“Sure.” She took the money from him.
He pointed to a waiting room full of hard-backed chairs. “I’ll be over there.”
Buying the tickets was quick and painless, and then he was just sitting. Waiting. Ah, fuck. Thinking. No. He really didn’t want to think, damn it.
When he realized he was drumming his fingers on his knee, he forced himself to stop. Sejal would be coming back soon, and he couldn’t have her thinking that he was at all affected by what had happened a couple of hours prior.
Krish rubbed his finger alongside his nose and stared straight ahead at the peeling poster on the wall of the Greyhound station.
This is going to be a mess. You don’t know what you’re doing. You are in way over your head. You are not your family.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t have a choice. They had no car, no phones, no money now that he’d bought their tickets. Plus, there was the matter of Viktor pursuing them.
The man Sejal’s ex had sent had been rough with her, shoving her into the car. It was the callous behavior of a criminal who didn’t care whether she lived or died. When Krish had gotten a look in the other man’s eyes, through shattered glass, a shard of ice had run down his spine. That guy was a killer.
You know what Cobra is like. Is it really a surprise that Sejal was involved with another crime family?
No. In fact, references to that affiliation were in the notes his brother had left on Sejal. Krish hadn’t thought someone she dated so many years ago would still be a problem. At least not at the exact same time he needed her.
You mean need to use her.
Krish rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been so single-minded until now that he’d managed to bury the doubts in his conscience. He felt like he’d been swimming doggedly underwater for weeks, and someone had just yanked his head above water... only for him to see he was swimming in an endless ocean with no land in sight.
He’d been confident enough—or rather, hyper-focused on his brother enough—that he could keep a rich asshole off their backs, but someone with connections? That was a different story. Who knew what this guy was capable of? Shouldn’t Sejal be with someone who could actually protect her? Maybe even the real FBI? Instead of him, a fake FBI agent?
You protected her fine back at that diner. Stay the course. You’re over halfway there, and once you’ve gotten your brother back, maybe her dear sweet powerful auntie will step in to take care of Alexei and Viktor.
Yes, and then they’d all sing “kumbaya” together.These are murderers, dummy.Did the ends justify the means in this situation? Was he ready to save his brother at any cost, even at the cost of this woman?
“Hope you’re hungry.”
Krish jerked to attention and sat up straight. He hadn’t even registered Sejal’s approach. That kind of inattention wasn’t goodfor someone who had pissed off a career criminal less than two hours ago.
See, more proof that you won’t be able to protect her.
She dropped down into the seat next to him. There was dirt on her sleeve, maybe from her dive onto the floor of their rental car. She’d found a rubber band somewhere and used it to pull back her hair. The strands were so short, they only made a spiky ponytail. She’d zipped up the hoodie, and between that and the sweatpants she still wore, she looked like a college student. “You’re back quick.”
She cast him an odd look. “Our bus is leaving soon, right?”
Out of habit, he reached for his phone to check the time, but of course his pocket was empty. He glanced at the big clock on the wall instead. “Right.” He cleared his throat, pulling the tattered edges of his composure around him. He couldn’t let her see the cracks, not right now. Whatever internal dilemma he was wrestling, he had to work through it before he made any further decisions. “What flavor of Cheetos are we having now?”
She pulled a bowl out of the plastic shopping bag with a flourish. “Voilà. A chicken Caesar salad for you.”
Krish stared at the bowl, his mouth salivating. It was a cheap salad. But the greens looked fresh and crisp, and the chicken looked like chicken. He accepted it, along with the plastic fork she handed him. “You got me a salad?”
“It seemed like you really wanted one. And the one at the diner looked gross.”
“Thank you. That’s... thoughtful of you.” The floodgates of his emotions had opened, because that was definitely guilt creeping down his spine.
She hunched her shoulders. “Don’t get used to it,” she said gruffly. “Consider it thanks for saving my life.”
He took a bite of the veggies. They were unadulterated by anything too artificial, and that was all he cared about. “My gut biome appreciates it.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Okay, Harvard.”
He took another bite. “Why do you call me that?”
“Harvard?”
