KILLING SARAI (A NOVEL)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE





We arrive in Los Angeles just after six in the evening. We check into the most extravagant hotel the city has to offer and Victor is in character before we even make it up to our room on the top floor overlooking the cityscape. He demands, with his chin held high and his dominant demeanor that we get the best suite and will accept nothing less. And the front desk clerk, bewitched by his dark, flickering eyes, erases a reservation a guest had booked for tonight and gives Victor the keys to the suite. He is so good at pretending to be someone else that he almost tricks me into believing he’s a rich bastard who cares nothing for the people beneath him, who just so happens to be everyone. But he does it with so much grace and composure that his rich arrogant attitude doesn’t induce dislike for him, but instantly demands respect.

I’m seriously beginning to doubt my ability to act compared to his. I did it for nine years with Javier. My whole life was an act and I like to think I have enough experience, but Victor intimidates me.

I straighten my back and walk alongside him in my Valentino dress and flat sandals with my head held high. I am strong, powerful, rich, and I can’t be touched.

At least that’s what I hope I’m pulling off.

“It begins tonight,” Victor says setting his bags on the end of the bed and then he hangs a tall black garment bag with a zipper down the front on a hook on the wall. “If all goes as planned, it’ll end tomorrow night. You’ll need to wear make-up and pull up your hair. You have to look the part as well as play it. Oh, and put on the heels.” Flipping the latches on his gun case he retrieves one of his handguns and starts to attach a suppressor on the end of the barrel.

“What is the plan then?” I ask, ignoring my need to complain about the shoes he wants me to wear that I hope I can even walk in.

“Tonight we go to his restaurant,” he begins, still inspecting the gun. “Before we can get into the mansion, we’ll need an invitation and the restaurant is where we’ll get it. I’ll play my part and you play along as Izabel, not as Sarai. Remember that always when in public even when you think no one is watching.” He glances at me and goes back to inspecting the gun. “Hamburg is at this restaurant every Friday night like clockwork. But we’ll never see him. He hides out in a private room with two other men: his assistant and his restaurant manager. But Hamburg is always observant to what goes on in the restaurant. And he’s always assessing the guests. We may not see him, but it’s a certainty that he will see us.”

“Assessing them?”

Victor sets the gun on the bed and closes the case.

“Yes,” he says. “He’ll be looking for a couple. We need to make an impression.”

This is worrying me more by the second.

“Well, I’m sure there will be plenty of couples in a restaurant in L.A.” I meant for it to sound sarcastic, but he’s not fazed by it.

“Of course there will be,” he says. “But unlike everyone else in the restaurant, I know exactly what he’s looking for.”

He points to my bag. “Now get ready. We leave in half an hour.”

I pull out the make-up kit Ophelia included with all the clothing she gave me and take it into the bathroom. I’m kind of excited to wear it. I didn’t have such a luxury while with Javier except when he’d take me with him to the parties and such. And I always took my time putting it on because I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to savor my only moment alone where I felt like an average teenage girl, standing in front of the mirror dolling myself up before another day at school. I always pretended that’s what I was getting ready for and I mastered making myself believe it. That was until Izel burst into the room uninvited and dragged me out by the arm because I was taking too long.

But this time, I don’t pretend I’m somewhere I’d rather be. I’m focused and determined and naturally nervous. I apply my makeup in record time and brush out my hair until it’s like cool, soft silk lying against my back and then spend more time than I want trying to pull it up. After struggling for fifteen minutes, I finally manage to make it look ‘rich bitch’ nice, pinned to the back of my head with pretty silver hair clamps.

Victor is dressed in his usual when I emerge from the bathroom, but somehow he manages to be even sexier. I quietly gape when I see him standing there in his Armani suit, polished black shoes and tall height. I glance down at my dress and even though it had to cost a few thousand dollars, I feel like I don’t compare standing next to him.

Maybe it’s the sandals, maybe once I put on the heels they’ll make me feel more like his equal.

“No confidence,” he says and I look up. “You reek of it right now. You need to reverse that before we step out of this room.” He walks up to me. He smells faintly of cologne and I inhale deeply of his scent. “You know you’re the most beautiful and most important girl in the room,” he says and for a moment I get lost in those words, not wanting to accept them as merely instruction. “You’re always in competition with other women, proving to everyone around you that you can never be matched and if one ever tries, you’ll snuff her out of the picture with the flick of your wrist. You don’t smile, you grin or smirk. You don’t say thank you, you assume you are being thanked for the opportunity to serve you. And you never raise your voice because you don’t have to in order to make your point. And remember that you always relent to me. No matter what.”

I stare blankly at him. “I’m a real piece of work,” I say. “I almost feel like punching myself.”

Victor grins and it sends a shiver up my back.

He holds up a finger. “One more thing,” he says and reaches into his duffle bag. He pulls out a tiny ivory jewelry box and hands it to me. I open the latch and look inside. There are several stunning rings fitted in between the velvet folds on one side, two necklaces, one gold, one silver, with jeweled pendants and matching bracelets and earrings.

“Where’d you get all this?”

He hides his gun away inside his shirt, breaking apart the first three buttons to reveal a black strap down one side of his chest that I can only assume is attached to a gun holster of sorts.

“You don’t want to know.”

I leave it at that and slip on four rings, two on each hand, and then a matching bracelet, necklace and earring set. Then I grab my little white hand purse and Victor hooks my arm within his just before we walk out the door.

L.A. is just like it is in the movies: a vast infrastructure booming with lights and tall buildings and expensive cars and white roads lined with palm trees and multi-million dollar houses. We ride in a black convertible Mercedes-Benz Roadster, though with the top in-tact, through the sprawling city. It was parked at the front of the hotel waiting for us when we came outside. I guess doing what he does has its perks. It’s not all about killing people for money, but having whatever he needs at his disposal that will ensure he can carry out every job he’s given.

We arrive at the restaurant in the wealthiest part of town, no doubt, well after dark. A valet opens my door for me. I start to smile and tell him thank you once I get out, but I catch myself quickly and swallow my error before anyone notices. Instead, I raise my chin and don’t even offer the guy a look in the eyes, much less a smile or a thank you.

Victor comes around to my side of the car and I loop my arm through his again as he walks me inside.

The restaurant is two stories with a balcony upstairs overlooking the bottom floor. The conversation all around me sounds like a constant humming, but it’s not so packed that every table is full. Other than the voices, it’s quiet in here with low lighting and semi-dark walls to create a tranquil atmosphere. Victor pulls me alongside him gently as we follow the waiter to a circular-shaped booth with shiny black leather seats near the back. I sit down first and then Victor slides in next to me.

The waiter presents us with two leather-bound menus, but before he can place mine fully on the table in front of me, I sweep my hand toward it, waving it away with a look of boredom. “I won’t be eating,” I say as if food might somehow ruin my path to enlightenment. “But I will be having wine.”

The waiter looks at the menu in his hand and then back at me briefly, appearing confused.

Victor gives me a look which I can’t quite place, but I know it’s not a good one. He opens his menu and after studying it for a moment, hands it back to the waiter and says, “La Serena Brunello di Montalcino.” The waiter nods, takes the menu, which is apparently the wine menu and I’m about to die from embarrassment, and he walks away.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

Victor’s eyes lock on me warningly. It takes me a second, but I understand what I’m doing wrong and wipe that embarrassed look off my face fast, straightening my back against the seat and crossing my legs beneath the table. I set my purse on the table at my right.

This staying in character is stuff harder than I thought, but now that I’ve already screwed up twice within minutes, I’m more determined than ever to get it right.

In seconds, I fully become Izabel Seyfried.

I reach into my purse and pull out a compact mirror and a tube of rose-colored lipstick and begin applying it at the table. I make sure to stare at myself a lot, turning my head subtly at different angles and gently pursing my lips.

“Put the lipstick away,” Victor says as the rich a*shole and not the man I know.

I glare softly at him and do as he says, but take my time about it.

The waiter comes back to our booth with a bottle of wine and with both hands puts it into Victor’s view. Victor visually inspects it and then nods to the waiter, who then pulls the cork and places it on the table in front of Victor. He inspects that, too, and while I’m quietly wondering why so much effort is being put into this on both of their parts, I say nothing and pretend not to care. The waiter pours a small amount into Victor’s glass first and then takes a step back. Victor swirls the wine around in the glass for a moment and then brings it to his nose and sniffs it before taking a sip. After Victor approves, the waiter fills my glass first and then Victor’s.

I don’t look the waiter in the eyes because like the valet, he’s not worthy of my precious attention.

Victor declines food for the both of us and the waiter leaves our table.

“I never enjoy this city when I come here,” he says, taking a sip of his wine.

I fit my fingers delicately around the swell of my glass and do the same, afterwards placing it carefully back on the table.

“Well, I personally would prefer New York, or France,” I say, having no idea where I’m going with this.

“I didn’t ask you what you’d prefer.” He doesn’t look at me.

He sets his glass down.

“Why bring me out with you then?” I ask, cocking my head. “I was only trying to engage you in conversation.” I look away, crossing my arms over my chest.

Victor looks right at me. “Izabel, don’t sit with your arms crossed like that. It makes you look like a stubborn child.”

Slowly, my arms fall away and I fold my hands together within my lap, straightening my back.

“Come here,” he says in a gentler tone.

I slide over the few inches separating us and sit right next to him.

His fingers dance along the back of my neck as he pulls my head toward him. My heart pounds erratically when he brushes his lips against the side of my face. Suddenly, I feel his other hand slip in-between my thighs and up my dress. My breath hitches. Do I part them? Do I freeze up and lock them in place? I know what I want to do, but I don’t know what I should do and my mind is about to run away with me.

“I have a surprise for you tonight,” he whispers onto my ear.

His hand moves closer to the warmth between my legs.

I gasp quietly, trying not to let him know, though I’m positive he definitely knows.

“What kind of surprise?” I ask, my head tilted back, resting in his hand.

Just then another couple walks up to the table, a tall blonde-haired woman with mile-long naked legs and an even taller man with his hand around the back of her waist.

Victor stands up to greet them. I stay right where I’m at, staying in character, yet at the same time not really having to pretend to be disappointed by their presence because I was enjoying the moment with Victor before we were interrupted; for a few minutes I had forgotten why we were even here.

“Aria,” the woman introduces herself.

“A pleasure,” I say with obvious distaste.

She sits down on the other side of the rounded booth. The man takes the outside seat after her, just as Victor sits.

“It has been a while, Victor,” the man says with an accent that I can’t place.

How do they know each other?

“Yes, it has, my friend,” Victor says as he gestures for the waiter.

The waiter comes right over and takes the man’s wine order.

“Izabel,” Victor says, “this is my old friend Fredrik from Sweden. He’ll be running my offices in Stockholm when the expansion goes into effect next month.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, taking another sip of my wine, sizing ‘Aria’ up as I look at her over the rim of my glass.

Her breasts are practically busting out of the top of her dress and I feel inadequate all of a sudden. But I don’t let it show. I am the most beautiful and most important girl in the room, I remind myself. It doesn’t matter in the slightest that her double-D’s dwarf my C’s or that she’s quite beautiful and has the most magnetic blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman before.

I round my chin proudly and look away from her.

“What is my present, Victor?”

Victor’s lips lengthen subtly and he places his glass back upon the table.

“Fredrik and Aria, of course,” he says. “You’ve been so good lately and I’ve been neglecting you while away in Sweden that I wanted to celebrate you tonight.”

Fredrik smiles seductively across the table at me with his lips pressed to the rim of his glass. He is gorgeous, with dark wavy hair and strong cheekbones.

“Couldn’t we celebrate alone?” I ask, giving Fredrik no more of my attention. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Surely you don’t mean for me to f*ck them.”

Victor’s smile is openly sly but secretly proud by how easily I caught onto the plan.

I just hope it doesn’t go farther than this table…

His hand moves away from between my legs and he places both arms upon the table, bent at the elbows.

“No, of course not,” he says and that surprises me. “I would never share you, you know that.”

Aria smiles at me, continuously trying to make eye contact which makes me want to look at her less. Fredrik’s left hand disappears underneath the table and probably between her thighs like Victor had his between mine just seconds ago.

“Victor tells us,” Fredrik leans forward just a bit and lowers his voice, “that you prefer an audience. Aria and I would very much like to watch. If that is something you’d be willing to allow.”

I’m not sure when the act ended for me, but right now I’m struggling to swim my way through feelings of lust and pleasure to find my way back into the real world. For a long few seconds I don’t say anything at all. All I can think about is Victor having his way with me and Fredrik and Aria watching as he does it. I’m suddenly tingling between the legs. But I’m ashamed of my own thoughts and try to force them out of my mind.

“Izabel?” I hear Victor say.

I snap back into the moment, not entirely sure anymore how I’m supposed to act. Maybe Victor should’ve prepared me better by giving me the particulars of important details like this. I fumble over my thoughts, using my wine glass as a distraction as I finger the stem with my right hand all while still trying to exude this self-possessed personality of Izabel Seyfried that I’m not exactly feeling anymore.

“I would like that,” I say. But then I glance coldly at Aria and add, “But not her. Only Fredrik.”

Aria’s face falls and then twists faintly into something bitter.

Victor’s expression remains standard and I take that as a secret sign of his approval for my decision to exclude her.

Before I lose my confidence, I keep the dialogue flowing.

“You should’ve known better than to invite her, Victor.”

He touches my wrist upon the table.

“Very well,” he says and then looks to Fredrik. “Meet us at my hotel in two hours. Alone.”

Aria goes to stand up and she angrily gestures for Fredrik to move out of her way so she can remove herself from the booth. He stands and steps over to the side, but when he reaches out to help her she pushes his hand away and snaps at him, “Get the f*ck away from me,” and she trots off on her six-inch heels away from the table.

It’s odd how I actually feel bad about ‘hurting her feelings’ regardless of the nature of the situation.

Fredrik sits back down and the mood at the table changes as he and Victor start talking about this company expansion to Sweden that I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. What confuses me even more is how fluent the fictional conversation about such a fictional thing goes on between them. It seems as if they discussed this entire scenario at length and even had time to rehearse before we all came here. But I’ve been with Victor the entire time and he hasn’t had an opportunity to go over something like this at length with anyone other than me. Fredrik seems to know more about what’s going on than I do.

And quite frankly, that ticks me off a little.

“I’m ready to go,” I say icily both as Izabel and Sarai.

“We’ll leave when I’m ready,” Victor says.

“But I want to go now,” I snap. “I don’t like this restaurant. It’s too f*cking dark. I feel like I’m in a dungeon.” I take my purse from the table and go to stand up.

Victor grabs my arm and pushes me back into the seat.

“I said we’ll leave when I’m ready. And stop talking or you can sit on your knees underneath the table between mine.”

I swallow hard, a look of shock consuming my features. Seeing Fredrik in my peripheral vision, I gather my composure quickly.

I set my purse back on the table and relent to Victor fully.

And once again, I’m trying to swim my way out of my dirty thoughts.