Page 142 of Dirty Grovel

“They’ve denied bail.”

The fragile hope flees altogether. “There has to be something we can do!” she sobs. “We can’t just leave Sydney to rot in there!”

“I’m working on a loophole to get her out. But it’s going to take time.”

“She doesn’t have time!” Sutton declares. “She doesn’t do well in enclosed spaces, Oleg. In our first foster home, our foster mother used to lock us in the hallway cupboard as punishment. Sydney hated it in there.”

“Listen to me: I’m gonna make sure she’s okay in there,” I assure my panicked fiancée. “But right now, we can’t do much for her.”

“No!” Sutton says, her hands pushing at me and pawing at me like she doesn’t know if she wants me farther or closer. I doubt she even realizes what she’s doing. “Then… then I want to go and see her.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

She stops short, her eyes going wide and disbelieving. “What do you mean, you can’tallowthat?”

“You have been through enough today,” I explain. “And I don’t think I should have to remind you that you’re pregnant. Pregnant enough that the slightest amount of stress can affect the baby. I’m not driving you to a police station just so that you can see your sister in a cell.”

“She needs me!” Sutton hisses. “She’ll need to talk to someone.”

“Then she can talk to Artem.”

“Artem is notme. Artem is not her family. She needs me, Oleg. I should be with her.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I say grimly, hitting the roof of the SUV with my palm. Immediately, we start pulling away from the curb, moving in the direction of the house.

“No!” Sutton wails, pressing the button to bring down the partition. “Ilya, turn this car around. Take me to the police station.”

There’s only radio silence from the front seat.

“Ilya!”

He flinches, his eyes meeting mine for a split second in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says regretfully.

“You can’t do this!” Sutton screeches, turning on me. “Oleg?—”

“Enough.” My voice is icy in its curtness. “I’m not risking your health and the health of our unborn child on a woman who didn’t think about either one of you before she did what she did.”

Sutton’s eyes widen but her mouth snaps shut. We spend the rest of the drive back home in arctic silence.

And somewhere in the midst of that silence, regret creeps in.

What the hell was I thinking, letting Sutton take charge of the annihilation plan for Drew?

What was I thinking, letting her stage and star in the thing?

I wanted to give her justice on her terms. I wanted to boost her confidence. Give her some much-needed autonomy.

I should have stuck to what I know: Brute force and ruthless efficiency.

Poetic justice is for the people who can afford to be soft.

I don’t have that luxury. I never have.

When I finally unlock the doors to the SUV, we’re parked in the driveway in front of the house.

Sutton is out of there faster than I can say, “I’m sorry.”

Which I am—but not for the reasons she wants me to be.

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