Fee's eyes flutter open, the sedatives wearing off. Confusion clouds her face before panic sets in. Her gaze sweeps across the darkness, searching for me. A thin line of blood appears where the knife bites into her skin.
The sight of her blood ignites something primal inside me, something beyond the chemical enhancement. But I lower the rifle.
"What are you doing?" Ruslan hisses through comms.
I step from behind the yacht, walking into the open where the dock lights illuminate me completely.
"I'm here," I call out, voice carrying across the water. "Let her go."
Fee's eyes find mine across the distance.
Fee:
I stare at Anton as warm blood trickles down my throat. The knife pressure disappears, but before relief can register, cold metal presses against my temple, on the other side of my head.
A gun barrel. But Kirill isn't the one holding it; someone else is.
My heart slams against my ribcage so violently, I wonder if everyone can see it through my shirt. Anton keeps walking toward us, his expression unnervingly calm. His eyes lock with mine, steady, focused, like he's trying to tell me something without words.
"I'm sorry," Kirill whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
Sorry?
The word crashes through my brain like a derailed train. He's going to kill me. Right here. Right now. He wants Anton to watch me die.
The cold metal of the gun barrel digs into my temple, making the universe shrink to the diameter of that small circle against my skin. My skin crawls with a bone-deep revulsion at Kirill's touch, his arm clamped around my waist like an iron band.
"Sorry about the barrel," Kirill murmurs against my ear. "I hope it isn't too cold."
What? The fucking irony of him worrying about me right now almost makes me laugh. Except I can't tell if his concern is real or if the drugs are making me see things that aren't there.
"Not the first time I've had a gun pressed against my temple. But definitely the first time my killer gave a shit about my comfort." The words keep slipping out before my foggy brain catches up.
Whatever he gave me must've killed my filter along with my coordination, because this psycho is clearly unhinged, and I'm talking back.
Anton's eyes widen fractionally at my words, though his calculated stride toward us doesn't falter.
"Why would it fucking matter if you're going to kill me?" I continue, my brain spinning faster than my mouth can keep up.
Kirill's chest vibrates against my back in what I realize is silent laughter.
The world blurs at the edges, sharpens, then blurs again. My body feels disconnected, like I'm watching myself from somewhere just behind my own eyes.
Kirill says nothing to me. Nothing at all.
The pressure against my temple shifts. Through my drug-addled vision, I see the gun barrel move, no longer aimed at me but at Anton.
Wait. Is this happening now? Did it already happen? The timeline in my head fractures, splinters, reforms. Time stretches and contracts like a rubber band. I can't trust my own perception.
But Anton keeps coming closer. One step. Another. His eyes never leave mine.
I need to do something. Right now. Or maybe five seconds ago. I don't know, but I have to try.
Then my stomach clenches, churns. Not fake. Real nausea crashes through me in waves.
I heave violently. The pressure around my waist loosens.
That's my chance.
