Page 38 of Twilight Sins
“If you’re hoping for early release, keep dreaming.”
A million questions I know he won’t answer bloom and die in my head. He won’t tell me what the threat is, which means he won’t tell me how he plans to end it, which means he won’t tell me how long it’s going to take.
He can’t—or won’t—tell me anything about his life.
Maybe he’ll tell me something about mine.
“I need my phone back.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “And here I thought bringing you the cat would buy me at least one morning with no stupid requests.”
“It’s not stupid. I need to call my boss.”
“And tell him what?” Yakov asks.
“That I’m alive!” I snap back. “That I’d like to keep my job, but I have to handle an emergency and can’t come into the office for a few days.”
Yakov’s jaw tightens and panic flashes through me. I assumed all of his talk about me being here indefinitely was overkill. It’s hard to imagine a problem that Yakov couldn’t deal with within a week.
“This is going to be over in a few days, isn’t it?” I ask pitifully.
He drops the skillet into the sink and wipes down the counter. “I’m taking care of it.”
“Taking care of what? The threat or my boss?”
“Both,” he growls. “I’m taking care of everything, Luna. Just be quiet for five fucking minutes and let me do that.”
I shove my plate away like a brat, sending a piece of toast flying to the floor. “I’m sorry I’m not relaxed enough for you. Having my entire life turned on its head is a little stressful, as it turns out. I don’t even know if I’m going to have a job when I get back to my life. You might not relate, but I’d rather not be homeless.”
Without missing a beat, Yakov tosses another slice of toast onto my plate to replace the one I jettisoned. “I just told you I’m taking care of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you aren’t going to be homeless.”
I arch a brow. “Are you planning to pay my rent, then?”
He stares at me, his full mouth stubbornly closed.
“Wow. You really aren’t going to tell me anything, are you?”
His silence is enough of an answer.
“This isn’t normal,” I say, circling a finger in front of his face. “Normal people talk more than this. They talk a lot more than this. Take my best friend, for instance. Kayla. She talks nonstop. And since she hasn’t heard from me for two days after our date, I’d be surprised if she isn’t on her way to talk to the police right now.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she tells the police.”
“Maybe not. But your life would be a lot easier if the police didn’t come sniffing around. Right?”
His green eyes are the color of leaves after spring rain… and completely unreadable.
Then, without warning, he yanks my phone out of his back pocket and slides it across the counter to me. “You have five minutes. And I’m listening in on every fucking word.”
15
LUNA
My thumb is hovering over the call button while Yakov lists rule after rule after rule. “Don’t say my name. Don’t give her my address. Don’t tell her you’re in danger.”