Page 102 of Pas de Trois
My face scrunches in anger and my heart thumps wildly. “Don’t fucking tell me goodbye!”
She smiles at me, though I scream at her. “Mine?”
I shake my head furiously, emotion building pressure behind my eyes. “No. Don’t.”
Her eyes beg me. “Please…”
How can I deny her?
My head drops and I look at the tiny baby boy in my arms. Only his face is visible peeking out through the blanket, his skin streaked with blood. His screaming has slowed to squeaks and brief shouts of protest against the cold. Just as I look at him, he starts to blink his eyes open. I wish I could see the color of them, but we only have the residual lighting from the headlights of the overturned car and the bit of moonlight shining from up above. Still, it’s as though I can see his entire life there in his tiny baby eyes.
Anya is bleeding.
She’s not okay.
She can’t run with me and I can’t carry her.
Fuck. I can’t carry her.
Overwhelming sadness shakes me from deep within my chest and I sob. I sob over Anya as she fades away from me.
“Yours,” I choke out the word. “Always.”
She gives me a sad smile and her tears fall with mine. “No regrets, Ezra.”
I lose myself.
Bending over her, with the baby in my arms, I cry. I cry like I’ve never cried before.
I cry until Anya is quiet.
Until I feel the essence of her fade.
Until she shuts her eyes and turns her head away.
Until she’s still.
A disturbing silence wraps around me like a snake, gripping me in its hold. The snow continues to fall in large, soft flakes that drift leisurely to the ground and it’s calm, quiet…as if the whole world has stopped.
Because it has.
But then I hear it…the helicopter nearing.
There’s a snap inside my chest, right over my heart, and it shocks me into action. I can’t save Anya, but I can save her baby. Our baby. I can still end this. I can still come back and seek retribution against the four families for what they’ve done to us.
I set the baby on the ground beside Anya and run to the driver’s side door of the car. Kostya is lying awkwardly on the roof, unmoving. I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive, but there’s no time for me to wonder. I feel a stab of regret in my gut that I might be leaving him to die, knowing I’ll never get the chance to thank him.
I reach around him to the center console where I remember seeing him put his gun, a knife, and a stun gun. I pop it open and the items I’m searching for fall out onto the roof beside Kostya. I grab the knife.
The sound of the helicopter is drawing nearer. I spot the black backpack we brought with cash and Kostya’s credit card lodged in the passenger seat. I stretch, reaching farther across the console as the baby starts to cry, his protests echoing loudly into the night. I grab the strap of the bag and yank until it falls free.
I take the backpack and the knife and hurry back to Anya’s side. I swallow hard, steeling myself before I use the knife to slice into the thick umbilical cord. I cut the tether and it’s like slicing through my own fucking soul and leaving half of it behind.
I don’t want to look at her.
I’m afraid that if I look it her, I won’t be able to leave. I’ll stay here and wait to be found and killed. They’ll take the baby and he’ll become the future Mikhailov Head of House.
I can’t let that happen.
