5. Tati

CHAPTER 5

TATI

The next morning, I realize it's time to get the fuck out of dodge. I've played with my life and my pussy enough, and it's time to act like my survival is a priority. That's what I did when I chose my future over Dante two years ago, right? Time to live and die by the choices I've made even though I regret them.

It hurts to think I'll miss out on finishing my education, but you have to do what you must. I move around my room, shoving my clothes into my bags as quickly as possible while trying to keep it from looking suspicious. If Katie thinks someone ransacked my room, she'll call the authorities.

She told me the day I moved in if I ran off to Europe or some shit she'd come looking for me. Something about her ex-roommate suddenly stopping texting her after a while of being in France. I want to avoid further traumatizing her, but not at the cost of my life.

Guilt crushes me. She's been kind since the day we moved in, and I hate to be another reason she mistrusts humanity. Sadly, for both of us, her hurt feelings are a lot less scary than Dante's knife.

Dante could be watching me now. I can't waste any more time when God knows how much more of my skin he'll slice if I let him. My back aches, and I haven't even washed away the blood or cum, but I don't have time.

I should have run with my money two years ago and left the country, not assumed he was dead and continued on with my life. I don't know where he went after he fucked me last night. He might be too close for me to sneak away, but I will still try.

Coming harder than I ever have in my life with him did something to my brain, but somewhere during my twelve-hour sleep, my sense of self-preservation overrode my guilt. I am getting the fuck out of here, and I'll have to deal with hating myself on the road.

Scanning the room, I make sure I missed nothing important while also searching for some divine reason not to abandon everything I've worked so hard for. Everything I sold my soul for is dead or staying right here, and I can't afford to be sad about it. Not if I want to live.

I have everything I need in a couple of duffles and zip the second closed as I head toward the front door. Because I'm one of the unluckiest people alive, possibly cursed by my own bad behavior, Katie catches me.

She opens the door, sweat slicked and dressed for her run. Stepping inside, she looks me up and down with a suspiciousness that's become natural for us. Why can ' t anything be easy?

"Happy Halloween," she says, but it's more of an accusation as she stares at my bag.

"Yeah, happy Halloween." I try to step around her. "I'm running late." I nudge toward the door, hinting for her to let me pass.

"Running late to where? That bags awfully packed."

I wasn't planning to run into her, so I hadn't thought about a story. "Class, and laundry," I lie.

"Sure, you're just suddenly doing all your laundry at once when I know you did a load a few days ago, and you're bringing it with you to class..."

"No, dropping it before class and picking it up after. The other way sounds silly."

"Right. Silly. And you're late for which class?"

"English Literature."

She shakes her head and looks at me like she's considering stopping me, but eventually, she steps aside. "Are we still going to the carnival tonight?"

"I'm not sure I'm feeling up to it. I'm really tired. I have a lot of folding to do when I get back."

"You don't look tired, you look like you're ready to bolt."

I make a mental note to lie better. "I'm definitely going to be tired after class and all this. Come on, Katie. If I feel up to it, we'll go to the carnival."

I hedge around her, but she puts an arm out to stop my exit.

"You sure you won't tell me what happened at the party with that guy?" My face burns as I dread what people are saying about it.

Shaking my head, I duck beneath her arm. "Nope, nothing to tell."

"I'm going to check in with you later, Tati, you're not escaping on me."

As I head down the hall, guilt burns in my stomach. Oh well, I'm used to it by now. I'm a bad person, and Halloween seems like the perfect time to accept that I'm the villain.

I take the elevator down, then cross the foyer, constantly looking over my shoulder for Dante but finding no one. I climb in my car and drive in the opposite direction of where I need to go. Traffic near campus is too dense to tell if anyone is tailing me, so I take the scenic route out of the city, driving in complicated circles for a solid hour to ensure I'm not being followed.

My bank is an hour in the opposite direction by the time I'm sure I'm alone. The ride there is the longest one I've ever taken, with every car I pass giving me an ominous feeling.

I arrive at the bank with no one tailing me and put the car in park. Pulling out my account information and my ID with shaky hands I check the ledger. With 685,000 of the 750,000 left in my account, closing it is unlikely, as they won't have that much cash on hand, but I'll take whatever I can get.

It's cold, wet, and dreary today. The orange and yellow leaves stick to the slick pavement, filling me with worry I'll slip and fall out here rather than escape Dante.

A gust of wind pushes me through the sliding automatic door, and I head to the information desk.

"I need to sit down with someone," I say to the woman seated there.

"I'll check you in, Mrs. Sokolov." But she narrows her eyes as she double-checks something on her screen.

My brow furrows at being called Mrs. Sokolov, but there's no point in correcting her. I take my seat, trying my hardest to look normal, like I'm not on the run and picking up the dirty money I got paid for helping to orchestrate a failed murder. With dry, exhausted eyes, I stare too hard at each person who comes in the bank. Twenty minutes pass before a middle-aged woman brings me back to her desk.

"I want to withdraw as much money as possible," I tell her as I take a seat.

"I see."

I hand her my information. Her suspicious look is similar to the one the lady at the desk gave me, and she seems just as interested in her computer screen.

"Okay. Let's see what we can do."

She starts typing, and I force a deep breathe. You're almost out of here.

A few minutes pass, and her expression pinches, cramping my stomach with anxiety. This shouldn't be taking so long. I need to get out of here before he finds me.

"Mrs. Sokolov, can you please hold?"

"Uh, okay, I guess." This is the second time I've been called Mrs. instead of Miss, and I want to correct her, but she's already got the phone pressed to her ear, waiting with a polite expression.

"Mr. Sokolov? Yes, you asked us to call if there were any major changes in regards to your account."

Mr. Sokolov? What the fuck? I have my mother's name. There is no mister besides my long-dead grandfather.

"Yes, she's here." She listens another second. "Of course, sir."

After pressing a few buttons on the phone, a deep, smoke-scarred voice comes through the speaker.

"Tatiana, what are you doing? I've been so worried about you, sweetheart."

"It's none of your business," I spit. What the hell did he do that they're calling him?

"You just ran off this morning. I expected to find you in bed, and you were gone."

"Stop this right now, Dante. This isn't funny anymore."

"It was never funny. My wife is confused. Two years ago today we were in an accident, and while I suffered the physical injuries, Tatiana has never recovered. Halloween is an awful trigger for her. Thank you for calling me so quickly. As you can probably tell, we're in a crisis situation."

She nods like she believes every word he's saying. "Of course, Mr. Sokolov. I'm so glad I could help."

"I need to take out my money," I state, desperate to regain some power in this situation. "This is a breach of privacy. It's my account, I need my money."

"I'm afraid you can't," she says as she inspects her nails. "The account doesn't have any money left, Mrs. Sokolov. It hasn't for a few months."

I've not come for a big chunk of money in a while, but months? What the hell did he do, and how long has he been watching me?

"That's not possible." The words are barely audible, and my heart pounds straight out of my chest.

"Tatiana, please, you have to remember us going together to empty the account, both of our signatures are dated on the paperwork."

"You're a filthy fucking liar," I snap.

The woman "helping" me gasps lightly at my outburst but immediately begins typing.

"Would you like me to print the record of transactions? I can show you, Mrs. Sokolov." She's all business, tight bun on the top of her head, manicured fingers clicking as she speaks, and leaking nervous energy, like I'm as crazy as he says and could be a danger to her.

"Please," I say, managing to not shout at her to not call me Mrs. anything.

She presses a few buttons, and sheets of paper spill out of the printer. She passes me the top few, and I take them with shaking hands.

Despite what I said, I see it with my own eyes. Both signatures are dated, and every dime in my account has been wire transferred out. I don't recognize the name or numbers, but there is a transaction note that reads:

Was it worth it, Little Backstabber?

"This is a mistake. I need to speak to the manager." I'm going to be sick; my plans to run are lying in shambles. How far can I get on three-quarters of a tank of gas? I don't mind sleeping in my car.

"You're embarrassing yourself, Tatiana, and me. I'm coming to get you."

"No!" I shout, too quickly and loudly.

"I'm on my way, please keep her there."

"You can't keep me here against my will."

She holds up her hands. "It's okay, Mrs. Sokolov. That's not what I'm doing. I'm just going to help you."

She tries to grab my hand, and I pull my fist back and launch it into her face. Her nose crunches beneath the force, and she shrieks as blood spills onto her white button-up shirt. It's been a long time since I've punched someone, so my knuckles scream.

"What the hell?" She sobs as she grabs her nose. Turning as quick as I can, I spin on my heel and run. The automatic door clips my shoulder on the way out. Tremors rack my body as my back and hand scream, but seconds later, I'm at the car.

Knowing he's on his way, I don't search for my stalker. They were going to hold me on his command, and the fact he possesses that power shakes me to my core. What else can Dante do that I never gave him credit for, never feared him quite enough?

I fumble to unlock the door, jump inside, slam it shut behind me, flip the locks, and press the button to start the engine. I'm checking behind me to pull out when a dark shadow rises from the back seat. Before I can even scream, a sharp pinch stings my neck, then everything around me goes black.