Page 45 of Refrain

The truth? It’s a dangerous request. “Chloe Parker,” I tell him. “At least, that’s the only one you’ll find in any database.”

“Hmph.” He sits back in the chair. His eyes are bloodshot; he’s been drinking. A lot. What would make for a vulnerable state for anyone else just makes his gaze sharper. Meaner. “That doesn’t sound like the name of the captive-Russian-slave-girl sob story bullshit Espi spun about you.”

“That’s because it’s not.”

He’s already figured that out though; his eyes dart directly to my neck. He saw the mark, most likely during my audition. He’s done a little digging.

Chances are he knows all about Piotr’s infamous number ten.

“You a cop?”

“I was at Moe’s on police business, if that’s what you mean.”

He cracks his knuckles one by one—purely for my benefit. The warning translates better than any verbal threat.Keep talking.

“I was supposed to get intel,” I say. “Ask a few questions. Wear a wire. I wasn’t supposed to go inside.”

“Is that so?” There is nothing comforting in the way he smiles. “And, now, we get to the good part. Somehow, you managed to kill Vladimir Olshenkov. A lot of people wanted to claim that little honor, missy. From what I hear, you killed him fuckingdead.”

“I fucked up,” I correct.

He stopscracking his knuckles and resorts to resting his clenched fists on the table. I’m not sure which action alarms me more. UnlikeEspi, he’s easy to read yet impossible at the same time. A bit like an open flame—You know it’s burning, you know it’s hot, but where will it go next? That depends on which way the fucking wind blows.

“If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I can’t go back,” I say. Not yet. Not without answers. Not without Anna.

“So, why are youhere?”

“My handler wanted information on a gang.” I leave out the part where the gang in question just so happens to be his. “In return, he pulled some strings to get the other girl out of holding.”

“So you thought you’d spy on me? Is that it?”

I don’t bother denying it. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

He swipes his thumb across his chin. I know the look. I doubt they’re related by blood, butEspisidohas picked up a few of his mannerisms. That glowering, thoughtful stare is one of them.

“All right. Let’s say I believe you. What shit were you gonna feed your boss?”

“Nothing to blow your operation. Just enough to get him off my ass.” I let him sense the part of that sentence I don’t say out loud—for now.

“Hmph.” The grunt resembles a genuine chuckle. “You do this often, huh? Just admit that you’re a fucking narc?”

“And let’s say I did go running to the cops with damaging intel,” I propose. “I killed a man in cold blood. Even if he was a criminal. Even if he wasVladimir Olshenkov—I still killed him.Any investigator worth their salt would be able to prove it. I wasn’t exactly careful. I turn you in, and no prosecutor in the country could offer me a deal of immunity. If I’d used a gun, it could have been self-defense. But I didn’t. Not only would anything I said against you be laughed out of a court as hearsay, but I’d land my own ass in prison once some justice-happy prosecutor decided to get their name in the papers.”

I wind up holding my breath in anticipation of his reaction. Coming clean to him is more than just risky. I’m laying everything on the line—my lifeandDomi’s. But, when everything goes to shit—and itwill—only one person will be caught in the aftermath.

It won’t be Arno or me. But therein lies the real question. Why do I care?

“I take it you don’t plan on sticking around for too long?” he asks.

“I just need to make sure my handler doesn’t pay for my fuck-up.”

“I guess you need something good to feed him, then?” All at once, Arno pushes back from the table and draws his gun.

I don’t have the time to blink before he aims it squarely over my chest.

“Here. Read this.”

Pathetic bursts of air trickle into my lungs as he turns the weapon, allowing me to make out the serial numbers carved into the side.

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