Page 111 of Sadistic

"How did you?—"

"I've been watching. Waiting. I see everything, Rev. I see how he treats you, like property. Like something he owns instead of someone he loves."

"Njal, where are you?"

"Close. Always close." He laughs, but it's not a happy sound. It's the sound of someone coming apart at the seams. "I can make this all go away, you know. Bembe, the threats, all of it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just say the word, and I'll fix everything. No more arranged marriage. No more threats to your family. Just us, like it should have been."

"Njal, that's not?—"

"I know people. People who owe me favors. People who don't like the Russians or the Cubans." His breathing is heavy, excited. "One word from you, and Bembe Reyes disappears. Doran too, if you want. Make it look like they killed each other. Poetic, right?"

My heart stops. "You're talking about murdering my fiancé."

"I'm talking about freedom." His voice drops, intense and desperate. "I love you, Revna. I've always loved you. We can run, start fresh somewhere they'll never find us. I've got money saved, new identities ready. Just say yes."

"Njal, you're not well. You need help?—"

"I needyou!" He's shouting now. "Two years, Rev. Two years of loving you, and you threw it away for him. For someone who sees you as property!"

"I didn't throw anything away. We both knew?—"

"Think about it," he interrupts. "You have my number now. When you realize he'll never change, when you see that you'rejust another possession in his collection, call me. I'll be waiting. I'll always be waiting."

The line goes dead.

"Was that...?" Dalla doesn't finish the question.

"Njal. He's..." I don't know how to explain what I just heard. The boy I spent two years with, talking about murdering people like it's a reasonable solution. "He's not well."

"We need to tell someone."

"Tell them what? That my ex-boyfriend offered to kill my fiancé and a cartel leader?" I laugh, but it's borderline hysterical. "This is insane. This whole situation is completely insane."

My phone buzzes.

A text from Doran:

The package contained two small skull charms. He's declaring war unless I apologize publicly.

I won't let anything happen to you or your family.

I know you need space. But please come home so I can keep you safe.

Home. Like his penthouse is my home. Like any of this is my choice.

I'm sorry. For everything. Let me fix this.

Please, Revna. I'm losing my mind. Just let me know you're safe.

The desperation in that last text catches me off guard. Doran Volkolv doesn't beg.

Doesn't show weakness.

But here he is, reduced to pleading through text messages.

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