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Authors: Annika Martin
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Viktor.
Viktor leaves. I let up off Mira’s mouth, but I keep her there.
“Please,” she whispers, looking up at me with those large brown eyes. “You’re not a bad person.”
She’s wrong, but it feels good in a way that’s painful, her believing that. Like a good feeling I don’t get to have.
“You’re a decent person.”
“No, baby. Not anymore.”
“He told you all he knows.”
“I doubt it,” I say. “If he has more, this’ll jar his memory.”
“Jar his memory? Sending him his daughter’s bloody finger? All you’ll do is kill him.”
It’s a risk we have to take. Once Lazarus hears that the Worland Agency got hit, he could put it all together about us going for Kiro. He could be closing in on Kiro this very minute.
“Please—he can’t handle it. His heart is really bad. Please. Let’s just try my way. To find the person with the key. Dad can’t handle it if he thinks I’m being hurt. If he gets my finger…he can’t handle it.”
Right about here I realize she’s more concerned about her dad seeing her severed finger than about actually having it chopped off her hand. I can’t believe she’s protecting that scumbag. It blows me the fuck away. He doesn’t deserve her.
“You’re thinking about it,” she says hopefully.
“That’s not what I’m thinking about.” I stand and set my piece aside. The handkerchief I tied over my burn has long since come loose. I pull it out of my sleeve, stuff it in my pocket, and take off my suit jacket, setting it carefully over the back of the couch.
She watches me wildly.
“You want some booze?”
“Fuck you.”
“It’ll go easier if you’re drunk.” I roll up my sleeves.
“Oh my God. You don’t want to get your nice coat bloody,” she says. “Is that why you took it off?”
I don’t answer. The truth is that I can’t imagine cutting off her finger.
But that can’t matter. I’ve done a lot of bad things I couldn’t have imagined doing beforehand. Like that first kill and all the fucked-up things after. You put one foot in front of another, and you don’t stop until it’s done.
But this feels different.
“Oh my God,” she says. And then she wraps her arms around herself and begins to sob, there alone on the couch.
It fucks me up, so I sit by her and pull her into my arms and let her shake and sob. It’s the worst thing I can do. I wish she was drunk. I wish I was drunk. I force myself to think of Kiro out there, unprotected. Innocent. I promised my mother I’d protect him.
It’s Mira’s finger versus Kiro’s death.
“You’ll be fine,” I say softly, holding her tightly. Comforting her for what a monster I have to be to her.
Mira’s his weakness only if he thinks we’re serious. If he thought we were serious, we’d have an address right now—that’s what I’m thinking. Threats weren’t enough. We need to panic him, make him understand. I try to think of any other way to do that.
“Will you take a picture of it?”
“What?”
“Take a picture of it. So I can remember it? I don’t have a picture of it.”
“Of your pinky?”
She holds up her hand and looks at the back, then the front. “I like how it…” I feel her chest convulse with unshed tears.
Bends , I think, finishing the sentence for her. It bends a little bit inward at the knuckle.
Fuck.
“Fine.” I say it like I’m annoyed. I drag her up and over to the window. Beyond her is the moonlit Lake Michigan in all its fake postcard glory. “Which side?”
She looks at her hand front and back. “Back.”
“That’s the side I’d pick, too,” I say.
“What happened to you, Aleksio?”
Your father slit my mom and dad’s throats and sent my brothers to the ends of the earth. But I don’t say it. We’re hurting her enough.
“Tell me—”
“I turned into a real fucking bastard, I guess,” I say. “A bastard who’ll take this nice picture for you. Press your hand here.”
She presses it to the window. Her hair
Viktor leaves. I let up off Mira’s mouth, but I keep her there.
“Please,” she whispers, looking up at me with those large brown eyes. “You’re not a bad person.”
She’s wrong, but it feels good in a way that’s painful, her believing that. Like a good feeling I don’t get to have.
“You’re a decent person.”
“No, baby. Not anymore.”
“He told you all he knows.”
“I doubt it,” I say. “If he has more, this’ll jar his memory.”
“Jar his memory? Sending him his daughter’s bloody finger? All you’ll do is kill him.”
It’s a risk we have to take. Once Lazarus hears that the Worland Agency got hit, he could put it all together about us going for Kiro. He could be closing in on Kiro this very minute.
“Please—he can’t handle it. His heart is really bad. Please. Let’s just try my way. To find the person with the key. Dad can’t handle it if he thinks I’m being hurt. If he gets my finger…he can’t handle it.”
Right about here I realize she’s more concerned about her dad seeing her severed finger than about actually having it chopped off her hand. I can’t believe she’s protecting that scumbag. It blows me the fuck away. He doesn’t deserve her.
“You’re thinking about it,” she says hopefully.
“That’s not what I’m thinking about.” I stand and set my piece aside. The handkerchief I tied over my burn has long since come loose. I pull it out of my sleeve, stuff it in my pocket, and take off my suit jacket, setting it carefully over the back of the couch.
She watches me wildly.
“You want some booze?”
“Fuck you.”
“It’ll go easier if you’re drunk.” I roll up my sleeves.
“Oh my God. You don’t want to get your nice coat bloody,” she says. “Is that why you took it off?”
I don’t answer. The truth is that I can’t imagine cutting off her finger.
But that can’t matter. I’ve done a lot of bad things I couldn’t have imagined doing beforehand. Like that first kill and all the fucked-up things after. You put one foot in front of another, and you don’t stop until it’s done.
But this feels different.
“Oh my God,” she says. And then she wraps her arms around herself and begins to sob, there alone on the couch.
It fucks me up, so I sit by her and pull her into my arms and let her shake and sob. It’s the worst thing I can do. I wish she was drunk. I wish I was drunk. I force myself to think of Kiro out there, unprotected. Innocent. I promised my mother I’d protect him.
It’s Mira’s finger versus Kiro’s death.
“You’ll be fine,” I say softly, holding her tightly. Comforting her for what a monster I have to be to her.
Mira’s his weakness only if he thinks we’re serious. If he thought we were serious, we’d have an address right now—that’s what I’m thinking. Threats weren’t enough. We need to panic him, make him understand. I try to think of any other way to do that.
“Will you take a picture of it?”
“What?”
“Take a picture of it. So I can remember it? I don’t have a picture of it.”
“Of your pinky?”
She holds up her hand and looks at the back, then the front. “I like how it…” I feel her chest convulse with unshed tears.
Bends , I think, finishing the sentence for her. It bends a little bit inward at the knuckle.
Fuck.
“Fine.” I say it like I’m annoyed. I drag her up and over to the window. Beyond her is the moonlit Lake Michigan in all its fake postcard glory. “Which side?”
She looks at her hand front and back. “Back.”
“That’s the side I’d pick, too,” I say.
“What happened to you, Aleksio?”
Your father slit my mom and dad’s throats and sent my brothers to the ends of the earth. But I don’t say it. We’re hurting her enough.
“Tell me—”
“I turned into a real fucking bastard, I guess,” I say. “A bastard who’ll take this nice picture for you. Press your hand here.”
She presses it to the window. Her hair
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