Page 165 of Wicked Refusal

Especially not me.

My hands are shaking. I look at them and expect blood. Earlier tonight, I took a life. Shot a man three times, watched him sink into the bay. Didn’t even try to save him.

I’m a killer. A murderer. I broke my oath, became something I swore I’d never be. I did harm—intentionally.

I can’t have Yulian kill Brad for me, too.

His blood would be on my hands. Regardless of who pulled the trigger, I’d know I was responsible. And Brad isn’t Desya. He isn’t a rampaging psychopath with a chip on his shoulder and countless bodies on his nonexistent conscience. He’s a garden-variety abuser, an asshole and a liar, yes, a bad man, but he never killed anyone. Granted, the bar’s never been lower, but it’s still something.

Bradley Baldwin may be the worst piece of shit who’s ever lived. He may have made my life miserable for five years. He may have hit me, terrorized me, and chased me to the end of the earth.

But I’m not him. I have to be better than him. I owe it to my son.

I owe it to him not to kill his father.

I stare at the text Brad sent after his call. A location pin, one I know well. He must be truly sick—to pickthatof all places. Yet another way to torture me.

“Can we…” I swallow thickly. “Can we stop somewhere on the way?”

Maksim frowns at me from the driver’s seat. “Will you be long?”

“No.” I shake my head. “We won’t even need to go in. I just… I need to see him.”

Realization dawns on his face. Wordlessly, he takes a right instead of a left.

We don’t speak the whole way over. I lose track of time. It’s taking all I’ve got just to hold everything in, to not let myself break down. What I’m doing is dangerous. It’s risky, and desperate, and there’s a high chance it’ll go wrong.

But if it goes right, I’ll have saved two people tonight.

No—three.

I touch my hand to my belly. My daughter is there, sleeping soundly. She has no idea I’m about to risk both our lives.

I’m sorry.I’m so sorry, baby girl.

Mommy’s gotta do this.

We pull up in front of my parents’ place. The Upper East Side is pristine as always. Not a single lamppost flickering, not a blade of grass out of place.

I find Eli’s window. It’s the room Mom had made up for him, full of toys and crayons and star stickers on the ceiling.

I feel a sob coming on, but force myself to choke it down.

I want to go inside and hug him so badly. Kiss him goodnight one more time, take in his laughter and his smile and his Cheez-It smell. I want to impress every detail of him into my mind, so I’ll never, ever forget.

Instead, I swallow my tears and rasp, “Let’s go.”

Maksim silently pulls back into the street.

After a few minutes, I find my voice again. “Maks. I need you to promise me something.”

“Of course,” he says. “Anything.”

“Keep him safe.” It comes out in a half-choke sob. “If—If I’m not around?—”

“Mia, don’t talk like that.” He sounds sincere. “Yulian will be around. He may be done with both of us after tonight, but he won’t be done with him.”

I shake my head. “As long as Eli is in New York, Brad will find him. And if Brad—if he crosses Yulian, then he’ll—he’ll—” I force myself to breathe and calm down. “I don’t want him dead, Maks. He’s horrible, but he’s Eli’s father. I just don’t… I don’t want him to be able to hurt Eli again.”