Is that what this is? Love? Why they jeopardized everything to extract me illegally from The Games? Holy shit.
No time for heart eyes and epiphanies.
“He will never give up. He’ll just send more of us.” The man laughs, choking on the blood filling his mouth from the internal bleeding.
“And I’ll kill those fuckers too.” I tug the blade free and whip my arm out, slicing across his neck. His body falls against the truck and I rush forward, grabbing his waist and heaving him up, up, up with an otherworldly strength until his body plonks into the truck bed.
Tears burn my eyes when the realization sinks into me.
“He will never give up. He’ll just send more of us.”
No.
No, no, no, no.
They love me. I just realized this. And I love them too. But…
I have to leave them. It’s awful and gutting but absolutely necessary. They will never be safe as long as I’m in their life.
Love was just a tease. Pain is the only constant I know.
Swiping my eyes, I shake my head, hoping to rid myself of the overwhelming despair washing over me. I need to focus and clean up. The tears can come later when I’m all alone, resting easy knowing they’re safe.
I’m so sorry, guys.
The plastic sheeting in the truck bed has done most of the job for me, but I get to scrubbing any signs of blood from the garage. The twins will never let me go if they see there was a struggle. It has to look like I chose to leave because I wanted to.
They’ll hate me.
Another punch to the gut. Bile creeps up my throat and the room spins. I force the acid down with a hard swallow.
Hate is necessary. It’s my only card to play right now in this awful hand I’ve been dealt—the only way for them to move on without me.
Dropping the knife onto the tarp, I pull Rodion’s shirt over my head, dump that on there, too, and roll the tarp up, shoving it into the back seat of the truck.
While trembling violently, I creep through the apartment in desperate need for a shower. Once clean, and no longer shaking after soaking in the heat, I find my clothes and pull on my white boots, which are still stained with blood from The Games.
Now fully clothed and resigned to my decision, I pause to stare at them, getting one last look at the beautiful men. Their chests rise and fall in their drug-induced sleep, and it settles my reckless, rampant heart.
I’m so, so sorry.
With bitterness on my tongue, I write them a note, and then dial the number of the one person I know who will help me get away.
My ass hits the driver's seat of the truck, and I bring it to life, leaving the garage and disappearing into the night. When the line picks up, I whisper, “Diana, I need your help.”
Chapter Four
TWO YEARS LATER
Rodion
Anew cocktail. Nikita, our bar manager, insists it’s huge in the US, and we must have it here. The US is known for having shit taste in alcohol, but here I am, eyeing the drink.
The things I do for business.
I bring my lips to the glass and sniff. My lip curls up in disgust. Smells like it’s loaded with sugar and cheap. With a groan, I suck down the mystery cocktail.
Instant regret.
