Emilio’s mouth drifts to my ear. “You’ll pay for this, my deceitful wife. No one runs from me.”
7
I should punishLiliya for running.
Leave her out here alone to suffer in the dark.
That was my one of my father’s favorite punishments.
If I lost a fight, or my aim was off, or if he was just having a shitty day, he’d drag me out into the woods. I wasn’t allowed to come back home until sunrise.
That bullshit stopped when I turned fourteen, punched him in the face, and broke his nose.
Rain pelts down on us harder, and anger seeps through my veins as I keep my weight on Liliya. Pulling my head back, I can see her shaking beneath me.
She’s scared.Good.
“I’m going to stand,” I warn sharply. “If you run, you’ll fucking regret it.”
She doesn’t say a word.
I press her wrists deeper into the dirt. “Confirm you won’t fucking run.”
“I won’t run,” she says, forcing the words through hitched breaths.
I slowly release one hand, then the other, before standing. The moonlight filters through the tree branches, giving me a low-lit view of Liliya as she flips onto her back.
Her breasts move in sync with her heavy breathing. Dirt covers her dress and skin, and leaves are tangled in her hair.
She grunts while pulling herself to her knees, careful not to put any pressure on her right foot. I cock my head to the side in confusion.
“A stick jammed through my foot,” she explains like I care.
My only concern is that she gets her ass back inside the house.
I glance at her foot, fighting back the urge to say that’s what she gets for running.
She attempts to pull herself up again but winces in pain, falling back down.
Even though my little runner doesn’t deserve it, I offer her my hand.
She stares at it like it’ll bite off her finger.
I stretch it out farther, leaving it hang for a few seconds, and just as I’m about to tug it back, she takes it. Leveling her palm to the ground, she lets out a painful gasp as she lifts herself.
“You pull out another switchblade, I’m running again,” she warns. “I don’t care if I die doing it.” She drops my hand the second she’s stable. “You’ll have to drag me back to that house.”
I scrub my hands together. “Would you prefer I drag you by the hand or hair?”
She lets out another huff and then staggers toward my childhood home in defeat. With every step, she hisses in pain.
I follow a few paces behind her, giving her space. When she nearly face-plants, I grab her arm and drape it over my shoulders. She stiffens for a moment before giving me her weight, no longer having the energy to fight me.
The smell of her floral perfume trails up my nostrils. It fits in with the rain and trees around us.
Bringing her here was a mistake.
Before tonight, I hadn’t set foot inside my family home in years. I pay caretakers to tend to the maintenance, but I want nothing to do with it.
