They're cowards hiding behind masks, who think they're gods. Because I'm sure that's where they get their satisfactionand power. From watching life drain from their victims' eyes, from feeling their helplessness.
The man before me trembles slightly, and I realize he's laughing.
"Oh, I can't wait to feel you under my blade. To watch your eyes widen when you realize you'll take your last breath with my face burned into your retinas. I'll make sure my name is on your lips when you scream."
Taking a step toward him while also keeping an eye on the gun, I try to stop my body from shaking. The air carries a heavy, metallic smell, but I push it away.
"When he gets his hands on you, he'll start with your eyes," I say with a smile on my face.
He tilts his head slightly, trying to figure out what I'm talking about,whoI’m talking about, but I continue.He'll come. Always.
"I don't know exactly how he'll stop the bleeding, but he's creative. After that, he'll remove your spleen. I hear it hurts like hell, but your screams will only fuel him."
I take another step, and if I jump, I could make it to the gun.
Then the distorted voice rings out.
"If I were you, I wouldn't reach for that gun. Not when I have mine pointed at your guard's head. And I guarantee my bullet will hit its target."
Then the man in front of me sees how close I was to the weapon and laughs.
Closing the distance between us, I smell...lavender. Or something like lavender. And I hate the smell of lavender.
"Who are you talking about? Who's going to make me bleed?"
"The man who's currently imagining a hundred different ways to dismember you," I answer.
Right then tires screech. They're still far away, but it's clear to me who's coming and, apparently, to the one who orchestrated this meeting.
"Pull back," comes from somewhere above.
With a short nod, the man takes off toward one of the exits, and I lunge for the gun.
He's already several yards away, and I know I wouldn't hit his head no matter how hard I try because despite how many shooting lessons I’ve taken, I simply don't have the talent for it, and half my shots miss their targets.
I don't know if the other one moved away from Sergey or not, but it's my only chance. And maybe because I can't control the impulse, I fire three times in his direction, but I miss.
When he reaches the door, he turns and waves at me. There are over a hundred feet between us, but I still find myself firing two more rounds that only hit the door behind him.
My legs automatically move and I run upstairs to find Sergey. When I reach the top, I see the contractor's body hanging and have to turn my head to keep from getting sick.
In one of the farthest rooms, I find Sergey, unconscious with a gash on his head. I press my hand to the pulse at his neck and feel a flutter.
Only then do I let out a breath.
"LUNA!" I hear Roman’s shout coming from the factory entrance.
"UP HERE!" I call back, still trying to wake Sergey.
Within seconds I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and when his body enters the room, mine instantly relaxes.
I don't have to wait, because I'm lifted from where I was kneeling beside Sergey and pulled into Roman's arms.
"I swear you're not leaving the house unless you're tied to me," he breathes against me.
A small laugh escapes at his protectiveness, but I feel him trembling and I lift his face from my neck with my hands.
"I'm okay. He didn't hurt me," I assure him even though the scratch on my leg stings right at that second, and his eyes obviously catch it.
