Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I stop laughing. “No, my love.” I can see the fear and guilt on her face, and I know it’s not due to our parking lot shenanigans.
She remembered what preceded it, and she’s worried about the fallout.
“Sara…” I take her hands in both of mine. Her palms are cold again, despite the steam from the hot shower still filling the small bathroom. “Ptichka, nothing is going to happen to either one of us. There’s nothing tying me to that man’s death—nor anyone really investigating it. I know—I had the hackers check. As far as everyone is concerned, an ex-con got mugged in a bad neighborhood, that’s all. No cop is going to waste his time digging further—but even if they did, they wouldn’t uncover anything. I’m good at what I do… or did.”
“I know you are. And that’s…” Her slender throat works as she swallows. “That’s terrifying.”
“Why?” I ask gently, rubbing my thumbs across her palms. “I told you, that part of my life is in the past. We’re looking forward to the future, remember? And now your patient can do the same. She’s free to live her life without fear. Isn’t that what you wanted for her?”
“Of course it is.” She pulls her hands away and wraps her arms around herself, looking so forlorn that I almost regret doing this for her.
Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d come up with some other way to take care of Monica’s problem—or at least disposed of the body.
Then again, I wanted Sara’s patient to know that her assailant no longer poses a threat. An unexplained disappearance wouldn’t have accomplished that. The poor girl would’ve always been looking over her shoulder, fearing the asshole’s return.
This is for the best, I’m sure of that. Now I just need to convince Sara.
“Ptichka—”
“Peter—” she begins simultaneously, so I stop, letting her speak.
She takes a breath and slowly lets it out. “Peter, if we’re… to do this for real—if we’re to build a normal life together—I need you to promise me something.”
“What is it, my love?” I ask, though I can guess.
“I need you to promise me you’ll never do this again.” Her hazel eyes are intent on my face. “I need to know that if someone happens to upset me, he won’t end up in an alley with his throat slit. That if our children have a difficult teacher at school, or are bullied by a classmate, or if someone flips us off as we drive by, that murder is not on the table as a solution.”
I blink slowly. “I see.”
“Can you promise me that?” she presses, clutching the edges of her towel. “I need to know that the people around me are safe—that by being with you, I’m not condemning anyone else to death.”
It’s my turn to take a deep, calming breath. “My love… I can’t promise not to protect you. If someone is trying to hurt you or our children—”
“We go to the authorities, like everyone else.” Her chin lifts stubbornly. “That’s what the police are for. And in any case, I’m not talking about a clear-cut case of self-defense. Obviously, if we’re walking down the street and someone pulls a gun on us, it’s a different matter—though disarming or simply wounding that person should still be the preferred solution. I’m talking about murder as a way to deal with people who are not posing a mortal threat. You see the difference, don’t you?”
I don’t, not really. I have no intention of killing random jerks who honk at us or whatever it is Sara is imagining here, but I’m not about to stand by and let some ublyudok make her cry like her heart is breaking.
She’s looking at me expectantly, though, and I know she won’t let this drop. “All right,” I say after a moment of deliberation. “If that’s what you want, I promise I won’t kill anyone who doesn’t pose a threat to us or anyone we care about.”
“And you won’t torture or beat up or hurt them in any way, right?”
I sigh. “Fine. No physical harm, I promise.” There are still a number of levers I can pull if it comes down to it—bribery, blackmail, financial pressure—so I feel comfortable making this promise. Besides, what constitutes a “threat” is open to interpretation as far as I’m concerned.
If some fucking bully assaults our kid in school, he—or his parents—will not walk away unscathed.
Sara doesn’t look satisfied with my very specific promise, so I reach for her towel and pull it off at the same time as I unzip my jeans.
“Wait—” she starts, but I’m already herding her back into the shower, where I make sure that whatever hypothetical future assholes I might need to deal with are far, far from her mind.
12
Peter
The next morning, Sara is quiet and a little distant, undoubtedly still dwelling on my solution to her patient’s problem. That’s not likely to lead anywhere good, so I seek to distract her by bringing up her new hobby: singing with the band.