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“We are not doing that?”
“We are. She is in pain. If she wants to kill, then we will let her kill, but under my watch—”
“This is crazy.”
“It will work.”
“Kaz. . .if she hurts you. . .”
“Lunita will never hurt me—”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“I know her, mysh. Better than you do.”
I shook my head. “I am telling you that—”
“In the club, you trusted me.”
I swallowed. “I did. That was different.”
“It is not.” He kissed my forehead. “In the hospital, I stood silent and trusted you.”
I trembled. “That was different.”
“It is not.”
“Kaz, if you let Lunita wake you up, then you are not trusting anything, you are having faith that a psychotic killer will not do what she does best, which is slice.”
“I plan to have Boris and Wassily sit inside of our bedroom as we sleep tonight.”
Tension gathered in my shoulders. “This still is faith, not trust.”
“It is trust in Lunita, and you are trusting me too. Can you do that?”
“I don’t want to. It scares me. I can’t lose—”
“Trust me.”
“Kaz—”
“Trust me like you trusted me this evening.”
I could see the determined glint in his eyes.
He wasn’t asking, he was imploring.
Pleading for me to trust him.
To trust them.
And while the logical part of my mind screamed at me to deny Kaz outright, I found myself hesitating.
Maybe, it was the rum.
Perhaps, it was the weed.
Whatever it was, this primal part of me, some instinctual force, understood that this was a necessary step.
