Page 62 of Anton

I go still because he’s right. I hadn’t even realized how far out of character this was until he said it.

Which is exactly why I need to cut her out of my life. She’s ruining me.

“I’m fine. Just twisted my hand the wrong way.”

“Horosho.” Okay. “But if there was something you wanted to talk about, you⁠—”

I cut him off with a dry laugh. “What is this, therapy hour? I told you I’m good.”

He nods. “And Thora? Everything okay with her? Things going as planned?”

My body goes rigid. “Da. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” I can see him choosing his next words carefully. “You’ve been spotted with her more than once, and I thought maybe there were some problems with her you wanted to talk out.”

Pizdets. Fucking hell.

Hitting the bag again, I pretend nothing in me reacts. “What problems could there be? I’m keeping tabs on her, getting closer like Konstantin wanted.”

“Ladno.” He starts to walk away until he pauses. “So if I killed her, you wouldn’t care?”

I go completely still, a violent need tearing through me so fast, I can almost feel my hands ripping his neck open for even uttering those words.

I wait a second before I speak, not trusting what I’ll do next. “Are you planning on killing her? Does Konstantin want you to be the one to do it?”

Does my brother think I’m weak? That I care for her now? It’s not true.

Kirill stares at me for too long. “No. I was just curious what you would say, and you told me everything I needed to know.”

What the hell does that mean?

But instead of asking, I punch the bag again. “You do whatever you want with her. She barely even crosses my mind.”

He doesn’t say a word after that, and neither do I, the silence filling my head with more noise than I know what to do with.

I lie awake staring at the ceiling, and every time I close my eyes, she’s there, laughing on the back of my bike with her arms raised to the sky, trusting me not to let anything happen to her. The memory of her body pressed against mine takes hold until I can almost feel her arms around my neck and her weight resting against me, and I hate how badly I want that back.

Blyat.

I scrub a palm over my face, but she remains lodged in my thoughts. Then Kirill’s question returns.

So if I killed her, you wouldn’t care?

My eyelids press together. I should have said no without hesitation, but the word refused to come because all I could picture was what I’d do to anyone who laid a hand on her. Anyone foolish enough to try.

That should disturb me. Instead, it brings a twisted sense of peace.

I force the tension to ease from my body, but my thoughts keep circling back to her until exhaustion finally drags me under.

Endless darkness stretches around me, swallowing every sound except the distant echo of my breathing as I wander with nowhere to go and no idea what I’m searching for.

Then a familiar woman’s voice calls. “Anton.”

I stop short, searching around for her, but there’s nothing there except a faint light that begins to flicker in the distance.

Moving toward it, I reach for it until it grows bigger, and a figure slowly appears, blurry at first. Her eyes are dark and shaped just like mine, framed by black hair that falls around a face I somehow recognize, even though I don’t know who she is.

“Moy malchik.” She smiles and extends her hand, and recognition crashes through me.