The one thing I really don’t want to know but have to.
Again, Matt looks at his partner, who remains stoic. When he glances back at me, his face is paler. “Sasha…”
“Don’t ‘Sasha’ me. Tell me!”
He steps forward, and I edge back. “You don’t want to know the details.”
I know he’s just trying to protect me, but I don’t need his protection. I’ve never been the type to need coddling. My brother is dead, and I need to know why.
“Matt,” I grit out. “I need to know the details.”
This time, the quiet officer beside Matt speaks, “Ma’am, you really don’t—”
“Now!” I yell with a force I didn’t realize I possessed.
Again, my upstairs neighbor jumps on his floor, hollering at me to shut up. He must be wearing space boots, because the ceiling rattles so hard I half-expect it to collapse.
“Sir, this is the police!” Matt thunders back.
“Yeah, right!” He jumps some more. “Nice try, Sash!”
I barely pay attention to the exchange, unable to contain the fireball of emotions growing in my stomach. The heat spreads through my body.
It’s easier to be angry than it is to be sad.
A motto I have always lived by.
I take a calming breath. “I’m…sorry.”
Calm down, Sasha.
“Please tell me.” My voice drops an octave. “I need to know.”
Matt’s eyes close, and his nostrils flare. It looks like he’s fighting an inner battle with himself. To tell me or not. From his audible sigh, I know which side wins, but I’m not prepared for the words he utters next.
“He was tortured.”
My hands tremble. My knees, too. Hell, my whole body is shaking now. On a sharp inhale, I push past the pain building inside me. “Was he on drugs again?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I won’t know until we get the full report.”
I ball my fists and shove them into the pockets of my waitress dress. “When will that be?”
“It’ll take some time for the toxicology reports to come back,” Matt says, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry, Sasha. I wish…I wish I could’ve done more.”
He isn’t the only one who’s sorry.
I can’t help but feel that my own stubborn nature killed Roman. No matter how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t…”
Matt’s arms jut out, grabbing my hands in his. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault. He went to work for bad men.”
“Who?”
Knowing their names won’t help at all, and still, I need to know.
What will you do? Hunt them down? Get real.
No. Nothing good could come from tangling myself in Roman’s messes.