I drop the rifle, letting it hang at my chest and glare at him.
“You can’t kill me,” he says it like a declaration.
No. An affirmation.
“You better think carefully about your next words, because they might be the last you say, asshole.”
He offers me his left palm. “Let’s go home and talk about it.”
The audacity of this motherfucker.
Why can’t I shoot him again?
“That’s not thinking carefully, Kirill. Do you have a death wish?”
“Not particularly, but the only option on the table right now is for you to come with me.”
“You’re demented if you think I’ll go anywhere with you.”
“How else will you allow me to change your mind?”
“Nothing you do will make me change my mind.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.”
“Can you stop being so calm about this? Why…just why are you like this when I’m going crazy?”
“If I don’t force myself to be calm, I’m going to fuck you like a savage in the middle of the forest and punish you for all the time I’ve spent without you. But since I assume that’s highly unlikely to happen, I have to be civil.”
My teeth grind together. “You call this civil?”
“You know how I act when I don’t get what I want, so yes, this is fucking civil. For now.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Come home with me, Solnyshko.”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” I snap.
“Fine, are you coming?”
“No.”
“You’re my wife, Sasha. You belong with me.”
“I belong anywhere but with you.” Even if I don’t know where the hell that is.
My family’s patience has limits. If I go back after being unable to kill Kirill, Anton will do it and they’ll kick me out.
I’ll have nothing.
“Last attempt at being civil.” He motions at his palm. “Take it.”
“I said no.”
“Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He slides his hand in his pocket, brings out his phone, and awkwardly types with one hand, then he shows me a picture of Anton, bound and gagged, blood trickling down his temple.
“No…” I point my rifle at him. “I’ll kill you right now if you don’t release him.”
“Kill me and he’s dead.”
“You fucking monster!”
“I’m fine with being that.” He pockets his phone. “I brought an army here, Sasha. Neither you nor your brother could’ve left.”
“It was supposed to be only me and you.”
“It is only me and you. Always was and always will be. I just made sure there would be no complications, for lack of a better term.”
“As in, you trapped us.”
“I prefer, I took you back. The only way to keep your brother alive is being with me.”
“How dare you—”
“How fucking dare you?” His voice lowers to a frightening edge. “How dare you fake your death on me, leave me, plot against me, and show up to announce you’ll kill me? Did you think I’d let that slide?”
“Don’t talk like a victim when you stabbed me in the back!”
“I never did. You made up your own dramas based on your motherfucking insecurities.” He releases a breath. “But that doesn’t matter now. We’re going home.”
“Let Anton go.”
“Not unless you come with me and stay with me.”
“For how long?”
“There’s no deadline for a marriage, Sasha.”
“Yes, there is. It’s called a divorce and I want one.”
His jaw clenches and his eyes darken to a monstrous color. “No.”
“Then I’m not going with you.”
“I’ll kill your brother.”
“Then I will kill you and hate you forever.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Sasha.”
“Three months.”
“What?”
“In three months, you’ll give me a divorce and we’ll be out of each other’s lives.”
He starts to give his irritating knee-jerk response of ‘No,’ but I lift a hand. “It’s either that or you give me a divorce right now. Your choice.”
“Very well played.” He says it with tension, even as he smiles and offers his hand again. “Take it, wife.”
I slap it out of the way and say as I brush past him, “I’m not your wife, Kirill. I’m your future ex-wife.”
11
KIRILL
Sasha is alive.
My wife isn’t lying six feet under in a cold grave.
I buried her bones with my own hands and forced myself to look at her disfigured skeletal face because I thought that was the last time I’d see her.
Even if she didn’t look like my Sasha anymore, I had to engrave the last image of her in my memory.
But it turns out that it was all an act to fool me.
She wanted to leave me so badly that she faked her own death and, consequently, drove a sharp spear into my chest.
The wound is gaping open and bleeding worse than the literal bullet she put in my arm.
Yes, she shot me, but it was less because she wanted to kill me and more because she was scared I’d touch her.
The mere thought of my skin on hers terrified her so much that it triggered her defense mechanism. Her non-dominant leg was literally bent back in case she decided to run.
I wonder if she had the same reaction when she decided to leave me that fake corpse.
More accurately, she probably thought she’d left me for good.
That she can still leave me.
In her fucking dreams.
The only reason I agreed to her absurd three-month condition is because that was the only way to make her come with me.
Do I plan to keep my part of the deal? Fuck no.
But she doesn’t need to know that.
I catch up to her forceful strides but linger a step behind to admire the way her combat clothes stretch over the dip in her waist and her hips.
For the first time—probably ever—she’s wearing women's combat gear instead of the unflattering male ones.
She’s dyed her hair back to blonde. It’s now held in a low ponytail that stops at her shoulders. I knew her hair grew fast, but I didn’t realize it was this fast.
I’ve often tried to imagine her with her natural hair color, but none of the pictures I’ve conjured in my brain have done her justice.
She’s glowing as a blonde.
Also fierce.
Angry as fuck, too.
And that makes my dick twitch with the need to fuck that anger out of both of us.
Yes, I could’ve chosen not to make things worse and not taken Yuri—sorry, I mean Anton—but there was virtually no other method to force her to stay.
She might not have killed me, but she would’ve tortured me by another highly effective method—disappearing on me.
Forbidding me from seeing her ever again.
She would’ve vanished to where I couldn’t find her and punished both of us for the rest of our lives.
And we can’t have that, now, can we?
I take a step in front of her and lead her to where I parked the car. Sasha doesn’t look at me, keeping her entire focus on the faraway horizon or the trees that are indistinguishable in the dark.