life has gone to shit, and I hope she regrets every second of every day that she pretends to be a woman of faith. But either way, she’s about to atone for her every sin.
When I step into the hallway, the floorboard creaks, and at the same time, the bathroom door swings open. The shadowed figure in her nightgown opens her mouth to scream as she registers me standing there, the devil at her door. I slap my hand over her mouth, slamming her against the wall, and shining my flashlight into her eyes as I study her face for confirmation.
She looks fucking terrified, but almost resigned, like she somehow knew this day would come. A reckoning, the likes of which she’s never seen. A snarl curls my lips, and I move the light away, allowing her to glimpse the monster before her as I drag the picture of Kat from my pocket.
“Hello, Mrs. George.” I hold the photo up in front of her face. “You don’t know me, but I know you. And this woman? She’s very important to me, so I think it’s about time we have a little chat about her.”
28
Kat
I’m sick with worry for the next day and a half. Gleb knows where Lev is. At least he knows something. I’m learning Gleb’s tells. The way his eyes shift just a little to the left of you when he’s omitting something, even if he’s not outright lying.
The times I’ve asked him directly, he’s told me it’s not a woman’s place to know “these dealings” in this man’s world, which is bullshit.
I vacillate between anger and paralyzing fear. Anger at Gleb and Lev for their secrecy, fear that he’s gone to do another job. But what if there’s one more after this one and another after that? I can’t live this life. I can’t let Josh live it.
Frustration and worry have me in the kitchen at four in the morning, pouring myself a glass of vodka. I stand at the glass doors and look out into the vast back garden, the trees of the forest behind which is a twelve-foot solid wall topped with barbed wire.
This place is a fortress.
Our house will be a fortress.
But if taking it means we’re a part of this life, if taking it is somehow me giving my blessing for Lev to continue the work he’s been doing, then I can’t. I’ll walk away. I’ll have to no matter the cost.
I wonder if either man would let me, though.
A sound from inside the house has me turn toward the living room through which I can see the foyer. I hear the front door open. Two men speak in hushed tones in Russian, and I find myself exhaling. Thanking God.
The door closes. Quiet footsteps head to the stairs.
I set my glass down on the counter and hearing it, he turns, and when I see his face even in the dimly lit rooms, I think how much I missed him. How much I still miss him.
He hasn’t touched me since everything happened. I know he’s scared to hurt me, but I need him. Doesn’t he know that?
After watching me for a small eternity, Lev walks through the living room and into the kitchen. He looks at me but doesn’t speak. He eyes my drink, picks it up, and swallows the rest of it.
“What did you do?” I ask.
He takes the bottle and pours a second glass. He looks like he hasn’t slept. Like he should be drinking a cup of coffee and not the vodka he’s polishing off.
I put my hand over his when he pours one more glass.
“What did you do, Lev?”
“I buried the past,” he says and swallows that glass too. When he sets it back down, he’s finished with the vodka and moves around the counter toward me.
I turn with him, my back to the counter when he puts his hands on either side of me, his body against mine.
He needs me, too. I can feel the urgency of that need.
Leaning his head down, he kisses me. It’s tentative at first, but when I wrap my hands around his shoulders, around the familiar, comforting strength of them, he cups the back of my head, and that kiss turns hungry. Ravenous.
He lifts me up, still kissing me as I wrap my legs around him. Carrying me to the kitchen table, he shoves the chair loudly out of his way and sets me on top of the table, breaking our kiss for the