“Couldn’t make this shit up if I tried,” I say bitterly. “She was trying to escape her fucking abusive asshole of a husband.”
“She’s still married to him?”
“I don’t think she has a choice. She doesn’t think she does, anyway.”
“She was trying to run away,” Artem points out.
“Yeah, but then she got caught and dragged to jail,” I remind him. “I guess that was the sick fucker’s way of teaching her a lesson. Now, she’s convinced she needs to go back to him or it’ll just get worse.”
“Classic abuse victim mentality.”
“Exactly,” I reply. “Now you see my problem. I’m trying to save someone who refuses to be saved.”
“She’s been with the motherfucker for years,” Artem says. “It takes time for those kind of mind games to lose their power. What did you think, she’d take one look at you and forget all her fears?”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus, you’ve been wifed up for only a short time and now you’re a fucking marriage therapist?”
“Fuck you.”
I grin.
“And stop grinning like a fucking idiot,” he adds.
I laugh. “How did you know I was grinning?”
“Stupid question, don’t you think?” Artem shoots at me.
“Fair.”
We fall into another easy silence for a few seconds.
I take a deep breath. “I wish you were here, man,” I say honestly.
“You have Kian.”
“Kian is… He’s my brother,” I say. “And I love the shit out of him. But he and I have a lot of lost time to catch up on. The brother I grew up with, the one who knows who I am today is in California.”
“If you need back up,” Artem says, “just say the fucking word.”
I know he means it, too. He’d be here with an army on the first flight out if I needed it.
“Thanks, brother.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” I say. “But I’ve got it covered.”
“Is that strategy talking?” Artem asks. “Or pride?”
“It can be both.”
Artem laughs darkly. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your humor along with your looks.”
“Ha! You’re just jealous.”
“Of what, exactly?”
“The fact that I came back from the dead even better-looking than before.”