“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” the bald officer says, puffing out his chest. “We heard a report that you might be being held here against your will.”
Dmitry’s eyes flare and then crinkle at the corners in a friendly smile when the officers look in his direction.
I could tell the officers I’m here against my will. I could tell them everything Dmitry has done—to me, my father, and probably scores of others. The bloody shirt is sitting in the other room as proof.
Except, what if it isn’t enough? What if they can’t arrest him and then he kills me and my father just as he said he would?
Or, what if it is enough? What if they cart him away in handcuffs and arrest him?
I hate that both options seem equally unthinkable.
I laugh, the sound so genuine I almost fool myself. “Who
