The Ex (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

9: In Which She Dies a Million Deaths

9: In Which She Dies a Million Deaths

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Kelvin Heights was an ugly, brown block of buildings overlooking a dirty, almost stagnant, river that was said to join the Thames. I sincerely hoped that it didn’t.

It was almost noon and the kids who had managed to skive off school were casually leaning against the building, sharing joints and drinks in brown paper bags. Petro shook his head in disgust, sliding my car into a vacant parking spot. He turned to look at me, waiting for me to make a move.

“Does she honestly live here?” I asked for the tenth time since we’d driven into this seedy neighbourhood.

He pulled off his sunglasses, rubbing his eyes. “Well, she was let off last year on grounds of sexual harassment.” He shrugged. “She probably can’t get a good job. Stalking is a serious offence.”

“I can’t believe she was harassing Konstantin.”

Petro chuckled. “She hit on anything with a pulse and her poor excuse was that she was an undiagnosed nymphomaniac. Naturally, many of her colleagues complained.” He gave me a pointed look. “Liliana’s not exactly a catch. She has never been one.”

Not a catch? I thought to myself. The last time I’d seen that bitch, even I would’ve shagged her.

“Got it,” I said instead, pushing open the door. Glancing over my shoulder, I added, “You don’t have to come in. I’m a big girl.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Petro’s lips. “I know. Promise me you’ll at least dish out a black eye.”

“Why stop at one?” I muttered, and got out. The wind instantly bit at my skin and I wished I’d had the common sense to bring a jumper or at least wear pants.

Kelvin Heights had minimal to no security. The glass door of the entrance had a big jagged hole right in the centre and I opened it without much fuss. The elevator, as I’d expected, was ‘Out of Order’. It was just my luck that Liliana lived on the tenth floor. Years of morning jogs around the town meant that I didn’t exactly run out of breath easily but I wasn’t going to lie and say that getting to the tenth floor was a walk in the park.

“Oh, you’d better be home, you fúcking slut,” I murmured to myself, banging on the chipped, cream door of Flat 104 when I finally, finally made it to her floor.

I waited a beat, mentally counting the seconds until she finally wrenched open the door.

Liliana Josephs looked like something Couscous had dragged in from the beach – seaweed gunk or a dead crustacean. Dressed in a coffee-stained grey bathrobe with her blonde hair shaggy from tossing in bed, she looked me up and down, her blue eyes set in a pallid face dawning with recognition. I felt the first surge of adrenaline shoot right through me.