I hate snooping through his pockets, but I slide my hand inside his jacket and pull out thick black zip-ties. Now that I’ve burned through my adrenaline, it takes every ounce of energy left in my body to propel me to my feet and around the car.
Anatoly spots the ties in my hand and his face splits into a sad smile. “I always told him it was pointless to bother with zip-ties when we could take no prisoners instead. If he was here, he’d give me s**t for using them now.”
He is here. He’s less than ten feet away.
But we both know that isn’t true. Raoul isn’t here in any way that counts, but there’s still work to be done and bodies to dispose of. The world doesn’t stop spinning, even if it feels like ours has.
Trofim is still prone on the cement, a thin stream of watery blood pouring out of
