Page 4 of Arseni

I open my eyes and melt with relief at the amusement dancing in his irises.

“If I promise to be good, will you not call Angela?”

For several seconds, I just stare.He’s still caging me in, imploring me silently like he isn’t the predator making me his prey.

I don’t know what to say, but I nod, unsure if I mean it.

Arseni smiles and pushes off the wall, backing up until he’s several feet away.“Cool if I take a shower?”

Letting out a shaky breath, I run my hands over my arms.I point to the hallway leading to the bathroom.“The towels are in the hall closet.Bathroom is on the left.”

He nods.“Thanks, Mom.”

I wait for him to leave, sure I won’t be able to relax until he’s gone.But he doesn’t move his feet.Facing me, he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing muscles a boy shouldn’t have.

I turn my head while my breath hitches.“Undress in the bathroom, please.”

“I would, but I have a phobia of cameras recording me strip.I found one in a bathroom once; you know how it is.There are sick, sick people out there, Ms.Stevens.”The sound of his zipper makes me swing around to face the wall.

“Yourroomthen.”

“You never showed me my room.”

Staring up at the ceiling, I put my thumb to my mouth and nibble the nail while the sound of Arseni undressing makes my skin crawl.There’s this part of me, a sick, fucked up part, that wants to turn around, just to show him I’m not affected by his twisted game.That I can play too.

But I’m the adult.

Arseni’s footsteps carry him away while he whistles, the sound fading once the bathroom door shuts.I still don’t turn around.My throat thickens at his accusation.

As I stand, stricken by this boy—myfirstandlastattempt at fostering—I know I’ve made a grave mistake.I wish I could see what happens next so I could know how to handle this.

As my two months with Arseni pass, it becomes obvious.I should’ve called Angela.I should’ve reported the incident so nothing else could follow.

Instead, I make the greatest mistake of my life.

And I pray to never see Arseni’s torturous face again.

1

ARSENI

Present day…

Nothing in this world feels more ironic to me than my hatred for junkies.

I know the escape drugs can grant.I’ve done things I’m not proud of just to leave my mind for a while.Even so, I feel bathed in hatred as I let the junkie plead behind my gloved hand.His struggle, his fear for his life, makes me so dizzy with power that I don’t want it to stop.

But, of course, it has to.

Closing my eyes against my reluctance, I slice my knife across his throat, ending his muffled pleas.Blood squirts onto the dumpster he hid behind like a coward.When I drop him, a puddle forms on the concrete ground.

No one will miss him.No one will search for his body.He’ll disappear as if he never existed because he was weaker when he was alive than he is now as a corpse, and the world doesn’t tolerate weakness.

I stand over his lifeless body with so much disgust, it fills my mouth with a bitter taste.I gather saliva to spit, but swallow before it passes my lips.My DNA is in the database.

Rolling my neck, I emerge from the alley to grab a body bag from the SUV but falter when I spot my boss, Nikita Petrov, leaning against the vehicle.His arms are crossed, but I can’t tell if he’s annoyed at my inefficiency or if he’s merely observing me.It’s strange for him not to wait in the SUV.

“All done?”he asks.

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