Chapter 3 #2
My stomach bottoms out when he wraps his finger around the cat’s neck.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, pointing a finger toward him. I’ve seen plenty of death, caused it myself, but the cold cruelty against a defenseless animal makes bile rise up my throat and anger flood my muscles.
He pauses, studying me like I’m peculiar, and the cat begins to struggle, realizing the danger it’s in.
“Why would you want to kill the damn cat?” I shoot a glare his way.
“I don’t leave evidence.”
I make a hissing noise, which sends the cat feral. It scratches and writhes until it drops. The cat bolts, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Guess there’s a first for everything.”
“Now I’ll just have to kill every stray I come across,” he threatens.
Not if I can help it.
He watches me with a steely gaze as he goes about loading the maid’s body into her own truck that’s parked on the other side of Rodion’s car. He’s laid out a tarp in there as well. We were too busy, lost in each other, to even notice she hadn’t left.
I could make a run for it back into the apartment but then he will be closer to the twins. They’re incapacitated and helpless—two things I never thought I’d say about them.
“So, are you going to kill all of us?” I demand, hoping to stall for time.
He can try.
“I was told to, if you were found with them.” He flicks his gaze toward the door. “To kill them and return you to your owner.”
Owner? Like I’m property. Unreal.
“I was Vlad’s fighter, not Yuri’s. He does not own me,” I inform him, voice turning slightly shrill. I know Vlad hasn’t sent him. He wouldn’t want the twins dead. Ven would never forgive that betrayal.
“You cost him a lot of wasted money and pride. I’m not sure which he’s more bitter about.”
It’s the fucking pride, and we all know it.
“I won’t let you kill them.” I’ll give my last fucking breath to make sure that doesn’t happen.
The air is thick with tension. I feel like each second ticks by slowly. If only I could use that time wisely and think of a way to handle this monster in front of me.
“Get into the trunk and come without trouble,” he instructs, “and I’ll say you weren’t with them when I found you.”
My chest constricts. I can’t let Yuri have me. He will make The Games look like a trip to Disneyland for what he will have planned for me.
But…
I also don’t want Rodion and Z to die because of me. That torture would be worse than anything else.
Reaching into his jacket, the man pulls out a gun with a silencer attached. He checks that it’s tightened.
He’s definitely not going to let my boys live.
Grabbing one of the bottles nearest to me, I chuck it at him.
He sees it coming and bats it away, but I use the second of distraction and leap at him, grappling for the gun.
He’s a hulk of a man and tosses my weight around like I’m made of air.
We careen into a wall, and he rears back, headbutting me.
Pain radiates across my face as my nose bursts, pissing blood all over me.
Little sprinkles of white dots dance in my vision as I fall backwards onto my ass, the concrete ground rattling my tailbone.
Aiming the gun down at me, he tuts mockingly. “He said you’d be a firecracker.”
Before he even gets his words out, I kick my foot out against his knee and rear my fist up to meet his gut as he stumbles forward. Cussing in pain, he roars at me like an angry zoo animal. I’m on my feet quicker than he expects, because he looks shocked, his beady eyes springing wide.
I nod down to his stomach and smirk. “I’m not a firecracker.
I’m a fucking grenade.” I yank the knife protruding from his gut.
My fist wasn’t empty when I struck. I plunge it back in, smacking away his hand when he attempts to raise the gun in my direction.
“And you, threatening what’s mine, was you pulling the pin on that grenade. ”
I’d overcome any injury and endure all the pain to fight for what I love. Them.
Is that what this is? Love? Why they jeopardized everything to extract me illegally from The Games? Holy shit.
No time for heart eyes and epiphanies.
“He will never give up. He’ll just send more of us.” The man laughs, choking on the blood filling his mouth from the internal bleeding.
“And I’ll kill those fuckers too.” I tug the blade free and whip my arm out, slicing across his neck. His body falls against the truck and I rush forward, grabbing his waist and heaving him up, up, up with an otherworldly strength until his body plonks into the truck bed.
Tears burn my eyes when the realization sinks into me.
“He will never give up. He’ll just send more of us.”
No.
No, no, no, no.
They love me. I just realized this. And I love them too. But…
I have to leave them. It’s awful and gutting but absolutely necessary. They will never be safe as long as I’m in their life.
Love was just a tease. Pain is the only constant I know.
Swiping my eyes, I shake my head, hoping to rid myself of the overwhelming despair washing over me. I need to focus and clean up. The tears can come later when I’m all alone, resting easy knowing they’re safe.
I’m so sorry, guys.
The plastic sheeting in the truck bed has done most of the job for me, but I get to scrubbing any signs of blood from the garage. The twins will never let me go if they see there was a struggle. It has to look like I chose to leave because I wanted to.
They’ll hate me.
Another punch to the gut. Bile creeps up my throat and the room spins. I force the acid down with a hard swallow.
Hate is necessary. It’s my only card to play right now in this awful hand I’ve been dealt—the only way for them to move on without me.
Dropping the knife onto the tarp, I pull Rodion’s shirt over my head, dump that on there, too, and roll the tarp up, shoving it into the back seat of the truck.
While trembling violently, I creep through the apartment in desperate need for a shower. Once clean, and no longer shaking after soaking in the heat, I find my clothes and pull on my white boots, which are still stained with blood from The Games.
Now fully clothed and resigned to my decision, I pause to stare at them, getting one last look at the beautiful men. Their chests rise and fall in their drug-induced sleep, and it settles my reckless, rampant heart.
I’m so, so sorry.
With bitterness on my tongue, I write them a note, and then dial the number of the one person I know who will help me get away.
My ass hits the driver's seat of the truck, and I bring it to life, leaving the garage and disappearing into the night. When the line picks up, I whisper, “Diana, I need your help.”