Page 139 of 10 Days to Ruin

Lora follows—shy, sweet Lora who orders decaf and colors her anxiety charts in lavender highlighter—tossing her badge after Gina’s like a grenade. “Up yours!” she cries out, which is probably the meanest thing she’s ever said aloud.

They both look at me. Gina winks. Lora flashes me a double thumbs-up.

I want to cry.

John sighs. “I take it the two of you are resigning in solidarity?”

“You take it right, you prick,” Gina confirms. “Now, go fold the morning edition ‘til it’s all corners and shove it up your ass.” She turns to me and smiles as big as she can. “Martini lunches for everyone. My treat.”

We march out, chins held high, even as mine wobbles with tears I’m not yet ready to shed.

Down the street, we huddle on milk crates in a back alley. The owner, a friend of Gina’s, brings us a handle of vodka, salted rim shots, and a trio of plastic cups.

I leave the cup aside and chug straight from the bottle. I feel like everything’s upside down and inside-out right now. I’m supposed to pick who to trust, but how can I?

Kosti’s right. Sasha’s right. My father’s right. Everyone’s a little bit right and a whole lot wrong, and the only thing that matters is whose lie you choose to stand under when the sky finally caves in.

46

SASHA

The vodka in my glass catches the amber glow of desk lamps as I swirl it. Across the room, Marty DiLaurentis whimpers into the duct tape gagging him. His shabby chinos—already embarrassingly filthy—have been further ruined by the piss stains blooming down both thighs.

Feliks tosses another stack of documents onto the table between us. “Last of his accounts. Transferred everything to that shell corp in Belize, like you said.”

I nod, tracing the laminated edge of Marty’sPatriot Pressbadge. “And the wife?”

“Took the kids to her sister’s in Poughkeepsie. Left him a Dear John letter that was honestly a little heartbreaking. I’d say she had the lion’s share of the writing talent in that family, wouldn’t you, Marty?” Feliks grins as he slaps the man on the shoulder. “Hey, wanna see her new Tinder profile? Swipe right for divorce!”

Marty makes a wet, gurgling sound.

I take my time finishing my drink.Fuck,it tastes good today. Even though the scent of Marty’s fear is ripe in the air.

I crouch in front of his chair, meeting his bloodshot eyes.

“You wrote lies about my woman,” I say softly.

He shakes his head, snot bubbling at the edges of the tape.

I rip the gag off.

“I didn’t—I swear, I didn’t know she?—”

“Hush. You knew.” I press my empty glass to his trembling lower lip. “You wanted clicks. Wanted to humiliate her. But here’s the thing about sharpening your knife in public, motherfucker.” The crystal cracks against his teeth. “Someone always comes for your throat.”

Feliks tosses me a Zippo.

Marty screams when I flick it open.

A call comes as we’re torching his apartment. Feliks answers, his face tightening as he listens. He gets about three seconds into the message before he turns to me with glee in his eyes.

“Sasha… you’re not gonna believe this.”

I pause, a gallon of gasoline in my hand. “You’re no longer blacklisted at Spearmint Rhino?”

He grins. “Better. The Serbs are meeting in two hours—andwe know where.”

I drop the can at once. “Tell me everything.”

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