12. Tate
Tate
I get the first strange text right as we get to the entrance of the festival.
I tuck the little bouquet of flowers behind my ear, looking down at the messages.
[ - UNKNOWN SENDER - ]
Has he told you who he really is yet?
Tate
***
That big bear of a bodyguard, following you around. Has he told you who he is?
Who the fuck is this?
We aren’t talking about me. You know he’s a killer, don’t you? You’d be safer with me. You just need to stop fucking running.
You know you can’t hide, Tate.
We knew where you were on the first night.
Knew where you were *going,* even before you left.
All we’re waiting for is the right timing.
We?
Since when is my stalker using the word we instead of I? Are there multiple people, or is he just trying to scare the shit out of me?
A photo comes through after the barrage of texts.
It’s a police record.
The photo is grainy, a shot taken of a physical piece of paper, but there’s a mugshot at the top.
It’s a picture of Roman.
The first thing I notice is that even in a mugshot, Roman looks fucking incredible. Handsome, threatening, and smoldering as he looks out at the camera.
Next to me, Roman is currently scanning the tents in the festival, and I step to one side so he can’t easily glance down to see my screen. I zoom in on the criminal document.
It goes into detail about what Roman was found doing, in New York City, when he was nineteen.
-CLASSIFIED-
Suspect was armed.
Victim, Rocco Maletti, age 28, was found tied to a radiator in the corner of the room. When questioned, both the suspect and victim corroborated that Petrov had intent to kill.
Petrov filed a claim that Maletti had threatened his mother with a knife, 24 hours prior.
A big red stamp has been put on the top and bottom of the paper:
DISMISSED.
I clutch my phone, and when Roman turns back toward me, I close the screen immediately, shoving it into my pocket.
“What is that look on your face?” Roman asks.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
I exhale. “Yes. I just want to get in, and have fun, okay?”
My heart feels heavy when I see the way his eyes scan my face.
He knows I’m lying.
He probably just thinks I’m irritated by him following me around, when in reality, it’s so much worse.
All I can picture is Roman, years ago, going after someone for threatening his mom… and then, later on, the threats became real. His mom did end up dead. The amount of pain Roman must have felt is unimaginable.
I think through the previous text messages, too, and cold fear slides down my spine.
How the fuck does this person have this info to begin with? My stalker knows about Roman, clearly… but how do they have access to this classified police document?
And if the police knew Roman had intent to kill this Rocco Maletti guy, how did the case get dismissed?
I glance around, as if my stalker, or stalkers, are going to suddenly appear here on the quad. But everything is the same around me. Happy students, lanterns, and fall decor, all around.
It feels like it takes forever to get through the line, but it’s probably only five minutes. We both exchange our little festival passes for wristbands, and I notice that Roman keeps his body close to mine as we walk up.
The front entrance is an arch decorated with hay, and I walk under it, going a little ahead of him.
We’re about to walk through when I hear a sound like a tiny explosion.
Crack.
“Get back,” Roman says in a low voice, reaching out to grip my waist in his arm.
He pulls me close against him, scanning the festival grounds.
Crack.
The sound hits the air again and he yanks me even tighter, the entire side of my body pushed up against his.
But up ahead, I see the source of the noise. Relief floods me.
“Roman, it’s coming from the stage,” I tell him softly, my face gently pushed up against his chest.
I point ahead, and his gaze follows my finger toward the raised live music stage. People are using little firecrackers, which they’re probably about to get in a lot of trouble for.
He still doesn’t let go of me.
“Just stay here for a second,” he says. His head has dropped down, and his nose is just above my head. The scent of him fills my nostrils, and my cock throbs again at the familiar smell.
I don’t know what he got a phone call about earlier… or why he suddenly kissed me when I showed him my little bouquet.
It felt like something overtook him.
And then just as quickly, it passed.
“We’re fine,” I tell him.
I rest my palm on his arm, trying to comfort him now. I stroke my palm back and forth a few times.
“Don’t do that,” he says.
“Why the hell not?”
“You’re making my cock hard, yet again, and I don’t want to deal with that right now.”
I shrug. “Pretty sure we’re not really capable of being around each other without getting hard anymore. That isn’t a fucking surprise though, Roman, I just don’t want you to be so… freaked out.”
Because I’m freaked out enough for the both of us, and I can’t take it if you’re not my calm, stable rock.
He exhales, finally calming down a little. He releases me, and I miss the touch immediately.
“I’m not freaked out. I told you, I just don’t want to deal with it. Not while I watch you with him.”
“With who?”
“Your fucking date, Landrey,” he says in a low tone, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh. Right. Shit, I forgot to tell him I’m here. Is that bad?”
He looks away for a moment. “Yes. Very bad. Now go find him.”
I’ve never seen him so affected by the things I do and say.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and my heart lurches when I pull it out.
[ - UNKNOWN SENDER - ]
When we take you, and kill Roman, how do you think he’d like to die?
By a knife? A bullet? Or starvation, when I tie him to a radiator like he did to that man so long ago?
And don’t you dare show him these texts right now. If you do, you’ll see how quickly Roman Petrov can die.
My chest goes icy.
“Roman! Tate!” I hear from behind us. When I turn I see Oliver’s smiling face, walking towards us with Niko by his side.
Oliver pulls out a shiny bronze flask from one of his pockets, then reaches into the other side and brings out another silver one, and three tiny plastic bottles of different sample-size liquors.
“Stocked with a whole little minibar in your jeans,” I tell him. “I respect it.”
I put my phone away.
Everything inside me is screaming to show the messages to Roman.
I have to.
But how can I? They said I’ll see how quickly Roman can die if I tell him about the texts… which is probably just an empty threat.
Probably.
But I’m not fucking sure.
Roman will be able to handle himself if anything does go down. Nothing could hurt him. Right?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I just need…
Time.
I feel a pressure at the back of my eyes, worry sliding through me like a constrictor. If I’m harming Roman just by being in his life, I’ll never forgive myself.
I have to tell him. But will he instantly go down, from some goddamn sniper shot or stab in the back, if I do? How serious is that threat?
Oliver’s giving me a wide smile, but for once I’m not able to return it. I try to act normal, looking at the alcohol Oliver’s showing us.
“I have green apple and raspberry,” Oliver says, shaking the two flasks.
I reach for the one on the left. “Give me green apple.”
A moment later, I’m already tossing the flask back, waterfalling a bunch of the flavored vodka into my mouth.
It’s not very good. Cheap, and too sweet. But as I drink, I already feel my body start to flood with warmth.
Bad decisions are sometimes the best ones to make.
When the world is too fucking much.
When my mind is swirling out of goddamn control.
Just make the fucking fear go away, and remember that the texts are trying to scare me. They likely hold no power.
Oliver and I share some more. I try a sip of one of the other samples, too, and I see Roman glancing over at Niko, giving him a look.
“They’re both about to be plastered in three minutes,” Niko tells Roman, talking about me and Ollie as if we aren’t right here.
“Yes. And we haven’t even started walking around the fair yet,” Roman says. “Niko, are you ready to rub Ollie’s back if he pukes up green apple later tonight?”
Niko grins. “Not going to let him get to that point. You going to bring Tate water and Advil and tell him everything will be alright?”
They laugh together, but I can’t fucking take it.
I hate the way Niko is referring to me and Roman like we’re a goddamn couple.
Because we’re not.
Even if I wanted it, even if there was some world where everything was different, Roman would never let that happen.
“Okay, we’ve had enough,” Ollie says, starting to screw the cap back on the green apple flask.
“You know what? Give me another shot,” I say.
“Excuse me?” Roman says.
I ignore him, going for the flask and tipping it in my mouth again. Right as it’s about to pour out, Roman steps over, yanking it from my hand.
“Enough,” he says. “You trying to get blackout drunk or are you just unaware of how much vodka you’re consuming?”
I squeeze his arm hard.
The liquor is starting to hit my blood.
Do I feel better? No. But at least I’m feeling something else. Every time I look at Roman, I think of that mugshot. I think of the broken heart he must have had when that same family really did end up killing his mother.
I don’t want you to worry.
Ollie reaches back to grab Niko’s hand, gesturing toward a tent deeper into the fair.
“Tate! Cider donuts, over there,” Ollie says.
I tear my gaze away from Roman’s and walk off ahead.