Page 91 of Twisted Enemy

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I haven’t given my sister a pinky swear since we were locked inside the Dark Place. “Pinky swear,” I say. “Now try to get some sleep.”

It’s not until I end the call that I realize Cole is sitting at his desk on the far side of the bedroom. He’s wearing black silk pajama bottoms, but his chest is bare. The flesh-color adhesive bandage I wrapped tight around his abs is still firmly in place.

“You aren’t supposed to be awake,” I say.

“I got my four hours.”

“Answer honestly,” I say, a plan starting to form in my brain. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit by the proverbial Mack truck. Why? Are we getting Breagha from Baltimore?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. But tonight, before midnight…”

I tug the bedclothes across my lap and tell him my idea, knowing he’ll help me perfect it before we run out of time.

I sit on the edge of the merry-go-round, digging my toes into the track of dusty dirt surrounding the playground equipment. I pull myself a few feet to my left. Flex my calves. Pull myself a few feet to my right. The merry-go-round shrieks like it’s being disemboweled.

I haven’t been to this park since I was eight years old. Breagha didn’t like the merry-go-round. She wanted to go on the slide.

Tonight, I sit facing the playground. I expect Tarasov to come from the woods, like the Bad Men did that summer afternoon. I don’t want him to see my face. Not yet.

I glance at my mobile, where it’s cradled in my lap, almost hidden by yards and yards of cheap white tulle. The chain of messages I sent last night read like a filthy poem.

Breagha

Pyotr?

Please text back

I can’t call you

I’m too embarrassed

Pyotr?

Pyotr

Fine. I’m here. What?

I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused

I was scared

But I don’t want to be bad

Not like Kate

And I should care why?

…

…

Tomorrow night

After the wedding

When we go to bed

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