Page 11 of Maksim
I need to see where she’s going with this.
I pick up my phone, unlock it, then hold it out. When she goes to take it, I tug it back. “First, tell me who you’re going to call.”
“Give me the phone.”
“Not yet.”
Her lips thin, then, after a moment, they crack with a tremble. “My mother,” she says, her voice breaking. “I just want to tell her I’m okay. I promised to call…”
Ah.
She wants to call Mommy… Not quite a survivalist move, but I do feel my chest tighten with pity.
“I don’t want to kill you if I don’t have to,” she says like she’s scared. It’s another ‘give me the phone or else’ threat, but she manages to make it sound sweet.
She’s holding the gun, but I doubt she has much faith in her ability to survive. I was telling the truth, and she knows it. She needs me.
I’m not planning on actually letting her make a call. There would be no real consequences for it because what the hell could her Albanian mother possibly do even if she told her she’d been kidnapped? But still. It seems like a bad idea.
The girl, a moment ago sweet and patient-seeming, snatches the phone from my grasp while I’m still considering how far I’m willing to go to humor her, and she quickly backs up several steps, no sign of slowing down.
“That’s far enough,” I snap.
The sad, scared little girl she showed me disappears as she crouches, chucking my phone to the ground.
What the fuck?
She rears the gun over her shoulder, and all at once, I get what she’s about to do.
“Don’t!”
I’ve hobbled two steps toward her, my hand holding my side, before she slams the butt of the gun down to shatter the phone’s screen.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I bark, stopping when she stands while aiming the gun at me. I would kill her now if I genuinely didn’t want to know.
Her shoulders square, her hands steadier than before. She really does think she’s in control. “Now you need me too.”
What?
The question must be written in my expression because she goes on. “We drove a long time to get here. How confident are you that you’ll make it to a hospital before passing out?”
“Very.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Then you’re a fool.”
I laugh, but the pain at my side is at the forefront of my mind. I’ve had many, many injuries, and she’s right. I had every intention of calling someone for help. I can’t drive like this. Not the whole way.
I need her. Right now, it looks like I need her more than she needs me.
Or not.
“I can get to a phone in thirty miles. I could kill you in less than ten seconds. The punctures aren’t that deep; I have time.”
“How can you kill me if I have the gun?” she asks, her voice full of authority.
I’m quiet for several seconds while I stare her down. “You’re right. You’d better go ahead and kill me first while you have the chance.” I take a step toward her, only for her to take a step back.
“Stop.”