Page 81 of Twisted Little Game

“Of course,” he says. “Well. Summer is fucking amazing, too. And spring always feels good.”

“So you like everything other than winter.”

He grimaces. “Who would like winter? Cold, gray, ugly, no leaves on the trees, salt all over the roads, snow that gets dark from the mud, can’t wear tank tops outdoors…”

“Damn.”

“I bet winter is your favorite season,” he teases me.

“Well, it is the best season. It’s not my favorite. It’s objectively the best.”

“Of course.”

“You get Christmas,” I explain. “You can bundle up around the fire, inside or outside, and not be overheating. Ice skating. Ice storms… I love winter.”

“You are probably the only person on Earth who thinks ice storms are a good aspect of winter.”

I feel my lips twist into a wry smile. I lean over and bite the top of his ear and he laughs, giving me a playful shove.

“You’re a polar bear.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pause on the walkway, standing beneath an oak tree.

Yegor Petrov

What is it, Roman? You don’t like us anymore?

Roman

I’ve been busy. You know that.

I have been, too.

A photo comes through from Yegor.

A picture of a gold bracelet with a small circular charm. I know the charm well. It’s embossed with a small Maletti M, distinctive because they always put a slash through the same part of the M.

Red splotches are spattered over the gold.

Fresh blood.

Fuck.

What the fuck is Yegor doing?

“You okay?” Tate asks me, turning around on the walkway and looping back toward me.

I glance up at him and feel like I just got ripped into another world.

“I need to make a phone call. Will you wait, just for a minute?” I ask.

“Of course.”

I cross over toward a cluster of trees. We’re still far enough outside the festival that no one is congregating on this spot of the quad, and I pace around between two thick tree trunks, tapping Yegor’s number.

It only rings once before he picks up.

“Finally, something gets your attention enough for you to call,” Yegor says right when he answers.