I can’t be sure she’ll still feel bound to me once I’ve given her the one thing she needs, but I know I’ll still be bound to her.
She’s mine the way blood stains. The way scars never fucking leave.
And nothing—no man, no bullet, no god—is going to take her from me.
Not tonight. Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
46
GISELLE
I sitin the passenger seat, hands fisted in my lap, watching the convoy of black SUVs a block ahead. Each one’s packed with Afanasy’s men and weapons, enough to take out half of Bushwick.
It’s enough to make me feel like I should feel safe.
I don’t, though.
Of course I don’t.
This is what we’ve been running up to, and against, this whole fucking time.
Roman hasn’t spoken in ten minutes. His jaw works, tight and rhythmic, like he’s chewing through the night. Good. I want him feral for this. That’s the only way he’ll survive.
My own weapon digs into my ribs. I check the magazine, again, like I’ve forgotten how to count to seventeen. My fingers won’t stop trembling.
In less than an hour, one or both of us might be dead.
I hate that it’s that simple.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Roman says.
“Don’t eavesdrop,” I mutter. “It’s rude.”
He shakes his head, lips twitching upwards, eyes fixed on the road.
The engine’s drone fills the silence. I focus on his breathing, how it stays level no matter how fast we take the corners.
“You ever wish you could just skip to the ending? Know if it’s worth it?” I ask,=.
He glances at me, a flicker of blue in the dashboard light. “It already has been, little viper.”
He looks back at the road, but I feel his attention like a hand around my throat.
Outside, New York thrums with its usual chaos. But in the car, it feels like we’re the only two people left alive.
My grip on the armrest tightens, knuckles whitening.
Teddy keeps texting me and asking for updates in a way that really meansdon’t fuck this up. But the next time a phone goes off, it’s Roman’s.
We both glance at the screen: Afanasy.
Roman answers, his tone sharp, like the predator he is. I lean in, catching fragments, the urgency weaving its way through every syllable. They’re speaking Russian, of course, so even if I could hear, I wouldn’t understand.
His expression shifts, his voice deepens. Something sharp and potent curls in my belly.
Then: one last word, absolute and harsh. He hangs up.
