by Nicole Fox
But that was all taken away from him because of what his uncles did. Because of what his uncles almost got away with.
The idea that I might turn out like Roman scares me, not because I’m afraid of him, but because I can’t imagine myself being able to pull back as well as he does. He’s reserved and alone most of the time. I can’t do that. I still have Nana and Madeline and all my friends at Rudy’s. I can’t just disappear without a trace. I could never do that to any of them.
“We don’t have to,” Roman says quietly.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just ...”
“It’s what?”
“I’m scared, Roman.” I struggle to find the words that I want to use. “I’m scared about tomorrow. What if I like watching him die? What if I like seeing him suffer too much? What if I’ve lost my humanity, like those guys at the diner?”
He stares at me for a long time, just combing his hand through my hair. The action is soothing, but the silence makes me feel anxious. Finally, he says, “You will never be like those men.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I won’t let you.”
I laugh quietly. “You already taught me all the moves I’d need to get away from you. There’s no stopping me now.”
Roman cracks a smile. “You know what I mean.”
I think I do. After our conversation last night, I’m starting to see him as someone that would rather protect people than hurt them. He doesn’t want anyone to end up like him. Or I should say, the person he’s been for so long, because I don’t think he’s unable to be saved. I know there’s a person in there that just wants to know peace. In a perfect world, I might be able to help him rediscover that man and bring him to the surface once again.
But our future isn’t written in stone. I don’t even know what’s going to happen after tomorrow. Will he keep in contact with me, or is this the last night I’ll ever share with him? That thought hurts me more than I ever thought it would. I curl against his larger frame and press my forehead to his chest, breathing in the masculine smell of his body.
He wraps an arm around my lower back and holds me close.
There are times when I wish our circumstances were different. We wouldn’t be meeting because I witnessed something I shouldn’t have. Instead, we’d have a coffee-shop romance. We’d bump into each other somewhere, decide to grab a cup of coffee, and our story would start from there.
I know that would make everything much less complicated. I could tell Nana who he is without having to lie to her about his career. I could bring him around my friends. We could go on double dates with Madeline. Everything would be different.
But then I remember that if I didn’t know about what he did for a living, I wouldn’t understand so much about him. I wouldn’t get his quirks or understand why he acts the way he does. Try as I might to imagine a world without knowing his dark history and the unspeakable things he’s done, I don’t see us working out if I didn’t know the honest truth about the person that he is.
“You should get some sleep,” he says, his words muffled as he talks against my tangle of hair.
“I know.”
“We have to be up early tomorrow.”
The reminder makes my stomach flutter with anticipation. This is what I’ve wanted since I was a child. This is the day I’ve dreamed of, when I can finally make Konstantin pay for everything that he did to me and the countless other people that he’s left traumatized in his wake. He’s finally going to be stopped.
So why do I feel so nervous?
Is it because I’m not sure where this will leave me and Roman? Possibly. I’ve never been good with not knowing how things are going to play out. That’s why I try to outline as much as I can before I start writing. I don’t like drawing blanks. I don’t like being out of control of a certain situation, and with Roman, I have no idea what’s going to happen ten minutes from now, let alone days.
But I also wonder, what will I be if I’m not vibrating with rage towards Konstantin? I know that he surely hasn’t thought about me since the day he was found not guilty of negligence. To him, I must’ve just been a blip on his map, something to be forgotten about once he beat the charges. But to me? Abram Konstantin is my whole life.
He’s the reason I got into true crime. He’s the reason I have such a morbid fascination with people that can kill and feel nothing. Every book I checked out from the library that dealt with serial killers and the monsters of society was because of him. Every podcast I scared myself listening to was because of what this man did to my family.
What if I don’t know how to be my own person once he’s out of the picture? I’ve practically dedicated my entire life to this man, and once he’s out of the picture, I have no clue who or what I’ll be. Will everything in my world stop mattering? Will this book I’m writing remain unwritten?
There are too many questions racing through my mind to fall asleep, and Roman does so before I do. Not that I mind. My favorite part of sharing a bed with him is how soft he seems when he’s asleep. I tilt my head back and look at his face, now smoothed out and resting. Lightly, I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, then brush them over his lips.
Tonight could very well be the last time I ever see him. I want to permanently burn his image into my memory, just in case.
Finally, after I take a slow breath and force myself to stop thinking the world is going to end, I feel my eyelids grow heavy and the thoughts of tomorrow fade away. In a matter of minutes, sleep comes for me, and I embrace it with open arms.
***
In the morning, I let out a long yawn and reach with my left hand to rub the sleep from my eyes. I get a few inches before my hand is yanked short. Confused, I blink away my dreams and turn to look to my left. What I see doesn’t make any sense.
There’s a rope around my wrist, tying me to one of the posts on the bed. My other hand is tied the same way, on the opposite post. My feet have been tied as well.
Panic bubbles in my stomach, and I tug at the ropes, fruitlessly trying to loosen them. “Roman!” I scream.
My mind begins to race with all kinds of scenarios. Someone found us and has already killed Roman downstairs. They tied me up, and now they’re going to come back and do things to me that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. My heart begins to race, and frantically, I jerk my limbs back and forth, hopelessly.
“Roman! Help!”
He appears in the doorway of the bedroom, a somber look on his face. For a minute, I’m relieved that my worst nightmares haven’t come true. He’s okay. He’s not dead.
But then it hits me: he did this.
“You ass,” I say, laughing nervously. “Come untie me. This isn’t a funny joke.”
He looks to the side, clearing his throat. He won’t look at me. “No.”
“What? Stop being a jerk. Untie me.”
“I’m not going to do that,” he says, finally looking at me again. The tone of his voice is determined.
“Why not? I have to get ready. It’s almost time to grab Konstantin.”
“You’re not coming with me.”
That statement is like a punch to my gut. I feel the wind knocked out of me, and I turn my head to the left, trying to pretend that I didn’t just hear him correctly. No, there’s no way he would lie to me and lead me on like this. He wouldn’t tell me that I could help him, take me to his safe house, and then just leave me here. No, that’s not possible.
“This isn’t funny,” I whisper.
“I’m not joking.”
Exploding with anger, I shout, “You fucking asshole, untie me!” I tug at the ropes again, harder, angrier this time. “Goddammit!”
“Stop struggling. You’ll only hurt yourself.” He slides his hands into his pockets and meets my gaze. “I’ll call the police when I’m far enough away. I’ll let them know that you’re here. They’ll come and untie you.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I say. “Don’t you leave me here.”<
br />
“Lucy—”
“You never cared about me. You never cared about helping me stop Konstantin. You just wanted to use me. Is that what all this was?” I demand. “Did you just bring me here so I could be your little fuckbuddy until you had to kill him?” I’m crying, screaming, seeing Roman through the red glare of rage and a curtain of tears. This isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, this isn’t fair.
The thought of him using me this way makes my heart break, but I’m too pissed to acknowledge that ache at the moment. Right now, I want to throw him across the room and scream in his face. I want to take all those moves he taught me and ... and ... I don’t know. I just know that I’m practically shaking with anger.
“It was never like that.”
“Then what was it? Because you told me I could help you. You told me you would give this to me. After everything that bastard did to me and my family, you told me you’d let me see him pay for it.”
“And he will,” Roman says simply. “But not with you around.”
“I wish I’d never met you,” I say, tears in my eyes. I try to cover my face by turning into my shoulder, but it’s no use.
“Don’t say that,” he replies. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him talk to me in any kind of way that sounds vulnerable.
“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I continue. “Nobody ever gave me hope that I could stop him until you came around. You made me think justice really did exist. But then you did this. So fuck you, Roman. Run away like you always do. Tell yourself you’re a good person because you don’t hurt women. But you and I both know that’s a lie.”
“It’s not.”
“You’d never physically hurt a woman,” I say, sneering. “But you have no problem making a woman think she actually has a chance. You don’t hesitate to fuck a woman knowing you’re going to betray her the very next day. No, you don’t hit women, Roman, but I think right now, I’d much rather you hit me than do this.”
There’s a bitter silence hanging in the air, and I want to fill it with the raging scream that’s clawing its way up my throat. Venomous, that’s what it is. It’s poison, and I want to get it out of my system, but somehow, I manage to keep my composure.
For a brief moment, it seems like he’s going to change his mind. He’ll laugh it off and untie me and we’ll go finish the job he swore we’d do. He opens his mouth to speak.
“The police will be here soon.”
Without another word, Roman turns and leaves.
Even when he’s gone, I don’t give up hope just yet. There’s a part of me that expects him to go back on this decision. He’ll come walking through that door again, only this time, he’ll untie me. He’ll pull me close and tell me that he’s sorry for thinking he could ever do this. And maybe, after he’s done groveling, I’ll forgive him.
But he doesn’t come back.
I hear the sound of the garage door opening, and then a moment later, it closes. After that, silence. There’s nothing but the birds chirping and a distant lawn mower humming. Only then, when I realize that he’s gone for good, do I let myself fall apart.
The tears come again—hot, fast, and endless.
Chapter Fourteen
Roman
I’m a fucking monster.
I know that. I feel the truth of it deep in my bones. I shouldn’t care—I’ve spent my whole life learning how not to care—and yet, I care more than I ever could have anticipated.
Backing out of the garage, I know I should feel relieved that I don’t have to deal with Lucy anymore. I don’t have to worry about her safety. I don’t have to wonder if she’ll turn on me at any moment. I’m free from that responsibility.
I should be happy. I should be jumping for fucking joy.
Instead, I feel like shit.
There hasn’t been a single person in almost twenty years that could make me feel the way Lucy did, insulting me like that. I’ve been called every name under the sun. All that bounced off me. It was nothing, because I didn’t care about the people calling me those names. But Lucy telling me she wished she’d never met me?
It gutted me.
It was almost enough for me to untie her. I almost apologized, considered begging for her to not hold it against me. But then I remembered what she said the night before. It was a reminder that even after shooting the man at the diner, she’s still not built like me. She’s innocent. She’s good. Every good thing around me dies, so I have to leave her behind.
I grip the steering wheel tightly in my hands, trying not to think about her. She’s probably tugging as hard as she can, desperate to get out of those ties. Tying her to the bed felt like I was stabbing her in the back. She looked so peaceful in sleep, not worrying about the shitty world we live in. She looked happy.
And I have to spare her happiness. I have to do this on my own. Involving Lucy in any of my assignments would only ruin her purity. She has so many people depending on her, unlike me. Me? I can disappear for years if I want. Nobody is waiting on me to get home. Nobody cares about me. But Lucy has her grandmother and her friends. She has a life outside of this evil, and the only way I can protect her is by keeping her as far away from Konstantin as I can.
That motherfucker is my responsibility now.
I can’t stop thinking about what he did to Lucy’s family, and the families that were also destroyed by his negligence. It makes me see red. It makes me want to grab his head between my hands and squeeze it until it pops. He’s hurt people worse than I ever could, because he’s hurt them while pretending to be a good guy the entire time. He wears the mask of a harmless older man, but deep down, he’s as fucked as the rest of us. Maybe even worse.
I’m going to take pleasure in making him suffer.
I don’t normally. In most cases, I keep it standard, clean. Pull the trigger, clean up the mess, keep it moving. But Abram Konstantin doesn’t deserve a quick death. He doesn’t deserve an emotionless kill. What he deserves is something tortuous, something that makes him remember all the people he’s fucked over in his miserable life. And I’m more than willing to give him exactly that.
But first, I have to take care of the Lucy situation.
I pull a small phone from my pocket and debate whether or not I should call just yet. I know Lucy, and I know she’d be embarrassed if they found her with puffy eyes and a snotty nose. I also know that I’m not too far from the neighborhood yet, and I don’t need anyone pulling me over and connecting me to that house.
I spent all morning cleaning. I got rid of every bit of evidence that tied me to the place. I’ve spent nearly my entire life disappearing, leaving no trace behind, so it was muscle memory. All the police will find is Lucy tied to the bed and the story she gives them about who I am. They’ll spend months trying to find someone just named Roman, but I’ll be gone by then. Assume another identity, become a different person.
It’s easy.
It just feels wrong.
It tugs at my heart, imagining Lucy looking for me. I don’t want her to. I want her to go back to the life she had before she ever met me. Before I ever threatened the perfect, normal world she inhabited. I want her to meet someone and have children with him and have the family she lost before growing up. I want her to grow old and be happy, and I can’t give that to her.
That still doesn’t make up for the bitterness rolling through my veins. This is why I don’t do relationships. Bonds. I don’t form connections because they’re so easily threatened, and they hurt too much when they’ve been broken. Friendships, lovers, and anything more are a luxury I don’t afford. I don’t need them.
A part of me argues that I need Lucy. When I’m with her, I imagine a world where I’m not under Mr. X’s thumb. I imagine a world where we’re together. In my fantasy, I wake up with her in my arms every morning, and I end every night beside her. She’s the first thing I see. The last thought on my mind. She makes me feel like I’m worth something more than a few hundred thousand dollars to whoever w
ants to cough up the cash.
It’s a fantasy, though.
It’s a trap.
That’s how people make the mistake of falling in love. They let the potential of what could be cloud their judgment, and when they least expect it, everything falls apart. More people will come for Lucy and me the way they did at the diner. More people will die. The less I can involve her in all of that, the better.
This is the way it has to be. I just wish I could’ve done it without hurting her as much as I did.
After driving for twenty minutes, I pull my phone out again and dial the police. It rings twice, then a woman picks up.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s a woman tied to the bed at 9284 South Lilac Drive.”
“I’m sorry?”
“She’s tied to the bed. She’s screaming for help. Please come get her.”
The operator starts to ask me to stay on the line, but I end the call after repeating the address. I roll the window down and toss the phone out. In the rear mirror, I see it clatter and break against the concrete.
There.
Now she’ll be free. Free for good this time.
After that’s taken care of, I decide to head to Lucy’s place. The drive is short, and I fill the uncomfortable silence with loud rock music, trying my best to drown out the guilt in the back of my head. I need the distraction, and it helps. When I pull up outside of Lucy’s house, I turn the volume down and park a few yards away.
As I’d hoped, there’s a car sitting across the street from the house. It’s nondescript, easy to miss, and exactly what I’m looking for. I approach the passenger’s side and climb in. The man sitting inside looks surprised, but he calms down when he recognizes me.
“Hey,” he says, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“Sleeping on the job?”
“No, I just ... It’s been a long morning.”
I snort. “You’re telling me.” I glance back at the house, narrowing my eyes. “Anything happen lately?”