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Summary
As long as Fyodor accounted for imperfections in his schemes, there was always the impression of free will. He dangled the deception in front of Nikolai like bait, and Nikolai followed it like a trained rat in a maze, like a puppet dancing in the palm of his hand.
Until he didn’t.
“If you know what I want,” said Nikolai, “will you try to stop me?”
Fyodor shifted an inch, a deliberate slide of his knee between Nikolai’s legs. “Your intentions toward me are quite obvious.”
Nikolai’s eyes glinted in the darkness and he draped his words with an overripe, saccharine sweetness—like bruised fruit about to spoil. “Oh, Fedya,” he tutted softly. “I came here to kill you.”
[Or, date nights for terrorists turn out a little differently . . .]
Series
- Part 2 of A Gentle Sin Like Ours