Page 151 of For a Price

The question of what happens now that we’ve reached the end and survived. What do I even expect orwantto happen?

Roman and I discussed some imaginary future, where he attempts marriage and fatherhood. But it was in jest. Some fantasies as we lay in bed on the eve of our potential deaths. It didn’t mean anything.

And with Rosita gone, I have no one else left. Nowhere else to go.

No sense of purpose or direction…

I’m weeping so long that my skin prunes and I don’t hear the click of the bathroom door. It isn’t until the pad of Roman’s footsteps that it finally registers I’m no longer alone.

His shirt’s stained with blood—not a rarity for him—and he’s stone-faced. Probably wondering why I’m in tears now. What could I be crying over when we’ve won the war against the pakhan and his soldiers?

I dab at my eyes with the back of my hands and hiccup trying to speak. “I’m… I was… taking a shower… and then…”

I can’t even finish as another sob takes hold.

He’s taking off his clothes in silence. He strips off his shirt, then his pants and boxers. He’s over six feet, over two hundred pounds of carved muscle as he stands nude like some masterful sculpture and steps into the tub with me.

His hand cups my elbow to pull me to my feet with him. Once I’m next to him, he’s thumbing away tears and stroking my face.

We don’t speak. We slip into our shower routine, letting the water cascade over us.

My tears gradually fade. I’m depleted of them as it dawns me I feel lighter. The weight that was pressing down on my chest is gone. Though I’m still uncertain about the future and grieving the past, I’ve gotten what I needed to out of my system.

Roman seems to understand this as he wraps his arms around my hips and presses his lips to my neck.

The blood that once marred our skin circles the drain until it disappears entirely. We’ve washed away all evidence of what we’ve done as we twist off the faucet and reach for towels through the thick steam.

I slip on a sleep shirt and crawl into bed, exhausted beyond words.

Roman stops at my side of the bed to sit down next to me. He can’t resist touching me in some way. His wide palm runs up myarm ’til he’s crossing the line of my shoulder and then resting at the base of my throat.

Drawing me toward him, he kisses me gently on the mouth, like he knows it’s all I can handle.

“He’s dead,” he says, the first words between us since he’s come up. “I killed him.”

I already knew this, figuring as much when I saw the blood.

But hearing the words is different. Immediate relief sweeps through me. I let out a slow breath and nod along. My thoughts still feel scrambled trying to process everything.

“What are you thinking?” he prompts.

I close my eyes. “I’m not sure. What areyouthinking?”

“I’m thinking… it’s over,” he answers candidly. “I’m thinking this is both an ending and a beginning.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Your friend was lost. We will have a service for her. A way to pay tribute to her life and your friendship. Would you want this?”

“I… I would like that.”

“And her son,” he sighs heavily. “He has been with social services.”

I nod. “He’s orphaned. Just like me. I was his age when…”

“We will get him out. We will take care of him.”

“We?” I open my eyes for a questioning stare, blinking dazedly. “You mean… both of us?”

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