Page 113 of Sadistic

"Ready?" Dalla asks.

"No. But let's go anyway."

Inside, the club smells like a bakery exploded.

Mom hugs me tight, flour transferring from her apron to my shirt. "Baby," she whispers. "I'm so sorry. About everything."

"Not your fault, Mom."

"Isn't it? We raised you to be independent, to make your own choices, then took those choices away." She pulls back, eyes red from crying. "If you don't want to marry him?—"

"Then what? The cartel kills more prospects? Starts a war?" I shake my head. "There's no good choice here."

Dad emerges from his office, looking older than his years. "Rev. We need to talk about what happened today."

"I know."

"No, you don't." He guides me to the living room. "Bembe doesn't make idle threats. If Doran doesn't apologize?—"

"Then he should apologize."

"It's not that simple. Showing weakness to the cartel?—"

"Is worse than my family being hunted?" I interrupt. "Is worse than Dalla being grabbed after class? Than Mom being shot at Publix?"

He flinches. "I’m going to have escorts on every woman and child for the foreseeable future?—"

"That's not a life, Dad. That's prison with invisible bars."

My phone buzzes. Another unknown number. I almost don't answer, but Dad nods.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Volkolv?" The voice is unfamiliar, accented. "Or should I say, the future Mrs. Volkolv?"

"Who is this?"

"Someone who wants to help. Your fiancé has many enemies. Some would pay well to know about the wedding tomorrow. The time, the place, the security arrangements."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. Yet. But remember this number. If you decide you want a different life, a different choice, call me. Options exist for those brave enough to take them."

They hang up before I can respond.

"Who was that?" Dad asks.

"I don't know. Someone offering... options."

His face darkens. "Block the number. Whatever they're selling, we don't want it."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Doran

The skull charms are smaller than I expected—delicate even, carved from what looks like genuine bone.

I turn them over in my fingers as Mikhail drives, each rotation revealing new details.

---