I scream, staggering back, my flats sliding in the blood.
A second figure steps from the shadows, silhouette unmistakable—broad shoulders, dark hair swept back, sharp jaw.
But I can’t see him. Not really.
All I see ishim, the man who tried to pin me down. The way his eyes rolled back when the bullet hit, the slack twitch of hismouth, the dead weight of him collapsing like meat. His blood is on my hands. My chest. Myskin.
The floor tilts. My vision swims.
“Mary.”
The voice is low. Gravel and thunder. I turn—barely.
All I see aregreen eyesbefore the black comes.
17
Anton
The scream slices through the wall like a serrated blade.
Mary.
I shove past the broken back door, stepping over the first body; face down, neck at the wrong angle. Boris didn’t waste time. The second one’s still twitching, fingers curling like he’s trying to grab air. Won’t find much. Blood pools from his throat, thick and fast.
“Dave’s dead,” he calls, checking the manager’s limp form.
I don’t look. I don’t give a fuck about Dave Thornton.
Because Mary is screaming.
The sound’s wrong; wet with fear, cracking at the edges. My hand’s already on the grip, safety off, body moving before my brain catches up. The old dryers rattle from distant movement. Dust kicks up around my boots, stale detergent and rust thick in the air.
I hear a grunt. A scuffle.
Then her voice—raw, panicked.
“No! Fuck off!”
I turn the corner fast.
He’s got her.
Big bastard. Looks like one of thePakhan’s throwaways from the East Coast. Greedy face, filthy hands, pants already undone. He’s got her pinned between the dryers, her blouse ripped open, chest heaving with every gasp. His hand is on her throat.
Yob tvoyu mat.
I don’t say a word.
Don’t give him a warning.
I put a bullet straight through his fucking skull.
The sound cracks loud, close, like a thunderclap in a basement. The back of his head explodes against the metal wall. His body drops instantly. Dead before the blood hits the floor.
Mary screams again, louder this time.
She scrambles back, shoes slipping in blood. Then she sees me… Only she doesn’t reallyseeme. Her eyes are wide, distant, pupils blown. Her mouth’s moving, but nothing comes out. She stares at the body, the blood, the twitching fingers.
