Gromov

"She's a quirky one," Martin says, nodding towards the girl in a beach dress, as I navigate the car towards the gate.

I glance at her through the rearview mirror. She stands in the middle of the yard, looking like a lost child. She fiddles with the hem of her dress, as if she's been scolded at school and now faces the threat of a call to her parents.

"Just a normal girl," I reply reluctantly, not keen to discuss Karo.

"She was looking at you as if you were a deity."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious. I have a knack for spotting your fans."

He might be right, but it irks me.

"Did you buckle up?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Then let's go."

I merge onto the road and pick up speed. Martin, bored, watches the road, and I try to figure out why my mood has soured.

And if it's about Karo, how exactly?

"She's got you hooked," my brother blurts out suddenly, prompting my question.

"Why do you think that?"

"Just a feeling. If I'm right, maybe we should have stayed."

"Are you joking, Martin?"

"No," he shakes his head, "the guest room was nice, the bed spacious. It would've been fine for me."

"For you?" I clarify.

"Of course. You, Karo would have called to her room."

"And if she didn't?"

"Then you would've gone yourself."

"You're wrong," I shake my head, "she's not my type."

"I thought..."

"You thought," I cut him off, "girls who were high school students just yesterday are not the stuff of my dreams."

"What's wrong with them?"

"I'd bet my head she's a virgin. And after Grace, I swore off them."

"You treated Grace like crap."

"It was her fault."

"You're still being an ass."

Don't preach to me, Marty.

My brother falls silent, and I grudgingly admit he's right. The girl has hooked me, but I can't quite pinpoint why. I can't articulate it.

Not her looks, no, and not what usually draws me in. But her "Did you check your brake pads recently?"

None of the women I know, not even strangers, have shown interest in my brake pads. Not even my mother.

That seems to be what hooked me. Just like Martin's words.

My brother and I are as different as we are similar in appearance. He inherited our grandfather Bronsky's brains, so I immediately handed over all possible powers to Martin after the inheritance. Most assets I transferred to him as investments, so now I'm just a beneficiary of dividends.

That suits me. The mere thought of having to be in the office from morning till night triggers wild anxiety attacks. The phrase "Board of Directors" panics me. Even secretaries annoy me.

The only thing I'd do well is to screw a secretary on the desk of my huge office on the top floor, with a fully panoramic wall.

It's different with suits; I love suits, but that's because when I wear one, I appeal more to girls and cameras. Same as Martin.

I like girls too. I couldn't marry some random girl my grandfather chose for me, like my brother would. But Martin is ready; he even proposed to Anna. It was all written in the will.

"You don't love her, what do you need it for?" I've tried to dissuade him, but it's futile. Marty only furrows his brow more.

"Anna doesn't love me either, she's obeying the family's will. Her business interests come before personal ones."

"And for you?"

"For me too."

My thoughts are interrupted by an incoming call. I glance at the phone screen, an unknown number. To answer or not? And my fingers are already reaching for the device.

"Hello Mark, it's Karo," I hear from the earpiece, and for some reason, it strikes a chord, though her voice is as ordinary as they come, "I'm calling to check on you guys. Didn't you hear anything suspicious?"

"No, everything's fine," I shrug, though she surely can't see me, "but it's nice that someone cares."

Suddenly, I wonder, was this just a pretext to call me? Seems someone got a little too excited about giving out their real number, which I reserve for the chosen few.

The girl apologizes, hangs up quickly, and I push her out of my mind. And also because I think I hear a faint squealing below. It comes and goes. Comes again.

The phone starts ringing in the back seat, and I can hear the squealing even over the speaker's sound. I hit the brakes and go cold as the pedal under my foot bounces back. I pump with my foot, futilely, the car stubbornly moves forward.

I hear a click, and then it's like a nightmare. In the corner of my eye, I see Martin unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to grab the phone. He'd thrown it in the back seat while we were pushing the car earlier.

"Marty, drop the phone, buckle up!" I scream like a hysterical whore.

The car veers off, the steering wheel turns as if it's a toy. I could unscrew it completely if I wanted, but what's the point if the wheels are stuck?

I have time to see a wide tree trunk in front. I hear a dull thump, a crunch of crumpled metal.

And I plunge into darkness.