“I heard a gunshot,” I said, the relief evident in my voice. Four simple words cut out my heart and displayed it for him to see. It was bleeding, dripping to the floor at his feet. He nudged my chin, pulling my gaze to his. His face was close, blurred through my wet eyes. “I thought you hated me, malyshka.” “I do,” I breathed against his lips. But it was too raw, too desperate, to sound convincing.
