The moment I ask the question, I feel a strange sense of déjà vu. Like I’ve been here before. Not long ago. Then there’s a flash of something. A memory.
“Wait… I was in a room…”
“The bar,” he offers me.
I frown, feeling an oncoming sense of dread. “Do I even want to remember what happened?”
He sighs. “Listen—”
Maybe it’s his voice. Maybe it’s the expression on his face. Whatever it is, it triggers something.
I hear the gunshot in my memory.
I see another body hit the ground.
Another man left dead in Anton Stepanov’s wake.
“Oh, God…”
“Jessa.”
“You killed him,” I gasp. “Your own father-in-law.”
“He was asking for war. I gave him what he wanted,” Anton says grimly.
I shake my head to dislodge the remaining images. The tense, twisting conversation that preceded the murder. The shock on the pale boy’s face. More horrible memories to suppress. As if I didn’t have enough of those already.
“How could you?”
“It had to be done, Jessa. This is the underworld. We live by different rules here. I ended this war before it started.”
“Are you trying to say you saved lives today?” I spit, cringing away from him even though he’s made no attempt to touch me.
“I don’t expect you to understand. You are not from this world.”
“And I’m glad about that. I wouldn’t want to be a part of your life. Not for anything.”
The silence feels oppressive. Anton stares at me, and I wonder if I’ve succeeded in hurting him.
“Does that really surprise you?” I scoff.
His gray eyes are watchful, pinned on me. “It might… if I believed you.”
“Why would I lie?”
“People lie to themselves all the time.”
“And what exactly am I lying to myself about?”
He cocks his head to the side. At the same time, I realize he’s touching my hand. His fingers brush against my knuckles, and I feel an involuntary warmth spread through my body.
“How you feel about me,” he murmurs.
I tense under his hand and of course he feels it. But he doesn’t comment. He just continues to stare at me with those intense gray eyes.
“I don’t feel anything for you,” I snap.
“And there’s the lie.”