“I just called 911,” Joy says. “They should be here soon.”
For Ludmil, of course. I haven’t forgotten about my brother-in-arms.
I don’t look down at him. I don’t listen. For me, Osip died on the night he was exiled. The manunderneath my boot is a ghost, a monster from a bad nightmare. Whatever love we once shared is longgone now.
He means nothing to me.
I ought to kill him. I could do it—finish what I started the night of his trial. But then I look down athim for what I know is the last time, and I understand that death is the better of his two options rightnow.
“The police are going to come,” I tell him coldly. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life in jail.And you will deserve it. Goodbye, brother.”
I c**k back my foot as he pleads desperately, “Wait, wait
