Page 16
“That’s a little too fast, man,” Maksim says. “You know your family is strict about certain things. Sure, your dad might agree, but your mom is the matriarch. Everything depends on her approval.”
I look him straight in the eye, holding his gaze. “You don’t have to worry about my mom. I’ve been talking to her about Elias for weeks. She’s fine with it.”
Maksim shrugs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, fine. Since you aren’t participating, you still have to show up that night to be counted. It’s tradition.”
“Sure,” I agree.
I leave them behind and stop at the café on the edge of campus. I order a slice of chocolate cake and a pint of Elias’s favorite vanilla ice cream, having the cashier pack it carefully so it won’t melt on the walk back to the flat.
The heavy iron gate clicks open when I type in my code. I walk up the long driveway with a smile on my face. I can already picture his expression when I hand him the dessert. He will sit on the couch with me and let me feed him a bite while I tell him how good he is being.
I reach my floor, step off the elevator, and freeze.
The front door to the flat is standing ajar.
My stomach drops as all the air leaves my lungs. I push the heavy wood open wider and step inside the silent hallway. “Elias?”
No answer. The flat feels too quiet. I walk fast, checking the living room, the kitchen, and the bedroom. Empty. The bathroom door hangs wide open, with no one inside.
I walk straight to the hallway table and pull open the small drawer where I keep the spare key. Fuck fuck fuck, it’s empty.
I move to the back door leading to the private stairs. The deadbolt is unlocked. The spare key is still sitting right in the lock on the inside.
He used it to get out.
The plastic bag slips from my hands. The box hits the floor with a wet thud, splattering dark chocolate frosting and melting vanilla ice cream across the clean tiles.
Rage boils up inside my chest so fast my vision flashes red. I stand in the middle of the room staring at the mess and the open door, my fists clenching tight at my sides.
He ran.
I leave the splattered cake and melting ice cream on the tiles and head straight downstairs to the main living area. The familiar smell of stale cigars and spilled liquor enveloped my senses. I walk over to the bar cart, grab Roman’s favorite bottle of scotch, and pour myself a full glass.
I pace back and forth in front of the leather sofas, my eyes burning. Tears keep sliding down my cheeks no matter how many times I wipe them away.
Was I not good enough? I gave him money for his mom. I fed him. I kept him safe. I fucked him every night, and I made him my wife. Yet, yet it still wasn’t enough. I was still not enough for him. Why did he have to leave?
I take a deep drink, the scotch burning my throat on the way down, before pouring another glass and keeping up my pacing.
The elevator dings. Roman steps out, takes one look at my face, and stops dead in his tracks.
“What the hell is this?” Roman asks, his brow furrowing. “Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
I stop pacing and glare at him. “I know you don’t give a shit, so stop with the fake concern. It doesn’t look good on you.”
Roman laughs, dropping into the nearest leather chair and stretching his long legs out. “Just tell me what’s going on. By the way, where is your boy toy? Don’t tell me he wouldn’t let you touch him tonight, and that’s why you’re out here sulking.”
I stare down at the amber liquid in my glass, my vision blurring. “He’s gone.”
Roman’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Did you kill him?”
“No,” I snap, gripping the glass tighter. “Why do you immediately think I killed him? I never touched him like that.”
“Then why do you look so guilty?” Roman tilts his head, studying me. “You must have killed him, or did you beat him up, and he’s unconscious somewhere, right?”
“Why are you thinking the worst of me?” I ask, my voice tightening. “I’ve never harmed him.”
Roman smirks. “Well, you did lock him up without his consent. It isn’t that far off. And why the hell are you acting as if you’ve never killed a man before?”
