Page 43 of Vitaly

He waits a few more seconds to respond. “If you failed Nikita, as you said … then why are you alive?”

My face cools as blood drains, and although I want to break away from his gaze, I stay put.

Oh no.

I said too much.

“I’m his woman,” I huff like it’s obvious. “He had a change of heart.”

“Right after he heard I was at his mansion, he chose not to kill you.”

“He was angry.” My shoulders slouch, and I roll my neck as I think of the right words to explain this away. “He?—”

“You’re backtracking.” Vitaly’s eyes move over my forehead. I imagine him taking in the beading sweat. “And you’re a terrible liar.”

Not always. Not with everyone. Not withmostpeople.

Just with him.

Frustration with myself builds so heavily that my lip trembles, even as no tears form. My tear ducts dried out nearly a decade ago.

I turn to stare out the windshield, feeling the weight of my fuckup.

“He kept you alive to use you, didn’t he? What are you supposed to do? Tell him everything I say to you?”

I close my eyes, hating him for voicing it, hating him for figuring me out so easily.

One day. I've been a spy for less thantwenty-four hours,and I’ve already blown my cover.

I’m dead. It’s over, I’m dead.

“Mila.”

“Please,” I croak, my throat thick. I cough and force myself to sit up straighter in the seat. I don’t look at him. Ican’tlookat him. “I don’t think we should talk anymore… We’ve wasted enough time as it is. We have a schedule to keep.”

Vitaly sighs and runs a hand through his thick hair. “Right.”

Mercifully, he puts the SUV in reverse, and we’re soon on our way to our first pickup.

I stare out the window and try not to think about my future. Or my past. Or present. It doesn’t work, of course, since I’m not brain dead, but I try.

“I don’t want to get you hurt,” Vitaly says in a soft voice, making my eyes close. I wish he’d just stop. “I didn’t understand Nikita’s reasoning for killing Felicity, and I truly didn’t realize he wanted to kill you for my actions too. I need you to tell me if I do something that could have negative consequences for you.”

“This conversation will have negative consequences for me.”

“It won’t… I will never speak a word about anything we talk about, and neither will you.”

I release a dry laugh, but it’s so soft, I doubt he hears. “It won’t matter.”

“I don’t understand.” He shakes his head and looks to me for answers I don’t intend to give.

“Just drive the car, Vitaly.”

He groans his frustration. “If you could just?—”

“I don’t trust you!” My voice is a yell that’s so much higher than I intended, damn near a shriek. It’s full of pent-up anger, resentment, bitterness, and maybe even fear.

This, at last, silences the brute next to me. He’s quiet the last few minutes of the drive, and neither of us say a word as we walk up to the barber shop door, me intentionally taking the lead.

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