Page 93 of Twisted Cage

Careful not to wake Faith, I settle Lexi in the crib next to Alex. They brought in another crib, but we’ve continued to put them together in one. They’ll grow out of it soon, probably in the next few weeks. This special ritual is slipping away, so I’m taking advantage of every moment.

“It’s going to be okay, baby girl. No more pretending. You get your mommy back starting now.”

Lexi grins just then in her sleep. It’s fleeting, a quick twitch of her cheeks. I know it’s likely gas, but I don’t care. I’m pretending she heard me and she’s just as happy to have me back as I am to have her.

When I get back to my room, Konstantin is off the floor, with his back to me in the corner I’d found him in earlier. Reaching for a packet on the table, he flips the little blister pack between his fingers the way I’ve seen poker players flip chips during tournaments on TV.

“What was your plan? Marry someone else and let him raise my child without ever telling me a word about her?”

“I would have eventually told you.” The packet crinkles with every transition between his fingers as he keeps his back to me. I miss his face already. The way I could read him better than anyone. The way he could read me.

The way we could speak without more than a glance.

“But yes, I would have waited until I was married. Once I found someone who could protect her.”

The package snaps to a stop and he goes still. Nerves skitter along my skin and goosebumps bloom on my arm, over my shoulders, along my neck, right into my hair.

“I have just one more question, Pcholka.” His even voice has a strange edge, making the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

When he turns to me, the frigid calm in his eyes sends dread slicing down my spine. I could have handled anything. Yelling. Fighting. Swearing. Insults. Any or all of them would have been preferable to the way he’s looking at me right now. An expression more terrifying than any show of anger I’ve seen from him.

The look he aims at me now is the very look he directed at the guy pinned to the ground under his shoe earlier tonight. The man he promised would beg him to die long before he’d finish causing him pain.

The way he stares me down is a vivid reminder. Everyone falls into one of two categories. A friend or a threat.

When I held my knife to his belly at the commune, even when I sliced him at the cemetery, he’d never been even close to the threat he transformed into before my very eyes in this moment.

“Are you going to give back what you stole from me or do I have to take it?”

I fight the urge to take a step back and stand my ground. “I didn’t steal one damn thing from you.”

“But didn’t you?” Sliding a hand in his pocket, he draws out a Zippo and sparks the flame to life. “You stole an entire pregnancy, childbirth, and the three, maybe four months of my child’s life from me. How old is my daughter?”

Surely he has to understand why I did it. My God. He spent a lifetime protecting me. He, of all people, should understand better than anyone.

“She’s three and a half months old.” I work the buttons closed on the shirt, needing to do something with my hands. What I really itch to do is reach for my blade. Maybe both of them.

He holds the flame to the edge of the packet and watches as the plastic curls and blackens, finally lighting with a modest flame. Slowly, methodically, he lays the blistered, twisted remains in the crystal dish and slides the lighter back in his pocket.

“What was that?”

“The morning after pill.” He shoots me a piercing, narrowed look over his shoulder. “We don’t need it anymore.”

“What? Yes, we do! Why the hell would you burn that?”

Oh, he has definitely lost his mind. Twice tonight he fucked me with no protection and—God, I grind my fingertips at my temples and wince. I slept just long enough for my rest to have the same effect as a power nap. Jittery energy courses through me as a chilling calm settles over Konstantin.

The room goes deathly silent as he slides his jacket from his shoulders and tosses it on the chair.

My brain latches on to the math as I try to remember what day it is and how long it’s been since my last period. My wildly inconsistent period since it only just came back—if you can call it a full comeback considering the breastfeeding.

He reaches for his cuffs next, slipping the buttons from the holes before rolling the crisp white sleeves up his arm to just below his elbow.

My eyes dart about the room. I choke back hysterical laughter as unease swells inside me to the point it pounds viciously in my ears.

When he finally turns, he slides his hands in his pockets with an eerie calm. “I’ll ask you again. Are you going to give back what you stole from me, or do I have to take it?”

Methodical and cold, he tilts his head and I know he won’t let me get away with not answering a second time.

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