Page 7 of Sacrifice

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"Saga."

She stops but doesn't turn around.

"You can run," I tell her. "But we both know where you'll end up."

"You're wrong."

"Prove it."

She walks away without another word, and I let her go. For now.

I last another twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes of watching her say her goodbyes, hug Dasha, pretend everything's fine.

Twenty minutes of torture before I break.

I find her in the parking lot, leaning against her car, shoes in her hand.

"Lost?" I ask.

She laughs, but it's bitter. "Can't find my keys."

I hold them up. Don't know when I lifted them. Don't care.

"You asshole," she says, but there's no heat in it. Just exhaustion. "Give them to me."

"No."

"Emil—"

"You're drunk."

"So are you."

"Which is why we're taking my truck." I pocket her keys. "I'll drive you home."

"I don't need?—"

"Saga." I step closer. "Get in the truck."

Something in my voice must tell her I'm past the point of negotiating with her.

She glares but starts walking toward my truck, bare feet careful on the gravel.

I follow, trying not to watch the way her hips move in that dress.

Failing.

The truck chirps when I unlock it.

She climbs in the passenger side, dress riding up her thighs.

I force myself to look away, to focus on getting in and starting the engine.

"This is a bad idea," she says as I pull out of the lot.

"Probably."

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