Page 28 of Dissolution


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“His tiger,” I clarified. “Not the cat currently trying to whore itself around your legs…”

Andrei’s chuckle filled the room as he walked out.

Katya picked up the cat and stared at me like I was a monster.

“Is the cat a shield or a weapon?”

“Both.” She held him up. He hissed at me instantly. His sweater was also knit and had the grinch on it; how fitting. “What’s his name?”

“He’s declawed,” I pointed out. “His name’s Bagel, and please don’t ask why Chase named him, and it stuck, and every time it gets brought up, everyone gets extremely uncomfortable, so I just call him Bitch.” I pulled out a chair next to her. “So, should we play twenty questions?”

“I have nothing to learn from you.” She lifted her chin.

“Good.” I shrugged and got up, having expected her answer, needing her to send me away. “Leave the compound without telling me, and it’s both our asses.”

“Wait—” She jumped to her feet, tabby still in hand. “Where are you going?”

“To hang myself from the closet… care to join?” I called without looking back.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I never joke about a good killing,” I said cheerfully. “Can’t fucking believe I have babysitting duty—I was the heir, you know…” I gritted my teeth. “And now… I have you.”

“Don’t forget about Bagel!” She glared.

“Two pussies, lucky me.” I took a deep breath. “Stay on the property, I mean it, and hope to God these thirty days go by fast.”

“Fine,” she yelled.

“Fine,” I called over my shoulder, ignoring the soft cries coming from her mouth and the way she held the cat close to her like she needed affection. I watched in the mirror, her broken reflection.

And I told myself I didn’t care.

It didn’t matter.

When my heart thudded,“Liar. Liar. Liar…”

Because I was still human.

And it did.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“There are three sides to every story. Yours. Mine. And the truth.” – Joe Massino

Katya

I’d always hated cats.

Until the stupid one with a Grinch Christmas sweater named Bagel gave me one pitiful look and meowed, and then I was done for.

He was orange.

Warm.

And who says no to a cat with a sweater on? Even if he looks extremely grumpy. He at least hissed at Santino, which gave him all the bonus points in the world. Weird because, normally, that’s the reaction cats have to me. Instead, Bagel let me hold him close like he knew I needed a hug or someone—something to understand what it was like to be captured, tortured, to watch my twin die in front of my eyes, to feel his soul leave this earth as if it was my own—and to be helpless against it all.

Thirty days.

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