War(53)

Now she was neither.

She knew about this world, knew me, trusted me in ways I could scarcely believe. Had faith in me in a way no one ever had before.

And I knew her. Saw her goodness, her pragmatism, her stubbornness, her borderline idealism, especially on matters she took as a given. Had had her in my life for only days, but still I knew her.

I lasered my eyes to hers, saw the faith in them, the trust, all the things I could come to treasure. All the things I loved.

I loved her.

Loved her enough to die for her.

“You’ll let her go?” I asked.

I still hated the idea of giving Benton any satisfaction, but there was no choice. He would kill her, not think twice about it, and then kill me. I had no assurance he wouldn’t kill her anyway, but what was my alternative?

“Yes. Ms. Meadows will be free to go. She can walk right out of here. I even have a car waiting for her.”

He paused, looked at me again, waiting. “What’s your answer?”

“Yes.”

I looked at Milan then and saw the shock and surprise on her face. She didn’t speak, but I could see the question as clearly as I would have heard the words.

She shook her head, her expression stubborn with her denial, and stiffened when Benton touched her hand, but didn’t otherwise react as he unlocked the cuffs.

She gingerly reached for her wrist, but then dropped it quickly and waited, her confusion clear.

“If you would, Nikolai, please take Ms. Meadows’s place,” Benton said.

She shook her head again. “No…” she said.

She looked from me to him, and I could see the frantic worry manifest in her eyes as she silently asked what was really happening here, but there would be no answers forthcoming.

What could I say?

What could he?

“What are you going to do?” she asked, looking at Benton.

“I’m going to do what someone should have done a long, long time ago,” he said.

“No!” she yelled.

“Oh yes. You can stay and watch if you’d like,” he said. “The choice is yours, but our business is done.”

She shook her head, as if doing so would change the fact of what was going on here. Then she looked at me. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t. Don’t do it, Nikolai,” she said.

Her voice, the pleading, the desperation…the care in it cut me deeply, hurt as much as a physical blow would have, hurt more than a physical blow would have. But I ignored the plea, ignored the pain, and brushed past her, the electric tingle of my skin where it touched hers something that I would hold on to in these last hours. I didn’t look at her, didn’t speak to her, and instead lifted my hands and wrapped them around the pipe. Benton quickly tightened the cuffs, and when they locked shut, Milan let out a wounded sound that was half scream, half cry.

“No! No!” She grabbed my shoulder, but I didn’t move.

“What are you doing? Look at me!”

I didn’t. Couldn’t.

But she was undeterred.

“Look at me!”

I didn’t. Instead I looked at Benton.

“Get her out of here,” I said.

He nodded and then grabbed Milan. She struggled against him, and I ordinarily would have been enraged, but this was for the best.

“Please, don’t do this!” she said, imploring.

Her pleas would fall on deaf ears, but each of them was like a dagger in my heart. She didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to know this or see it, so I would spare her what I could.

Benton got her out of the room, and I heard the sound of her retreating voice, still frantic but growing quieter by the second.

Then there was silence.

She was gone.

“I love you, Milan,” I whispered into that silence.

And then I waited.





Thirty





Milan



“You should go now,” the man said.

“And what will you do to him?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be but still clinging to hope that I was wrong.

I had somehow regained my composure, but his expression when I asked that question sapped it away.

He didn’t respond, but instead gave me the most evil smile I had ever seen.

I shuddered to think of what he planned to do, just as I recognized it was up to me to prevent whatever he planned.

“Forget this ever happened, Milan. Move on with your life,” he said.

I couldn’t tell if that was a threat or a warning. Maybe both.

What he intended it as didn’t matter.

I wouldn’t forget Priest, and I wouldn’t leave him here to suffer.

Which left the question of what I could do. One I considered as I got into the car he had promised and drove off.

I watch the man’s retreating form through the rearview mirror, and when he stepped back inside the building and closed the door, the urgency I felt only intensified.