Willow gives me a discerning frown.
“If we’re going to move her, we have to make her look like she’snotherself,” I explain while shoving the clothes into a bag. “Hiding in plain sight.”
She nods. “That tracks.”
“Let’s go before Pavel gets back.”Before he tells me what a monumentally stupid idea this is.
I shake my head as we head out and ride the elevator in silence. It’s hard not to look at Willow, not to feel her disappointment. But I can’t blame her. All my feelings from earlier suddenly feel so silly.
Of course she’s upset. She has every right to be upset.
I just wish things could be different.
The lobby is mostly empty when we make our way through. I hail a taxi and give an address for a brunch spot in Brooklyn that a lot of art students like to go to. Once we’re there, we walk the rest of the way to Prospect Heights.
Summer heat boils me up. I’m trying not to huff while walking next to Willow. She looks so much more graceful than me. She always has.
“Thanks,” I say. “For trusting me with this.”
She doesn’t look at me as she retorts, “Don’t get it twisted, Liya. I only called you because I was out of options.” She pauses at an intersection and looks both ways. “If I had my way, I wouldn’t have called you at all.”
It stings.
But it’s almost fair.
Until she says, “Because it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
That’s definitelynotfair.
I was thrust into this life, dumped into making decisions for things I never wanted. My best friend is the only connection I have to anything reasonable.
And now she doesn’t want to be associated with me.
I cross my arms over my chest, drinking in her words.
I’m not sure I know myself anymore, I think.But maybe getting Zoya and keeping her safe will get a piece of me back. Maybe I can redeem myself. I have to try.
I don’t want to turn into Pavel.
Two turns later and we’re standing in front of a swanky-looking condo. Willow knocks and steps back, patiently waiting for Zoya to answer. I take off my shades and tuck them into my blouse, trying not to look like I’ve just walked five blocks. My cheeks burn with adrenaline and summer heat.
What’s she going to say?
Zoya opens the door and hops back, her face whiter than a ghost. She covers her stomach while backing into the hallway. The door starts to close automatically.
“No,” she croaks. “Don’t hurt my baby.”
My muscles stiffen. My throat tightens. My palms slick with sweat.
God, she looksterrified.
“Zoya.” Willow steps forward and catches the door. “I told you I would help you. I swear.”
“No you’re not!” Zoya groans while backing into the kitchen. “You brought her here to kill me! Get away from me!”
I follow her instinctively, watching her every move like she’s a rabbit.
Zoya snatches a knife from the counter and points it at me. “You’ll never hurt my baby, you bitch! I know what you did—” She hiccups and covers her mouth with her free hand. “Your ownbrother, you vile bitch!”