Page 219 of Bona Fide

? Without Me — Wind Walkers ?

Marty paces my hotel room,I’ve never seen him do that before. He was always calm and collected, my rock who carried both of our weight and anxiety, and now I’m beginning to think it’s starting to take its toll.

I don’t fully regret what I did, I just didn’t want to watch it. But Marty seemed as though—I don’t know—that he needed me.

It was this tug that I felt, the responsibility he took on of taking care of Demi that fed his urge for me to be somewhat near him. We argued over me being in the same room, but if I was going to support him, I wanted him to see me. Even if it meant having to experience something that most people won’t do or ever have to do.

“You promised to tell me everything,” I voice, watching him make another line across the beige carpet. “I know there’s something else. I can read it all over your face.”

“Haven’t you had enough, Tsarina,” he growls. “I don’t want to have to admit you for having a nervous breakdown.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I start to play with my fingers, picking at my cuticles because I know I’m not prepared for what’s going to come out of his mouth.

Not after what I’ve seen and how Marty had no problem doing it.

“It’s bad.” I stand from the bed, catching his focus, which gets him to stop moving. He looks ashamed and so nervous that it makes me feel like a bully demanding him to give me his brand-new pair of shoes before I beat his ass.

“Worse than what we did today?” He nods before bowing his head into his chest.

“Tsarina, you will hate me after this.”

I reach for him, clasping on to his forearms. “Look at me.” He doesn’t. “Marty, please.”

“Please don’t make me,” he mutters. “I love you too much.” His tone shatters me open, vulnerable and scared.

I never want him to feel like I will judge him for what he has done in the military or this secret organization that he’s now a part of.

I don’t like it, he knows that, but we haven’t talked about the future. We haven’t discussed what’s going to happen to Mama and if we keep all of this a secret. He doesn’t need that life anymore, but it’s all he’s known since the age of eighteen.

“I will never abandon you,” I lift. “Ever. Especially after...” I can’t finish because just the idea and reminiscing of Demi makes my gut drop. “You’re my brother, you’ve always been my protector. I will always love you.” He steps out of my reach, giving us a foot apart as he proceeds to shake his head.

“No—” He wags his index finger in the air. “—I know you.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He exhales, remembering what that means—everything. “It’s always been us. Me and you, together. You’ve always had my back, now let me have yours.”

“You don’t know the full extent of what I’m capable of.” He begins traipsing back and forth again. “The things I’ve done to...guard you.” I pivot on my heels and grab my purse off the table-desk to find a box of cigarettes I keep handy for when I just need to take the edge off.

Taking out two, I hand him over one, and he gapes at me. “We’re in a hotel room.”

“And there is a balcony.” He walks over with me before we light our cancer sticks and take our first hit. The kids whose mom has cancer—Marty and I never seem to learn anything but the hard way.

“Promise me one more time,” Marty ventures, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Promise. A million times over, I swear.”

He takes another inhale of his cigarette, and on his exhale, he states, “We’re not related.” I choke—hard on my release, and Marty quickly comes over to me, patting my back gently. “And I killed your father.”

There is no mistaking what he just said, and my body immediately flees from his touch.

My back hits the black metal railing, and I gape at him—wide-eyed and shocked. Regret is written all over his face, and then it dawns on me what Mama told me.

He left us.

He didn’t want to deal with children and being a father.

I never asked any questions, even at a young age, because Mama and Marty were always enough. But this...no, I’m not doing this.

“I came to America at ten years old from a small country called Tolnova near Russia. My father was a peacemaker but was portrayed as a terrorist because he wanted to liberate us from Russian power. I remember him reading the Bible to me every night. How he would braid my little sisters’ hair and make them dolls.” He pulls his gaze from me and overlooks the wooded area behind our hotel. “A bombing was ordered over our town, it was late. I was out after my curfew with one of my friends. We’d do it often to go hunt or swim in a small pond nearby.

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