Page 153 of Wicked Refusal

My breath stops. I stare at the weapon with horror. A black, shiny thing, its mouth digging into Yulian’s forehead.

I need to help him.Fear crests through me, cold and clawing.I need to?—

Then my foot hits something on the ground.

Another gun.

Yulian’sgun.

I pick it up before I can think. I’ve never shot anyone before. Never thought I’d have to. Or, God forbid,wantto.

But right now, I have no idea what I want. No clue of what I’m truly capable of. When I threatened Brad this morning, it was all posturing. Regardless of the outcome, I never would have pulled the trigger on his execution.

But now, I feel the difference in my fingertips. In my gut. I know, as I tighten my grip on cold steel, that this is far, far from posturing.

No matter what oaths I swore…

… I’ll kill to save my family.

“Get away from my fiancé.”

For a second, I forget that’s not what we are. Not anymore. Because I broke it off. Because I was too wounded to forgive him.

But at that moment, I know: I could never live without him.

Yulian, who’s as stubborn as he is kind. Yulian, who never wants anyone to see his soft side. Yulian, who plays up the worst inhim so you’d never guess there was a better part, a brighter part, hidden under the surface.

Yulian, who saved me when he didn’t even know me. Who kept saving me over and over, against every logic, every interest. I was bad for business, bad for his reputation aspakhan,and he still chose me. Every freaking time, he chose me.

Now, it’s my turn to choose him.

So I give the warning. I give another.

Desya laughs. Like he doesn’t think I’ll do it. Like he doesn’t think I can.

I don’t think I can, either.

Until I do.

I pull the trigger. Once, twice, three times—until the clicks come up empty.

There’s a quiet moment of surprise in him. As if he thinks I might have shot him full of blanks instead of lead. Desya looks down at his own chest, touches the gaping wounds I’ve put there. His palm comes away wet.

Then he’s falling into the water.

I’ve seen people die before. In my line of work, we lose patients every day. Patients who don’t get to us in time, with conditions too far advanced for us to do anything. You fight it with all you’ve got, but there’s nothing you can do. It’s frustrating; it’s heartbreaking.

I never thought I’d do that to a person.

But tonight, I did.

Not for my kids. Not for myself. For the man I love.

Desya Bogdanov’s body disappears into the water. Bubbles break the surface, first an army, then a trickle. Soon, everything’s still again, the bay as silent as the grave.

I look for regret, but there is none. There’s no regret at all.

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