Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Graham groans as we splash into the drainage. “It’s not that I don’t like it, Sloane, but we may be moving too fast?—”
“Shut up!” I hiss, shoving him back down into the ice-cold irrigation water. I’m strewn across him, forearm pressed into his chest, a sharp pebble lodged in my back from the fall. “We’re about as close to sitting ducks as it gets.”
His eyes flick above him, where the ditch follows the road we were just walking beside. “How do you feel about crawling ducks?”
After some untangling of our limbs, I slowly roll off him to minimize splashing.
Lowering myself to the ground like a push-up, I nod for him to lead the way, watching with no small amount of admiration as he begins to easily slither forward through the low-lying water.
I’ll have to ask him later if he’s ever crawled into an irrigation ditch before.
Who am I kidding? He probably has.
Long grass juts out from either side. It leaves a narrow gap for us to traverse, but it also means the ditch is nearly pitch-black, providing more cover than I could’ve hoped for in an empty field. If my hair wasn’t dark right now, my head would be like a flashlight for whoever’s hunting us.
My mind begins its calculation.
I don’t think Klaus’s men would assassinate us from afar. I’d pictured us being pulled into a van and dumped in the woods, or maybe ambushed by an overwhelming show of force. The Consultant wouldn’t want there to be any shred of doubt that I’m dead.
Which leaves…
I freeze and my hand flies to Graham’s ankle, giving his wet jeans a tug. He pauses. The water laps lazily at our legs and arms. Once it subsides, I squeeze my eyes shut and listen.
There.
Above the leisurely bobbing ditch, beneath the sound of chirping crickets and my heart slamming against my ribcage… crunching grass in the distance. Heavy footfalls with long strides.
My stomach sours. Any trace of nerves from being caught off guard hardens with a thick layer of frost.
“I know you’re out there,” Petyr’s voice booms.
Crickets cease their trilling, leaving us in the dead quiet.
I crane my neck up and peek over the grass.
I can barely make out the roof of an old car.
It’s at least ten yards away. Tugging Graham’s jeans again, I gingerly lift my finger from the water and point at the opposite side of the ditch.
He squints at me for a few seconds and then nods.
“It’s a shame it has to end like this,” Petyr continues, closer now. I slip my hand back under the surface and start groping the mud. When he begins speaking again, I take my chance.
In one motion, I flip over, sit up, and throw the rock as hard as I can at the car.
I’m halfway back into the water when I see Petyr jump across the ditch only a couple meters in front of me. I don’t hesitate.
We scramble up the other side, bursting into a lightfooted sprint the moment our feet hit the pavement.
There’s only a thirty second delay before Petyr realizes he’s been tricked.
Graham’s hot on my heels as I barrel into the adjacent field, where the grass is taller and a barn looms in the distance. A roaring shout sounds behind us.
Out of time.
I’m wrenching my box of ammo from inside my jacket and slamming bullets into my gun’s slick magazine when the ground starts to pound.
Thud, thud, thud.
He never could figure out how to run like a spy.
“Split up,” I hiss over my shoulder once the lot of rusted cars comes into view.
Graham peels left when I make a sharp turn to my right. I skid to a halt, drop to the ground and roll under a car. I crawl to the next one and slither toward the barn in a zigzag.
Petyr fires off a shot. It hits metal, about where I first stopped. I continue advancing to the barn.
That is, until his boots slow in front of the car I’m under. I freeze, holding my breath, but it’s too late. A low, coarse laugh sounds.
“Come out, Sloane,” Petyr taunts. “You know I’ll make it quick.”
I see the movement before I can register what’s happening.
Across the yard, Graham emerges from behind a car, rears his arm back, and hurls something at Petyr’s head. He curses in Russian as the rock falls to the ground beside his boots.
“My bad, mate,” Graham says, leaning against the car. “Didn’t see you there.”
Petyr stalks toward him. “You’re going to wish you didn’t do that.”
My heart’s beating wildly, threatening to slam out of my chest. Graham’s eyes fall to mine. He mouths, “Run.”
But when have I ever wanted to do what he says?
Petyr punches him in the stomach. “Greetings, Mr. Baudelaire,” he grunts. “I hope you’re having a fine evening, because it’s going to be your last.”
Graham wheezes, doubles over, and holds a finger up.
To my surprise, Petyr waits.
Graham stands up. Coughs. Then says, “Did you—” Another cough. “—practice that in the mirror?”
That earns him a second punch.
I’m still under the car, calculating my options when Petyr whirls around, puts Graham in a headlock and presses a gun to his temple. My stomach does a strange flip-and-squeeze maneuver.
“Sloane,” Petyr calls in a sing-song voice. “You don’t want to see this pretty boy’s brains all over the grass, do you?” He sweeps his rictus grin across the yard, swiveling Graham every which way like a human shield.
My knuckles whiten around the grip of my weapon.
Dread crawls down my back and digs its claws into my skin.
My eyelids slide shut. I drag one breath in and another out.
Kat’s limp body flashes into my memory. Her lifeless eyes, the mismarked grave.
Graham’s look of resignation when he looked away from me, as if he really believed I’d hang him out to dry.
And then I get really, really angry.
My pulse slows. I roll out from beneath the car and stand, gun drawn and pointed at Petyr’s skull. Graham’s expression hardens.
Petyr sneers at me. A trickle of blood darkens the side of his blond buzzcut where he was hit by the rock. “Look at you, Sloane—how far you’ve fallen. And for what?” His left arm tightens around Graham’s neck like a constrictor snake. “A common criminal,” he finishes with a mirthless laugh.
“Not common,” Graham wheezes.
“I saw Kat’s body,” I reply, voice firm and clear. “I saw her broken neck. You couldn’t even bother to look her in the eye when you took her life—I think that makes you a coward.”
“You’re a deserter,” Petyr spits.
“No, I’m free.”
He snickers. “Whatever you want to call it, Sladkaya, I don’t care—but you’re going to die a rat.” My gaze flickers to Graham, to the gun pressed to his head. Petyr catches it and wags a finger at me. “You fire and I fire. Do you care more about your boyfriend, or killing me?”
Trick question.
I lower my weapon and begin to stoop toward the ground at a lethargic pace. Once my gun is finally on the dirt, I peer up at Petyr from my squat. “Before you kill me, I have a question.”
He blinks. The gears behind his eyes start to turn. “What?” he barks.
“Did you feel anything?” I cross my arms with a shrug.
Petyr’s brows pull together and his jaw goes slack. He’s thrown off, if only a millimeter. Unaccustomed to conversations with his targets. “What do you mean?”
“When you snapped Kat’s neck… did you feel anything at all?”
He squints as he bites out, “No.”
That’s all I need to hear.
My hand flies from beneath the jacket before he even shuts his mouth. Kat’s throwing knife glints in the moonlight, and I swear Petyr registers it in the split-second it takes to lodge between his eyes. His gun falls, followed rapidly by the resounding thud of his slack body.
I stalk forward.
Petyr’s blue eyes are staring at the night sky. His chest is still. I crouch down to check his pulse right as mine returns to a rapid pace.
Heaving a sigh, I hang my head for a few seconds.
Graham’s hands press onto my back. He wordlessly slides them around my shoulders and gently hauls me to my feet, wrapping me into his warmth. I melt, and the world stills its rotations, as if allowing us a brief moment to recover from nearly dying… again.
“I believe I told you to run,” he says into my hair.
His own pulse is racing, clearly relieved that I didn’t run, but I won’t give him grief over it.
“Didn’t I say we’re partners?” I ask, pulling away. “Partners don’t leave each other to die. I mean, at least I think so—you might be my first one.”
Graham gives a half-smile. Probably not too keen about joking over a dead body.
Newbies.
“So… who was this one, then?” He motions to Petyr.
I shrug. “My ex-boyfriend.”