“Yeah, sorry,” I scowl. “You’re right. I totally should have stayed put after being kidnapped by men with guns. Silly me.” “Ah, of course,” he returns. “Running away from men who could easily shoot you is much smarter.” I huff at the loose strand of hair that’s fallen over my face. “Whatever. If you’re him—Dmitry Nikolaev—then I’ll tell you myself: get lost, go fuck yourself, et cetera. I want nothing to do with you.”
