She crossed her arms over her chest as she kissed her teeth. “I’m serious.”
“Moya lyubimaya,” I murmured, uncrossing those arms and pulling her into me.
She resisted. “No. No sweet talk. What if?—”
“It won’t happen.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t know that.”
“Actually, I can.”
She made a skeptical sound. I kissed her forehead, then I settled back against the pillows, holding her next to me.
“I delayed the shit because I was gone. Siberia complicated things.”
She scoffed. “You think? Maybe a little.”
“A lot,” I admitted.
That earned me the tiniest smile, but it faded quickly.
“There was another reason, too.”
Her eyes found mine. “What?”
I shrugged. “Honestly?”
“I know this is going to shock you, but that’s usually how answers work.”
I ignored that. “I wanted to end that nigga in a way that people would use as an example when they described torture or gruesome deaths.”
Theory stared at me. I stared right back.
Then she groaned. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You have the nerve to claim that I’m so dramatic?”
I shrugged. “I’m Russian.”
“That isnotan excuse.”
“It absolutely is.”
She shook her head. I gave her a half smile before my expression sobered.
“For a long time, I imagined how it would happen. Lying on that bunk, I pictured taking his bitch ass apart piece by piece.” My hand went to the hem of her nightshirt, brushed against the evidence of his brutality toward her. “I wanted him to understand exactly why he was dying. I wanted him to know that hurting you was the worst mistake he ever made.”
Theory swallowed. “Baby?—”
I rubbed my thumb across her plump lips, silencing her as I kissed her temple.
“But I’m done waiting.”
That got her full attention. “Targen.”
“Nah. I told you that you don’t carry worry or fear anymore. So, it will be handled. I’ve been working on it anyway.”
