One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 10, page 3

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Zhíno Zhudıro lowered his pistol, smiling. This old lady didn’t look like much, but she had strength and power where it counted--unlike a certain weak-willed blonde who huddled in a ball against the stone altar.

He let out a laugh and slapped the gun into the small woman’s hand. “Whatever you say, ma’am.” He didn’t need a gun to overpower Fírí, that was for sure, and the clip was probably empty anyhow.

As the old woman hobbled over to some shelves against the far wall, the horse on the other side of the altar snorted a cough. Glancing that direction, Zhíno’s eyes briefly passed over the bloody knife and dead dog atop the two-meter-wide slab of stone. Zhíno frowned slightly and stared down at the wreck of his ex-girlfriend.

“Why can’t you be more like the old lady, you useless whore of Rana? Show some backbone!”

Without his gun, Zhíno felt naked. The blood-covered knife called to him, telling him to reach across the massive altar and swipe it up in his one good hand--and then cut out Fírí’s still-beating heart.

Fírí whimpered, covering her face with her dirty hands.

In all the time they’d been together, up till tonight, Fírí had always been there for Zhíno, whenever he needed her. When he ran away from home, she’d left her parents to live with him on the streets. The times he was sent to jail, she’d been waiting outside for him the day he was released. When he made this deal with Gogzhuè, she’d jumped into planning their new future in Sarıma wholeheartedly.

But there were also all the other times, when the twin of Vítí obviously wasn’t thrilled about his ideas, but she went along because she was too weak-willed to argue her point of view. At the time, Zhíno had been blinded by love, but his vision was clear now. When he’d needed her to be strong, she’d been anything but. When he’d needed her to punish him, she’d been completely inadequate.

“You’ve always been as weak as Nazhoro.” Zhíno thrust his finger at her, stepping closer to the altar. “Not once did you ever whip me like you meant it.”

Fírí threw down her hands and stared up at Zhíno with reddened eyes. “I didn’t mean it!” she bawled. “I only whipped you because you said you liked it.”

“Plague that.” Zhíno raised his hand as if to hit her. “If you ever truly loved me, you would have meant it, every time. It was never as good as it could’ve been.”

Zhíno enjoyed being tied up, spanked, whipped with a cat-o-nine-tails, and other assorted fun, but Fírí had never shown much enthusiasm for it. She would perform, true, and look damn fine in those black leather outfits, but she always had a stupid look on her face as if she found the whole experience disgusting.

He jerked his hand toward the Vítí-twin, just trying to scare her, when a cold hand gripped his wrist. Fírí shrieked. The old woman stood beside him, powerful dark eyes smacking him harder than Fírí ever had physically. He grinned and lowered his hand. The old lady let go.

An hour ago, Zhíno had still hoped to deliver the smuggled weapons and explosives to Gogzhuè’s flunkies without retribution. That time was now gone. Gogzhuè would be out for blood, assuming a double-cross. So, with the police trying to arrest him--and put him in prison where Gogzhuè could kill him--and now Gogzhuè definitely trying to kill him, his chances for survival didn’t look too good. Therefore, in the few remaining hours of his life, he might as well have a little fun.

He reached across the altar and grabbed the long knife. Excitement buzzed through his body, numbing all the pain, even the little stuff he’d successfully ignored.

With a laugh, he drawled, “Let’s do it.”

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