“Hey!” She tries to stand from the chair, but I push her back down. “You can’t go through my phone. That’s an invasion of privacy.”
I keep my eyes on her phone as I speak. “I either go through your phone or I grab a pair of pliers and take off your pinkie toe. Which do you prefer,guaio?”
“C.) None of the above.”
The last person she texted was Dasha, and I open their text thread. I read the messages. She’s sent her countless texts the past few days with no reply. I reread the texts sent on our wedding day before returning to the call log.
As if on perfect timing, the phone vibrates in my hand.
Unknown Numberflashes across the screen.
Liliya lunges out of the chair, and again, I shove her back onto it.
“Hi, Dasha,” I answer.
“Oh shit,” the woman says before ending the call.
I hold the phone in Liliya’s face. “It’s your sister, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know who it is.” She gives me another one of those half shrugs.
“Don’t die for her.”
She slams her mouth shut.
I throw the phone over my shoulder and hear it hit something. “Frankly, I don’t care if you talk to your sister.”
“Okay,” she mocks, rolling her eyes.
“I’d just be careful not to let your brother know since he wants to kill her and all.”
She blinks at me. “Youalsowant to kill her.”
“Am I a Dasha fan? Fuck no. But I got a wife. One I’d prefer not to hunt down all the goddamn time.” I inch closer, standing over her again. “Butif you’re plotting anything with her, I’ll kill herand you.”
She bites into her lower lip, nibbling on it.
“Listen,” I say, sounding the calmest I have in my life. “I’m your husband, and you’re my wife. Neither of us wanted it, but it happened. Now, it’d be much easier if we learned how to cohabitate and if you’d stop running off every second I left you alone.”
She clips a strand of ratty hair behind her ear. “Well, here’s an idea: don’t put a gun to my freaking head.”
“You ran prior to that, so nice try.” I crook my finger. “Now, come on. Let’s get your shit. Because you and me? We’re sharing a room now.”
She winces, pulling herself back in the chair. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Too fucking bad. I’m tired of chasing you.”
17
Sharinga room with a killer who just shoved a gun to the back of my head?
I’d rather have him take a toe.
I’ve now learned I make a better prisoner than escapee. Both attempts I’ve failed miserably. Though neither time was I given much of an opportunity for a plan.
After the first try, I told myself I wouldn’t make another run until I was prepared. But Dasha sounded desperate when she called me, begging me for money and saying she needed it by tonight.
I did what any sister would do. I saidfuck itand ran to help her.
