8. Sasha #3
“Just remember I willingly laid down here,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t get too cocky about it if I were you.”
The kick to my ribs isn’t entirely unexpected. I grit my teeth, refusing to give this fucker so much as a grunt. “My wife and kids are inside, asshole.”
“Do they know what a fucking monster you are?” he asks, and I don’t bother telling him that my wife is well aware and my kids are thankfully still blissfully ignorant.
Instead, when two of the officers drag me up to standing, I look at the detective and say, “No comment.”
He’s a detective, so he’s in a nondescript navy suit instead of a uniform. He’s kind enough to let me know who I’ll be killing as soon as I’m free when he says, “I’m Detective Alvarez, NYPD Homicide. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Rosalie Mendez.”
My face gives nothing away while he reads me my rights, but inside my mind is going a mile a minute.
Niki and I were helping Rosie. She’d been trafficked, and we were helping her get back to her family in Guatemala.
The last time I saw her, she was alive and excited about going home.
She’d been through hell, and you could tell she was still traumatized by the experience, but she’d been breathing when I last saw her.
She was a fighter. She wasn’t about to let them break her, and now she’s dead.
I may not experience emotions like everyone else, but hearing she’s been killed brings me no pleasure. It pisses me the fuck off.
I run my eyes over Detective Alvarez, memorizing every detail of his smug, middle-aged face.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he asks, taking a step closer. He hadn’t been nearly as bold when I wasn’t restrained.
When I keep my face blank, he scoffs out a laugh and tells Officer Jones, “Get him in the fucking car.” Turning back to me, he says, “Fun’s just started, Melnikov. Enjoy the fresh air while you can. I’m going to make it my personal mission in life to make sure you never get to enjoy it again.”
“Try not to fall in love with me, Detective. It’ll only end in heartbreak,” I tell him.
His hand curls back into a fist, but his eyes dart around to the neighbors who may not live right next to us but they’re close enough to see what’s going on if they look out their windows, which I’m guessing they all are about right now.
“What’s the matter?” I ask him. “You don’t want anyone to see you punching a guy who can’t fight back? You afraid that might make you look like a pussy?”
“Watch it,” he warns, but if he’s trying to scare me, he’s in for a huge disappointment.
“I could say the same to you,” I tell him.
He steps in closer, but all it does is make me have to lower my face even more so I can see him better. I’m guessing that’s not the effect he was going for, and when he presses his lips together and steps back, I let him see the amusement on my face.
“Are you threatening me?” he asks.
I let my smile grow before I say, “No comment.”
Furious, he storms away while hollering for the others to bring my ass in.
I let Officer Jones lead me to the back of his squad car, and once I’m inside with the doors shut and an impenetrable piece of glass separating me from everyone else, I replay what Niki told me in his text.
My dad is on his way and I know he and my mom will make sure Cyn and the girls are safe, Ev will help me, and killing someone while I’m in custody will only make it harder for me to get back to my family.
As much as I want to remove that detective’s head and let it swing from my fingers like Reese had done with her sister’s doll, I know I’m going to have to wait until I’m free to get my revenge.
I can’t kill a cop while in custody. I know this, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have to remind myself of it from time to time.
I stare out the window while we drive through the city.
With as many crimes as I’ve committed, you’d think this was a possibility that I always knew could happen, but I never thought I’d end up cuffed and in the back of a police cruiser, especially for a crime that I didn’t commit.
I knew there was a chance they might eventually come after me, but I assumed I’d have time to flee with my family.
It wouldn’t have been ideal, but at least we’d be together.
It never once occurred to me to plan for the time they might come after me for something I didn’t do.
The two cops in front are quiet as I’m driven behind the precinct.
Uniformed officers are already waiting at the back entrance, and as soon as the car stops, one of them opens my door and tells me to get out.
He grabs my upper arm and reaches in to make sure I don’t hit my head as I maneuver out of the vehicle.
Another officer grabs my other arm as the two of them lead me inside.
I feel everyone’s eyes on me when we step into the building.
The hatred is palpable. No one here is a fan of my work.
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so worried about my kids.
This will be the longest I’ve ever been away from them, and it kills me that I won’t be there to tuck them in tonight and tell them I love them.
I don’t care how many people I’ve killed.
None of the fuckers were good, upstanding citizens.
I’ve never killed an innocent person. Instead of arresting me, these assholes should be giving me a medal, because I’ve made their jobs easier, whether they realize it or not.
I’m led into a small booking room before the door is shut behind me. I look around at the four officers who are with me, not recognizing any of them.
“We need to remove all personal items,” the officer next to me says, before starting to pat me down again.
He removes the wallet I have in my back pocket before searching through it, verbally describing everything inside it while another officer quickly writes it all on a form and then another one slips it into a bag with my name already printed on the outside of it.
I’m calm, downright obedient even, as they rifle through my things, but when I feel him reach for my wedding ring, I curl my fingers into a fist and take a step back.
“We have to take it, Mr. Melnikov.”
I look at him. He’s young, probably early twenties with earnest brown eyes and a babyface that would probably take days to show even a faint hint of stubble. He reaches for me again, and his calm tone is probably one he’s been taught to use.
“The ring will be safe with your other possessions, sir, but you’re not allowed to keep it on you right now,” he explains.
Gritting my teeth, I relax my hand and let him remove the ring that Cyn slipped onto my finger on our wedding day.
I refuse to let them see what this is costing me.
I let my mask fall back into place, and this time I resolve to keep it there.
My humanity is my wife and my four little girls, and I won’t get it back until I’m free of this place and they’re in my arms again.
They all sense the change in me, and the tension in the room rises with each passing minute.
When they’re done, I’m led into another room to get fingerprinted.
They’re forced to uncuff me, and when the officer in the corner eases his hand closer to the holstered gun at his waist, I raise a brow at him and let the other officer guide my hand to the scanner.