The Marriage (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 3), Bethany-Kris [books for 8th graders txt] 📗

The bull gestured at the house, directing him inside to Claire. There was already a clear line drawn between the police doing their job and the rest of the men—the ones that had to stay, anyway. A few had already taken off to avoid the police presence. The second the detectives that showed up started talking about taking people to the station, lawyers were called.

Roman stood back, watching while his friend’s body was bagged up and lifted onto a stretcher heading for the coroner’s van. He met the gaze of the plain-clothed detective standing next to the van for a second before turning away.

There was nothing he could do about it. Nothing anybody could do about the situation. Marky was gone, and Roman didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. He didn’t even have the chance to thank him like he intended to, just those few passing words.

His friend deserved more.

Leaving Demyan’s men to deal with the cops, Roman went back into the house. His mind still wasn’t out of the dark cloud he’d sunk into. None of it seemed real.

In the foyer of the house, his mother’s cries echoed from one of the rooms deeper in the house. Demyan’s encouraging whispers accompanied her sobs.

He went to them, finding his mother a mess in her sitting room. Sobbing into her hands where she sat on a chaise in the corner.

“I think we’ve let Dima go on for long enough, don’t you?” he asked his father. “Has he done enough yet—is here where I should really be now, Papa?”

His parents looked over at him—Demyan from his kneeled position in front of his wife. Claire, through her fingers, wet with her tears.

“No, Roman, please. Demyan, you can’t let him just get himself killed. He can’t be the next body thrown in the driveway!”

Roman refused to look at his mother because he wouldn’t be swayed. Her pain was justified, as were her fears, but that didn’t change what would happen after today.

Dima would pay for what he did to Marky.

If they didn’t act now, or soon, they were essentially giving him the go-ahead to do it again. Who would be next—Karine, maybe?

Demyan stood, letting go of the hold on his wife’s wrist to rub his hands together.

“Do what you need to do,” he said.

“Demyan!” Claire shrieked. “Roman, please, just give it a day ... let things calm down before you do something rash. I know you’re angry, but—”

“He’s getting too close—too bold,” Roman said sharply, cutting his mother off as she winced. “I’m not going to keep playing these fucking games, Ma. His next target isn’t going to be you, or Karine. It’s over.”

For the first time, Demyan simply stood back and said nothing, maybe blaming himself for what happened. He just wasn’t the kind of man who would admit it. His last interaction with Marky wasn’t a particularly friendly one, and while his father was a lot of things, he wasn’t a monster. He did send him off on the job, though.

A job that got him killed.

“He’s made it clear, Ma. It’s a war, now. It won’t stop until the right man dies.”

Dima had won the first hand, but Roman needed to win the table if he was going to keep Karine alive.

He didn’t wait to hear anything else his mother had to say. Leaving his parents together in the room, he absentmindedly stroked the butt end of a cigarette with his thumb. If Marky was there, he would have handed him one without Roman asking for it.

Always waiting just outside the door, ready for his friend.

He lit the cigarette just beyond the threshold of the front door. Chaos continued to ensue outside with police lights blinking in the driveway, and vehicles crowding the front lawns. They’re certainly drawn a crowd from the neighbors.

The last time their family had a police event this large at their home, his mother sold the property the second she could and bought this one. He’d been quite young when that happened.

He figured for this, she’d do the same.

Roman understood why. Already, he couldn’t stand to be there. All he could see was the spot where Marky had laid. It’s all he would ever see now.

FOURTEEN

Karine thought she would be fine.

When she kissed Roman goodbye and told him not to worry, she genuinely meant that. Maybe ignorantly, but she was hopeful enough to believe their separation wouldn’t affect her as greatly as she let it in the past.

Recovery was something she craved; starting with trusting the people she worked with every day, and making an effort to at least try. At anything—everything—Karine was willing to try. Even when that meant waking up in a room that had a locked door, cameras, and didn’t feel like hers, or talking about her most shameful secrets, memories she wished she could forget forever. If it would make the next day better, if she could start it new each time, she did it.

However, she wasn’t prepared for it to still hurt when he wasn’t there. It was as though the more time they spent together, the harder it became for her to be without him. Every time she saw him, he left her a little more hooked on him. Just like the pills she used to take, she became lost in the happier, brighter world she found when he was around.

It didn’t stay when he was gone.

The morning after Roman had left—Karine woke up physically sick. She couldn’t remember if she’d eaten dinner or the last time she drank any water. The staff coaxed her out of her room, into therapy sessions with Sylvia and activities around the facility, but her mood remained the same.

Bleak.

Empty.

One day melted into two, and then five in a blink. Her contact with Roman had been limited to a couple of short conversations where she gathered enough to know something had happened after he arrived home in New York. He also made it clear it wasn’t something they could discuss over the