Just sitting there like a statue while I confess everything.
"Please say something." My voice breaks. "Yell at me. Hit me. Kill me. Just please say something—"
He pulls his hand away.
Stands.
Walks to the window and stares out at the darkness.
His shoulders are so tense they're nearly at his ears. His hands are fists at his sides. I can see him shaking with rage so profound it's making his whole body vibrate.
He's going to kill me.
The certainty settles over me like ice water.
This is how I die. In Lev Volkov's bedroom. At the hands of the man I fell in love with. Because I betrayed him.
"Lev—" I stand on shaking legs. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it doesn't—"
"Get out." His voice is barely above a whisper. Controlled. Too controlled.
"W-What?"
"Get. Out." Each word is clipped. Precise. "Before I do something we'll both regret."
"But Ethan—"
"OUT!"
The word explodes out of him, and I run.
Out the door, down the hallway, into my room, where I lock the door and collapse against it.
My whole body is shaking. Trembling so hard my teeth chatter.
He's going to kill me. Or he's going to let Patrick kill Ethan. Or both.
I told him the truth, and now everything is going to burn.
Through the wall, I hear movement. Heavy footsteps. Something crashes—glass shattering. His voice in Russian, words I don't understand but the rage in them is crystal clear.
Then silence.
Terrible, deafening silence.
I slide down to the floor, pull my knees to my chest, and wait.
Wait for him to come through that door.
Wait for the bullet or the hands around my throat or whatever method he chooses.
Wait for the end I just guaranteed by confessing everything.
The burner phone buzzes in my pocket.
Patrick's deadline is here.
But I can't move. Can't think. Can't do anything except sit on my floor and shake and pray that if Lev kills me, at least it'll be quick.