"You carved an X into my back," I say through gritted teeth. " You raped me. You, Anatoly, and Ivan. You took turns. Do you remember?"
He's trying to speak, but blood bubbles form at his lips. Pop. Reform. I pull the knife out, and he gasps. The wound is catastrophic but not immediately fatal. He'll have a few long, agonizing minutes.
"I remember everything," I continue. "Every cut. Every laugh. Every time you told me I deserved it." I drive the knife into his thigh. Femoral artery. Blood sprays across the concrete floor in rhythmic pulses. His heartbeat made visible. He's still trying to fight, hands scrabbling at my sweater, but he’s weak, ineffective. The strength draining out of him with every beat of his failing heart, the blood pouring out of his arteries with every beat like a countdown. I step back, watching him collapse. I continue staring into his eyes, watching as they dim like someone slowly turning down a dial.
"You don't deserve death this quick," I tell him. "But I don't have time for slow. Consider yourself lucky." The knife finds his throat , and I make a quick slash, the kind that severs the carotid and windpipe in one motion. Blood is everywhere now, pooling on the floor and soaking into my boots. Spattering the walls in abstract patterns that would be beautiful if they weren't made of death.
Igor's mouth works, trying to speak, to beg , but only wet gurgling sounds emerge. His hands press against his throat like he can keep himself together through sheer will. He can't.
I watch him die. Count the seconds and memorize the way his pupils dilate. The way his skin goes gray. The exact moment when the person becomes a body. Thirty-seven seconds from throat cut to complete stillness. I committed every one to memory.
The thrill hits like a drug. Pure. Intoxicating. Electric. This is what I've been training for. What I've been living for. The moment when one of them pays for what they did. But underneath the thrill, something else. Something darker and more complicated.
Guilt.
Not for Igor. He earned this death. Deserved worse. But guilt for the girl I was who begged for mercy and got none. Guilt that killing him doesn't bring her back. Doesn't heal the scars. Doesn't make the nightmares stop.
Revenge tastes like victory and ashes at the same time.
I clean the knife on Igor's shirt. My hands are steady, but I expected them to shake. Expected some physical manifestation of the line I've just crossed. But nothing comes. Then door opens behind me.
I spin. Knife raised. Volk stands in the doorway. He takes in the scene with one sweeping glance. The body. The blood. Me, standing in the center of it all like some vengeful goddess made flesh.
"We need to go," he says. Calm, like this is routine. "Now."
"How did you?—"
"Later. Move." His hand closes around my wrist, and he pulls me toward the door. I resist for a heartbeat , for one last look at Igor's corpse and the physical proof of my revenge. Then I'm running.
Volk leads me through the warehouse. It’s a different route than I entered, toward a back exit I didn't know existed. Hishand never leaves my wrist, anchoring me and keeping me moving when shock threatens to freeze me in place.
Outside, the night air hits like a slap. Cool after the warehouse heat. Clean after the copper stench of blood. His car waits in the alley, engine running and driver's side door open.
"Get in," Volk orders.
I do, and he's behind the wheel before I can shut my door, pulling away from the warehouse.
"They'll find him soon," I say. My voice sounds strange. Disconnected. Like it's coming from someone else's mouth.
"Not as soon as you think. I bought us time."
"How?"
"The other two men. They're... indisposed."
I look at him. Really look. His knuckles are bruised , and there’s fresh blood on his collar. Not his own.
"You killed them?"
"No, just made sure they'll sleep for a few hours. Long enough for us to get out undetected."
Us. The word carries weight.
"Where are we going?"
"My place. You need to clean up and change clothes. And we need to establish your alibi."
My alibi. Right. Because I just committed murder. Because the Bratva will tear Phoenix apart looking for Igor's killer. Because I'm now a target in ways I wasn't before.
