He takes my hand, and we’re moving.
A car is already waiting.
The driver opens the door and I climb in without a word, Markev slides in beside me as the car pulls away.
I stare out the window. Then his arms come around me, grounding, pulling me back against his chest. I don’t resist.
I need it.
He doesn’t speak and I don’t want him to.
All I can think about is my sister. About how I failed her. About the distance that crept in between us, both of us hiding things, and changing.
Guilt presses hard on my ribs.
I just need her to be alive.
Breathing.
The car slows as we reach the airstrip. A private plane waits ahead.
We step inside, and a man greets us in Russian.
I understand immediately.
It’s Markev’s plane.
Normally, I would have something to say about that. I would bristle at the idea of using anything that most certainly belongs tohim.
But I don’t have the energy.
All that matters is that it’s going to London.
Chapter 47
Octavia
An accident.
A car accident.
The words sit heavy in my chest, crushing the air from my lungs.
She’s alive.
Stabilised.
But she’s in a coma.
In a fuckingcoma.
And it feels as though the walls are closing in from every side.
Whoever caused it will pay.
When I open my mouth to say as much, Arlo looks at me and tells me it’s already been handled.
Whatever that means.
