military. He wanted to help protect Britain if we ever faced another overwhelming enemy again, and he wanted to travel widely. Working with people would be good, but I also enjoy the technical side of the work I do at the moment. Could I set up as a freelancer? Best of both worlds possibly. I’d get to work in IT, which I’m good at, and I’d also get to chat with people and help people out, yet not have to work in a stuffy office from nine to five. I could set my own hours and spend time outdoors.
As I think about it, the vague stirrings of hope flutter in my belly, a glossy hummingbird taking flight from the detritus of the past weeks. As the pay for freelancers and self-employed contractors can be high, I’d only need to work part-time to have a decent standard of living. The rest of the time I could do things I enjoy. Dance classes, walks, and I could have a dog. Oh my, that would be amazing. I smile to myself.
“What are you smiling at?” Liza demands as if my smile is an afront to her personally.
“Thinking about getting a dog when I get out of here.” I shrug and go back to my thoughts.
“I don’t like dogs,” she says.
“Who doesn’t like dogs?” I ask, surprised.
“Me,” she says. “Konstantin. Plenty of people don’t like dogs.”
“Konstantin likes dogs,” I say before thinking.
“No, he does not,” she snaps. “He doesn’t have any, does he?”
“He didn’t have dogs because he had to work all hours,” I say. ”Now, he has two.”
“Er, earth to Cassie.” She knocks her head with her closed fist as if knocking on wood. “Wake up, Cassie. He hasn’t got dogs, you idiot.”
“He has. He got them when you left.”
“He’s got dogs?” she asks, her face a picture.
“Did he ever say to you, Liza, I hate dogs?” I ask her.
“No … maybe… I can’t remember, but he doesn’t like them.” She purses her lips and stares at me with hatred.
“He always told me he loved them. Likes German Shepherds, Rottweilers, Labradors, and Golden Retrievers. We always used to joke about how a dog should be big enough to properly cuddle.”
“What do you mean used to?”
“Before, when he used to come to the coffee shop I worked at, every day, months ago. We talked about great literature too. It’s why he bought me the book, the one he wrote a message in and signed.”
“He wrote a message in it,” she mocks me in a sing-song voice. “And? He bought me a fucking Chopard diamond bracelet, you stupid loser.”
I’ve got under her skin, and I turn away as a little smile creeps over my face. I shouldn’t goad the woman, but she makes it too easy.
“You know, you might think he likes you because he bought you a book that cost like all of ten pounds, but until he’s buying you diamonds and fur coats, you mean jack shit to him.”
I gasp. “He bought you a fur coat?”
“Jealous, bitch?”
“No,” I say with revulsion. “Disgusted that he’d buy fur.”
She looks at me as if I’m dense and shakes her head. “Cassie, he kills people. You think he cares about some mink losing its life?”
Her words pull me up short. He does kill people, doesn’t he? These men here with guns who took me, they are the same as him. He’s cut from the same cloth.
“In fact, he does worse than kill them,” she muses. “I mean, I don’t know because he’s never discussed business in front of me, but I overheard him talking to someone once, and he was telling this guy to torture someone for information. He’s a killer, Cassie, and worse—he doesn’t do it because he must to survive. He enjoys it, likes the power. You think he’d care about animals. You’re so fucking naive it must hurt. How do you even get through a day in this world with your soft insides?”
I blink away the tears. I will not cry again over this man or her. They aren’t worth it.
“It must be like walking around with a great big, undressed wound, being someone as soft as you in a world as brutal as this one.”
“My world isn’t brutal,” I tell her. “My world has good people in it. Kind people. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
She mimics me. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”