Kostya stumbles half a step, then laughs under his breath like he just got the joke.
“Easy,” he chuckles, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “Relax.”
“Don’t.”
My voice is low enough that it doesn’t need to be louder.
He glances past me at Ayla again anyway, eyes sliding over her slow.
“Still not done with her?” he asks, amused.
Something violent flashes behind my eyes.
“Get the fuck out.”
Kostya’s grin sharpens. “Touchy tonight.”
He takes a slow step backward toward the door, hands still up like he’s humoring a madman.
Then he pauses beside the frame and looks past me one last time.
“Bye, Krasivaya.”
Ayla doesn’t answer. She just watches him leave, arms still folded. The door clicks shut behind him. Silence fills the room again.
My grip on the gun hasn’t loosened.
“Do youeverlisten?”
“No. Notto you.”
***
The house is still
Like the walls are listening.
The bedroom is dark except for the strip of street lights pushing through the gap in the curtains, silvering the edge of the dresser, the floor, the mess of our clothes where they were dropped.
The sheets smell like sweat and marshmallows and sex gone warm between us.
Beda’s head is on my chest again.
She does that now. Like it’s normal. Like my body is somewhere soft to land.
Her hair skims my ribs, the ends brushing my skin every time she shifts. One of her legs is tangled with mine under the blanket. Her arm is slung across my stomach, loose and careless.
I take a breath, calming the adrenaline that hits me when she’s this close.
I stare into the dark and listen to her breathing even out, and all I can think about is Nikolai’s voice traveling through Kostya’s mouth. Russia waiting like a grave I haven’t stepped into yet.
I have to tell her.
I don’t.
My hand stays on the back of her thigh under the blanket, thumb moving once, twice, dragging over soft skin because if I keep touching her maybe I can delay it another minute.
Another five.
