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He sniggers down the line. “Natalia.” He exhales my name too easily.
“I’ve got your money. Every single penny of it. Now, I want off this job.”
“I can have a bucket and mop waiting for you if you prefer?”
“Don’t fucking insult me. I know you’re doing business deals and deliberately sending me on this wild-fucking-goose chase just so you don’t have to deal with me.”
He laughs again. Only this time, it’s heartier. “Oh, Talia. I only sent you off because I can’t keep you around with a muzzle on and I can’t trust you to behave. People are already asking too many questions.”
“I don’t give a fuck what people are asking. And since when do you?”
“Talia, darling—”
“I demand answers.”
He chuckles. “I know you do. The issue is, I’m not in the habit of giving them.”
“And why the hell not? Are you that bitter and twisted over the thought of having me around you can’t even bear to see me? That you send me off to do stupid jobs to cut yourself some slack? Because, believe me, Beckett, you were asking for this.”
“I was?” he bites.
I chortle. “I didn’t slam my own head into a fucking brick wall and kidnap myself, did I?”
There’s a pregnant pause, the tension mounting within the confines of the car. I can hear him breathing, trying to contain himself.
“Seems we’ve both made some choices in this life we no longer stand by, haven’t we, Beck?”
I’m too angry to see the car run the red light, driving directly at us.
I’m too angry to even register what happens when it connects with the side of ours.
