Page 153 of Cashmere Ruin

I fucked upagain.

Before the ambulance arrives, I make myself scarce.

It’s not exactly my choice, but April’s firm: Right now, Charlie needs his space. And it wouldn’t be good for me to be there when the paramedics arrived. Not with the state of my knuckles being a dead giveaway.

So I leave.

I spend that time wandering the streets. I wash my hands in a water fountain, the first I can find. The blood rushes down and melts with the dark gray of the sidewalk, leaving me with purple bruises only. I wash my face, too, letting the icy water ground me.

By the time I make it back, it’s already dark. “Where’s Charlie?”

“He went home,” April replies curtly. “He might be still at the hospital, though.”

“So he isn’t coming back?”

She gives a dry laugh. “What do you think?”

“What doIthink?” I growl, rage suddenly bubbling back to the surface. “I think Tom deserved it.”

“Oh, yeah?” She takes an angry step towards me. “So that’s why you almost killed him? You decided he deserved to die?”

“He was touching you!” I roar. “He was grabbing you. He was trying to?—”

“So stop him!” April yells. “Punch him once and be done with it! But you don’t beat him within an inch of death in front of his goddamn son!”

Even as I grind my teeth, the rational part of me knows April’s right: I crossed a line. But right now, I’m too furious to listen to that part. Every time I close my eyes, that scene starts playing again on a loop, and it’s driving me fucking insane.

Tom’s hands.

April’s terrified face.

“He was threatening my family,” I snarl. “I’ll protect my family in any way I see fit.”

“No, actually, you won’t.” April’s jaw sets. “Believe it or not, Matvey, this isn’t how it works. This isn’t your Bratva. In this home, we don’t repay slights with death.”

“‘Slights’?” I hiss back. “You call those ‘slights’? He called you a side piece!”

“Well, he was right, wasn’t he?”

That stuns me into silence. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Suddenly, it’s like the world is spinning on its head. “The fuck does that mean?”

“What am I, Matvey?” she asks. “I’m not your girlfriend; I’m not your fiancée. I’m certainly not your wife. So what am I to you?”

“You’re my woman,” I rasp.

“I’m your side piece.” Her voice starts to crack. “As far as the world is concerned, that’swhat I am.”

“Who gives a shit about the world?”

“Ido!” she screams. “I do, Matvey! If someone like Tom Hill can be right about me, then I care!”

“He wasn’t right about?—”

“You’re married to another woman,” she cuts in. “So how was he wrong?”

---