That emotion makes me sick. This is not normal. I'm not normal.
There's a body three feet away from me. Dead at my hand. Mutilated.
I should feel guilty. Should feel horror. Should feel?—
But I don't.
I feel?—
Powerful.
For the first time in my life, I feel like myself. My true self.
Not good. Not happy. Not okay.
Alive.
Present.
Real.
I killed a man. Not a good man. A bad one. One who wanted to use me. Alexei underestimated me, and he paid the ultimate price.
My father did the same to my mother, and he met the same fate.
Women like me are not meant to be victims. We are the snakes slithering in the gardens, ready to strike when stepped on.
Alexei found that out the hard way.
The minutes tick by.
Five.
Ten.
Then I hear it.
Sirens. Getting louder. Closer.
Shouting downstairs. Russian. Urgent.
"Fire!"
"Next door—the warehouse!"
"Everyone out!"
Chaos erupts. Men shouting. Things crashing. Footsteps running.
I wait. Count to thirty like Saint said.
Then I stand. My legs are shaking. Weak. But I make them work.
I unlock the door. Peer out.
The hallway is empty. Everyone's gone. Evacuated.
I move fast. Down the back hallway Saint mentioned. My legs are jelly. Each step is harder than the last.
