I didn’t have time to admire his tenacity. Spinning the dial on the lock, I ripped open the door and gestured for him to come out. He shook his head and took a defiant step backward. “Out. Now,” I growled. “Nyet,” he spat back, doubling-down on his withering glare. For a moment, I was frozen by the Russian word on his American tongue. Did he speak Russian? Or was it a lucky guess? Either way, we really didn’t have the time to play games.
fuck yes roan!!
