PAVEL DEMETRIOU clutched his wound as he hurried down the stairs, cursing the girl all the way to the bottom. Cursing Andrei Volovoi, too, and anyone else he could think of.
Ironic that the bitch had stabbed him. Poetic justice. He’d intended to carve her pretty face himself when he had finished with her. Instead, she’d ambushed him. Wounded him. Cut him.
She would not stop him.
Demetriou paused on a landing. Leaned against a railing to catch his breath. He felt dizzy, light-headed. There was a lot of blood, but he ignored it. One little bitch wouldn’t slow the Dragon. Neither would Andrei Volovoi, or the fucking FBI, for that matter. He pushed himself off the wall. Reloaded his machine pistol and then reached for the vial around his neck. Unscrewed it and poured himself a bump of cocaine, inhaled until he saw fireworks behind his eyes.
He would track down the girl. He would drag her out of the building and escape New York with her, regroup. He would kill her eventually, after he’d enjoyed her. After he’d repaid her for the trouble her family had caused him.
The cocaine helped. Demetriou hurried down the stairs. Ignored his wounds, pushed them from his mind. Barely felt the exertion. He made the main floor and burst through the fire doors and into the lobby. Looked around. The lobby was quiet. A doorman sat behind a desk by the front doors, reading a paperback. Otherwise, nothing. No movement. No sounds.
DING.
The elevator. Demetriou spun as the doors slid open, raised the TEC-9. But the elevator was empty. No girl.
He stared at the empty car for a moment. Studied the numbers above the second elevator’s closed doors. That car was climbing, from the first floor, skyward. Demetriou crossed the lobby to the doorman. “A girl,” he said. “A little girl. Did you see her?”
The doorman looked up. “Beg your pardon?”
Demetriou leveled the gun at him. “A little fucking girl. Did you see her?”
The man shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, man, I swear to God.”
Demetriou shot him anyway. The sound echoed through the lobby, half deafening. Demetriou let the doorman slump to the ground. Then he walked back to the elevator and considered the empty car, thinking.