He grabs me, slams me against the brick wall, and my head cracks against the hard surface and everything goes white for a moment.
His hand wraps itself around my throat, and my air is cut off.
"Should've just cooperated," he snarls.
I try to pull his hands off my throat, but he doesn't let up.
"Your brother owes us money." His accent is thick. Russian. "We're taking you until he pays." He squeezes harder.
I try to fight. Try to kick. But my body won't respond. Everything is going dark.
Then I hear it. A voice. Cold. Deadly. Familiar.
"Let her go."
The pressure on my throat eases slightly. My attacker stiffens.
"This doesn't concern you," he says, but there's fear in his voice now.
"I said. Let. Her. Go."
Footsteps. Measured. Calm.
My attacker releases me and I collapse against the wall, gasping, trying to see through the stars dancing in my vision.
He turns to face whoever's coming.
"Walk away," my attacker says. "This is Morozov business."
"Wrong answer."
Everything happens so fast.
One moment my attacker is standing, reaching for something in his jacket.
The next, there's a flash of silver, and then, the blade is in the attacker's throat.
It's so quick, I almost miss it.
He makes a wet choking sound, and blood squirts out of the wound, more than I thought possible.
It sprays from his throat in rhythmic spurts, hitting the brick wall, the ground, me.
Hot. Sticky. Wrong.
He falls to his knees, still clutching his throat, making that horrible gurgling sound.
His eyes are wide as he looks at me. He knows he's dying, but the realization comes and goes so quickly that neither of us process it fully.
Then he falls forward onto the filthy alley floor, dead.
I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't process what just happened.
The man with the knife is still standing before me.
He wipes the blade on the dead man's jacket, slides it back into his suit, and presses the toe of his boot against the man's shoulder, checking if he's still alive. When he's satisfied, he looks at me.
My breath catches. I know that face. I would literally never forget those eyes. They are silver, like mercury, and moonlight, and I blink rapidly as I try to process what I am seeing.
