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In the summertime, the roof was usually jam-packed with people throwing all sorts of parties. Thankfully no one was up here, otherwise there was no telling what Sasha would do to get them to leave. Best case scenario, take their head off. Worst case? The cops would be scraping up bits and pieces from the sidewalk after a thirty-story swan dive.
We made our way over to one of the elaborate fire pits, the sounds of the city drifting lazily across the night sky. Tossing the bag into the pit, Sasha retrieved a bottle of lighter fluid and a box of matches from one of the outdoor storage boxes. A moment later, the bag went up in flames, crinkling and smoking. The solemnity of the situation reminded me of a funeral pyre. I just wished I knew who I was supposed to be mourning.
I laced my fingers through his, still not knowing what the fuck I was supposed to say. So I said the only thing I’d want to hear if the tables were turned. “I love you. Whatever it is, I love you.”
His head angled toward me slowly, the flames glinting in his eyes. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew.”
“Yes, I would.”
“No. You’ll hate me.”
“If I was going to hate you, I would have hated you before.” I squeezed his hand gently, leaving out that whole kidnapping part of our relationship. It’s not like either of us needed the reminder. Especially not now. “I love you no matter what, Sasha.”
He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the curve of my shoulder. I didn’t expect him to speak. He was barely breathing as it was. Each one came in hitched and left just as ragged, his hands clenching the back of my hoodie. Well, technicallyhishoodie.
“I know you’re only doing what you have to,” I said, running my fingers through the longer part of his hair and down the fade to the nape of his neck. “For both of us.”
We stood like that for several moments, me stroking his hair and him simply breathing at a slower, more even pace. Even then, I didn’t think he was going to speak and I was ok with that. I was used to that. So when he did, I immediately wished I never asked what happened.
“I killed someone tonight,” he said, picking his head up and pulling me in close so he was staring over my shoulder. “A lot of people, actually. But this woman in particular… You could have called her my friend. She’s the one who warned me when you were — when they... Fuck!” He swallowed hard, squeezing me even harder. “She helped me, and I fucking killed her! Her and her baby.”
“What?” I couldn’t have heard that right. He was mumbling. I was tired. It was windy. The fire was crackling too loud. There were a thousand reasons he couldn’t have said what he just said, and one very sickening reality — he was telling the truth.
He staggered away from me and dropped onto the edge of a chair, staring at the fire. “She owned a club across town. My old crew used to operate out of there. Lada knew things. Heard things. Sergei said she had to go. Her and all of the girls. Fine, no problem. It’s the cost of doing business. We all know that.”
I sank to my knees in front of him, holding onto his thighs and willing him to look at me.
He didn’t. Even though I was right in front of him, he made it his mission to avoid looking me in the eye. For the first time, I realized how utterly frustrating it was when you were trying to connect and the other person absolutely refused to.
“But then we got there,” he continued, his breaths coming faster, “and Lada said she was pregnant. She begged me to spare her, at least until after the baby was born. I tried. I called Misha. Misha said he’d already fought with Sergei over it, which is why he was late. He said Sergei didn’t care. I tried anyway. It was a risk, but I called Sergei myself. Sergei said she was her a lying whore and told me it was in my best interest to do my job.” He swallowed again, his fist clenching so tightly the veins popped on the back of his hand. “So I did.”
I laid my hand over his, but he didn’t even look like he registered the touch. In that moment, he wasn’t with me. He was back in that club, reliving whatever horrific things he’d done, just like when he told me about his other friend, the one he’d beaten to death for being gay.
When Sasha spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. It made my stomach twist painfully, anticipating the horror that was to come.
“I found one of those pictures. The kind they give you at the doctor’s. It was in her office. She wasn’t lying. Which means I—”
I shushed him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him against me. “Don’t say it. You were doing your job, Sasha. You didn’t know.”
“Ididknow.”
“No, you didn’t. You couldn’t.”
“She told me. Shebeggedme.”
I pulled back, taking his face between my hands and forcing him to look at me. “What would have happened if you refused the order?”
“Roan…” He exhaled a sharp breath, his gaze dropping.
“No, be honest. She was dead the minute Sergei said so. If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. Someone else who might not have cared, someone else who might have done worse things to her. And then that someone would have come for me.”
His icy gaze snapped up, narrowing in the firelight.
“You know it’s true,” I said, caressing the side of his face. “They know I’m your weakness. You don’t give a shit about dying, you made that clear to all of them. But they know the extremes you’ll go to for me. As long as I’m around, I’m a liability to you.”
He flinched, pulling out of my hands and staring at me like I slapped him. “What? What are you saying?”
It was my turn to swallow, trying to dislodge the fear from my throat. I’d opened the door, now it was time to fucking walk through it. “If it makes things easier for you, I’ll go. That way you don’t have to worry about me.”
