Page 144 of Filthy Lies

But I do.

Another step.

Then another.

Until the barrel presses cold and hard against my forehead.

“If you’re going to kill me, look me in the eyes while you do it,” I demand. “Look at me and tell me my father—the man who betrayed his own son—is going to honor his promise to you once I’m dead.”

Doubt flickers across Arkady’s face. His finger tenses on the trigger.

This is how it ends. Not in federal prison. Not with a wire taped to my chest. But with my best friend’s bullet tunneling through my skull while my wife sleeps upstairs, unaware she’s about to become a widow.

And Sofiya—my daughter, my heartbeat outside my body—will never remember me. I’ll be a distant memory at best. A shadow seen through photographs and the dim haze of other people’s memories.

Arkady’s eyes shine wet with unshed tears. I know that look—it’s the face of a man about to execute his own soul.

The gun shakes against my forehead, cold metal kissing my skin. “I loved you like a brother,” he croaks.

“Then be my fucking brother now,” I growl. “Lower the gun.”

The room contracts around us—two men trapped in the gravity of impossible choices.

Death or dishonor.

Family or fraternity.

Blood or brotherhood.

I could plead. Maybe Arkady and I could stage it, convince my father he got what he wanted before we save our families and disappear. Or perhaps I can fall to my knees and beg.

But I’ve never been that man in life.

I won’t go out like that in death.

“I’m sorry,” Arkady whispers.

The trigger creaks under increasing pressure.

One breath.

Two.

A tear slides down Arkady’s cheek as our eyes lock for what might be the final time.

And then?—

53

ROWAN

ONE HOUR EARLIER

I take a page out of Vince’s playbook and start pacing for a while.

It’s either that or tear my hair out at the root and scream until my voice gives out, so I suppose it’s the healthier of my available options.

Sitting still and going to sleep are definitely off the table. I’m buzzing with this toxic, turbulent energy. My skin still simmers where he touched me and my brain keeps throwing up these crazy, overwrought thoughts, like a vending machine spitting out one fortune cookie message after the next.

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