I can see him now. The real Adrian. The one I pretended didn’t exist for the longest time. The one I was convinced was a product of trauma and liquor.

But he’s sober now, so I can’t blame that. The smell of booze that I associate with painful year after painful year is gone. There’s just sweat, and blood, and the stale stench of overpowering aftershave that’s attempting to bury the truth beneath a sweet, minty lie.

“I was always a lot of things, Adrian,” I tell him, realizing that his words don’t have the power to hurt me anymore. “You just never cared to find out.”

He prowls closer to the bed, but this time, I stay where I am. I don’t want him to think I’m scared.

Because I’m not. Not the way I once was. He’s just a miserable, petty little man. No wonder he feels the need to destroy his brother. It’s the only way he can feel like a real man.

“How much did my brother find out?” he asks. “About you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m asking if you’ve fucked him.”

I have a feeling that answering his question honestly might come at the expense of my safety. But I dig down deep and find my tongue, alongside my courage.

“Again and again and again,” I say without shame. “And I loved every single minute of it.”

Anger flashes across his eyes like heat lightning. He jerks forward and grabs me by the ankles. I stifle a scream as he drags me across the bed towards him.

He positions himself right between my legs, forcing my dress up to expose my thighs. “Then maybe I should fuck those memories right out of you.”

He wants me to scream, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Adrian, I’m still carrying your baby,” I say softly. “I’m carrying your daughter. Is this really the imprint you want to leave on both of us?”

His face darkens and his grip tightens around my legs. I cringe in pain but I refuse to look away from him. I want him to see the judgment in my eyes.

He digs his nails in, and just as the tears are being squeezed from my eyes, as the pain becomes almost too much to bear, he throws my legs to the side and walks away from me like an enraged bull.

“Fine,” he seethes as he stomps to the exit. “You’re choosing him? Fine. You’ll get him. I’ll drop his bloodied corpse at your feet and you can say your vows to it.”

I expect him to slam the door on me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leaves it wide open.

“She’s made her choice,” he tells whoever is waiting on the other side. “Take her.”

50

KOLYA

I drop a pin on the GPS when I’m almost inside the house, then I tuck my phone away. I crawl through an open window and land on a foul-smelling carpet.