I start awake, lifting my head up sharply from Anton’s chest. He starts awake as well and his arm tightens around me reflexively.
The sound comes again. It echoes from somewhere downstairs. It’s somebody banging on the front door.
“Stay here,” he says, getting out of bed. I watch him walk around the bed to get his boxers, then he goes to the nightstand and pulls out his gun. “Don’t leave this room until I come back for you.”
I sit up and listen fearfully, pulling the blanket up and over my naked body. I don’t have any clothes here, and in this room, there’s just the shirt I was wearing. Even my panties are in rags somewhere on the floor.
The idea of running out of here naked is less than appealing. If somebody decides to come get me, there’s no telling what theymight do to some pretty young girl with no clothes on. This is quite the predicament I’m in.
I’ve got the clothes I was wearing yesterday in my room. It isn’t much, but it’s better than being completely naked. Maybe I should run over and grab them. I could wrap this sheet around me, I guess.
I glance around the room and thankfully, I spot a robe on the far side, blending in the shadows. It’s hanging off the door of a half open closet and it looks to be made of black silk. I get out of bed and walk over to put it on.
It’shugeon me. The sleeves hang well over my hands and the hem trails behind me like the train of a wedding dress. I do my best to wrap it around myself and triple-tie the belt so that my tits don’t fall out as I walk. I pick up the hem and leave the bedroom.
I get out in the hallway, remembering what Anton said.Don’t leave this room until I come back for you.But what if he doesn’t come back?What if…?
Okay, let’s not panic. It’s just across the hall. There and back before he even knows I was gone. I open the door and step out. The bottom line here is that if somebody’s coming for me, I’ll be damned if I’m going to be killed wearing nothing but an oversized robe.
I move as quietly as I can across these old wooden floors, but it’s impossible. The floor creaks with every step I take. “Natalya?” I hear from downstairs. “Come down here, please.”
Dammit. Fuck these old floors.
I turn around and walk to the landing. From here I can see part of the living room and front door. Anton’s standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me expectantly. “Go to the linen closet next to the bathroom and bring me some towels. Dark ones. Leave any that are white or lighter colored.”
Someone moans in pain somewhere behind him in the living room. “What’s going on?”
“Do as I say, please. Now.”
He doesn’t bark the order at me. In fact, the words sound tinged with distress. Something has gone very, very wrong. He’s asking for my help.
I turn around and run back to the guest bathroom between our rooms. The linen closet is just inside, so I dart in, grab a bunch of black and dark blue towels, and run back out.
I run down the stairs and to the living room. A man is lying on the couch, his shirt covered in blood… and the handle of a knife sticking out of his shoulder. His skin looks clammy and pale as he grimaces uncomfortably. Anton is sitting on the couch with him. His gun is sitting forgotten on the coffee table as he reaches for the tear in his friend’s shirt.
“I’ve got to get this off,” he says. “Just hang in there.”
“Fuck,” the man swears. “This is my favorite fucking shirt.”
“We’ll get you a new one.”
“Towels,” I say, setting them down on the table. Neither man acknowledges me. Carefully maneuvering around the knife handle, he grabs at the rip and widens it. The exposed wound oozes out from under the handle and I have to look away. Ugh. I was never great around gore.
“You should have gone to Iggy with this,” Anton says. “It’s a wonder you didn’t bleed to death on the way over here.”
“You were closer,” his friend says through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, all right.” Anton takes hold of the knife and adds, “When I take this out, you’re going to bleed like a sieve. You'd better hope the fucker that did this didn’t nick any arteries.”
“I wouldn’t dare bleed to death all over your fine wood floors,” his friend jokes. “Can I get a shot before you do it?”
Anton glances at me, and I move to the bar on the other side of the room. I don’t know a lot about alcohol or if one is better for this than the other, so I just grab some vodka and bring it over.
Anton takes it from me and helps the man take a swig. He grimaces a second or so after he takes the drink, then he nods. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Okay. On three. One, Two—” Anton yanks the knife out. The man yells out in agony, lifting up off the couch. Anton quickly grabs one of the towels and presses down on the wound, pushing him back down to the couch.
“Shit!” he curses. “Fucking shit! You said on three!”
