Page 20 of Ruinous Need
Gurov clutches at my hand with a desperate but weak grip. Not such a big man anymore. It gives me grim satisfaction to watch these old men, who used to be able to get away with anything, realize that their fate is catching up with them.
And their fate is in the form of a bullet.
“This is from the Bratva.” I pull the trigger and deliver it cleanly into his temple.
Markov is already in front, lifting up his legs, as a trickle of blood makes its way from between Boris’s slack lips. He looks surprised in death, as though he was still thinking he would get away with it.
Fool. A mention of my dear old papa never saved anyone.
CHAPTER 7
LISETTE
“I CAN’T HAVE him in the room with me.” My voice shakes and I scramble to the back of the couch.
“Even if he’s all the way over here?”
I nod my head and Viktor leads the dog outside again.
I think he’s trying to give me exposure therapy by bringing the dog in each morning, but it’s not working. I have the exact same response, every time.
“You need to get used to him. He’s getting lonely staying outside in the courtyard all the time.”
Viktor flops down on the couch across from me and pushes his black hair away from his face. He sounds frustrated with the situation. He’s probably sick of having me here, though it’s only been a few days. “Soon I’m going to be away, so he’ll need someone here.”
“I don’t think I can get over a lifelong phobia just because my kidnapper wants me to.”
“I think you’re being stubborn about it,” he shoots back.
I’m getting good at riling him into arguments.
“You know, there’s an easy solution to this…” I begin.
He rolls his eyes. “For the last time, Lisette. Just because youcan’t co-exist with Chekhov doesn’t mean I can let you go back to your home.”
I have been nagging him about that for the last few days. I know that my families’ lives are on the line. But I think Viktor could let me visit them for a few hours, not tell anyone, and no one would find out.
I pout. “I think it should.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I promise he’s not going to attack you.”
“That’s not really what I’m scared of. I mean, an attack was what started it, when I was a child, but that’s not what goes through my mind when I see a dog.”
“Then what is it?”
“The stupid thing is that my brain just goes blank. It’s an irrational response rather than a real worry. Dogs just activate some kind of fear receptor in my brain, and no matter how illogical I know it is, I can’t stop myself from freezing up and being terrified.”
“You know, exposure therapy is one way to get over fears. I can make sure Chekhov doesn’t overwhelm you.”
The name stirs a memory somewhere. “Is he named after the playwright?”
Viktor clenches his chiseled jaw and gives a tight nod, looking away. “My mother was a stage actress. She loved Russian plays.”
The way he talks about her, looking away as though the topic is painful and hunching in on himself, makes me regret bringing up the subject. He clearly doesn’t know how to talk about her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My mother was sick, too.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything more, his dark eyes softening as he stares at the view of the city. I change the subject.
