

“Roger, princess. Falling back now.”

The rest stop appears ahead like a stage set for the final act. A second later, I spot the asshole of the day, straddling his overcompensating Ducati like the douchebag he is.

He’s clearly on edge, because his body is hunched over the bike, his eyes zeroing in on every vehicle that passes by.

When he finally sees me behind the wheel, a smile splits his face. He looks like the cat that caught the canary.

Little does he know that, in this situation, I’m the cat.

Which means the role of canary is up for grabs.

He’s more than fucking welcome to it.

I unbuckle, heart pounding frantically against my chest. But before I can get out of the car, those pesky unforeseen circumstances that Oleg was so worried about come into play.

A hooded figure approaches from the left, arm raised. The figure’s walk is somewhat familiar, although I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I’m slightly preoccupied by the gun in their hand.

Drew’s smile is frozen in place for a moment. He looks like he’s about to laugh. His eyes suggest that he recognizes the person aiming the gun at his head.

I’m about to jump out of my SUV when the gun goes off.

Straight at Drew.

He crumples to the ground.

The shooter turns.

I feel all the color drain right out of my face.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

I hear someone scream and it’s a hot second before I realize that it’s me. I’m the one who just screamed.

No wonder the shooter’s walk was so familiar to me.

I’ve spent my entire life watching it.

“Sydney!” I scream, jumping out of the car, my hands shaking badly. “What did you do?”

My sister just stands there, staring at the smoking gun in her hand as though she’s not quite sure how it got there.

I have no idea what she was thinking. I have no idea why she chose to do it this way. I have no idea why she chose to get involved at all.

The only thing I know for certain is that my sister has just fucked up everything.

Again.