Polina’s nose is a mess of blood.
“She tried to pull this on me.”
Nina waves a knife.
As though she needs a justification to punch my mother in the face after their past encounters.
I hold out my hand and she leaps to her feet.
Polina stays down and that’s when I realize Nina has knocked her unconscious. She’s clean out, breathing but unresponsive. You wouldn’t think she had it in her — but I’ve always known Nina was a survivor. Tiny, determined as hell and capable.
I picked the right woman. She can handle herself. Even in the worst of the situations that are likely to face us.
She surveys the scene with me for a moment, then pulls her handfrom mine to look back at Polina. I can feel the minute it hits her, what she’s done.
I pull her back to face me.
“Don’t look so apologetic. She deserved it.”
Nina shakes her head slowly, then raises her hand to her mouth.
“You know, you can handle this life, Nenoka.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
“You were made for this. You were made for me.”
But she’s shaking her head and backing away from me. She tosses the knife to the ground and runs.
33
NINA
Irun from that blood-soaked room, my own weak denial ringing in my ears.
“You can handle this life, Nenoka.”
I hate that Art sometimes knows me better than I know myself.
My hands ache with the reminder that I hurt Polina. I wrenched that knife from her grip without thinking, removing the danger, and that wasn’t enough. Something took over. I wasn’t satisfied until I’d had my revenge on her for surprising me, for trying to hurt me, for everything she’s done.
I’ve never thought of myself as a violent person. I’ve studied for years to help people, to heal people. Not to use my hands to inflict damage. My knuckles are throbbing and bloody. I think I felt Polina’s nose break against my fist, the crack of her bone reverberating up my arm. And I didn’t stop until she wasunconscious.
Lying there, still breathing, but unmoving. She could be seriously injured.
What if she’d had a medical condition? What if her bones were weak? I could have killed her.
I’ve never been violent, without Art around. Without this high-stakes, dangerous environment that he’s dragged me into.
Art catches up to me just as I reach the living room, in the center of the Estate where all of the winding corridors meet in the middle.
In the low light, the intricate wallpaper and furniture cast shadows that look like people. I suppress a shiver. No one else is here.
Polina is out cold, Denis is dead.
It’s just me and the man I’m married to.
Just me and a murderer.
