“‘Deal’?” I scoff. “You kidnapped me, Petra! You held me hostage. You threatened my child. What part of that sounds like a ‘deal’ to you?”
“I’m not Matvey,” I croak. “But you know what I was? I was your friend. And if that ever meant anything to you, you’ll let me go.”
I watch Petra’s mask of ice fall apart. “April…”
But it’s too little, too late. “I’m walking out that door,” I tell her. “So either kill me or don’t. It’s your choice.”
I stride out of the changing room. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, from adrenaline and fear. But no knives come flying my way. No bullet whistles past my ear or into my skull.
I walk and walk and walk.
And Petra doesn’t stop me.
Melting back into the audience is easy. When we were sneaking in, there were eyes everywhere. Now, with the fashion
