Page 9 of Bound Wings
Soft, hesitant footsteps sound down the hall before she rounds the corner into the living room, eyes going wide as saucers at the sight of me on her sister's couch, helping myself to their liquor, and the man she let touch what's mine sitting bruised, bleeding, and tied to a chair three feet away.
Her mouth drops open on a scream. She catches it with her own hand, glancing toward the hallway. Doesn't want to wake her sister.
My good, selfless girl. Even now.
I stand.
She takes a step back.
I take one forward.
"Slava," she breathes. "What did you do?"
"What you should have done yourself," I say, voice even, though nothing in me feels even right now. "You should havecalled me before you let him in this house, butterfly. Tell me that you made a mistake and you need me to come get rid of this fucker. That you regretted letting him near you."
"He's not—this isn't—you can't just—"
"Can't I?" I take another step. She matches it backward. "You kissed him. Let him put his hands on you. Onmyass, Nora."
"I'm not yours anymore."
"You keep saying that." I'm close enough now to smell her perfume under the smoke and whiskey. "And every time you say it, I believe you a little less."
She turns and runs. I let her get three steps before I move, and I reach the bedroom door right as she throws her weight against it, blocking it open with my boot before the lock can catch.
"Slava, please—"
"Let me in, butterfly," I growl. "You don't want to do this the hard way."
When she doesn't comply, I put my weight against the door—gently, because I'd never risk her falling. She's still gripping the wood with both hands, so when it gives, she gets dragged along with it. Gently. Always gently, with her.
She finally lets go, flinging herself backward into the corner of the room.
"It's over, Slava. You know that. You need to leave."
"And who decided that?" I tilt my head.
"I did."
"Is that why you kissed him?" I hiss through my teeth, fighting to stay in control of my rage. "Is that why you brought him here to spend the night?"
"Yes, Slava. I wanted to make it clear we're done. I can't live like you. I can't live in violence."
I bend forward and laugh.Done. Us. Done. There isn't a version of this world where that word applies to her and me.
"Wrong answer," I say once the laughter finally runs its course. I pluck the key from her bedroom door and slide it into my pocket.
Then I turn my back on her and walk out.
"Where are you going?"
I glance over my shoulder. "My, my. Is that disappointment I hear, little butterfly?"
She scoffs, arms crossed. "You're imagining things. And you seriously need to leave."
Sure. As if there's a single universe where I walk out of this cabin without her on my arm as my queen.
I head to the living room, where the little shit is still tied to his chair, and drag him—chair and all—down the hall toward her bedroom. It scrapes loudly against the wood floor, but I've watched this cabin long enough to know her sister sleeps like she's actually dead.
