Then they’re gone, and I’m alone with Kirsten.
She hasn’t moved. She’s still standing in the same spot, holding onto her purse, staring at me like she’s never seen me before.
“Kirsten—”
“Who was that?” Her voice trembles. “What did he do?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” She gestures wildly at the spot where Viktor fell. “You were killing him, Menlow. I saw his face. He was dying.”
“He’s alive.”
“Barely!”
I take a step toward her, and she takes a step back. The movement is small, instinctive, but it tells me everything I need to know.
She’s afraid of me.
“I can explain,” I try.
“Then explain.” She crosses her arms, but I can see her hands shaking. “Tell me who that man was. Tell me what he did that made you want to kill him in your own office in the middle of the day.”
The words are right there. I could tell her everything. About Viktor’s operation. About Anya. About the women we found last night, broken and hollow-eyed.
But the way she’s looking at me right now… She already thinks I’m a monster. Telling her the truth won’t change that. It might even make it worse.
“Not now,” I tell her. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
She stares at me for a long moment. I watch the emotions cycle across her face—fear, confusion, anger, hurt. Then something in her seems to shut down. The walls go back up, brick by brick, and the woman who laughed in my arms two nights ago disappears behind them.
“Fine,” she declares. “Keep your secrets.”
She turns and walks out of my office without another word.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway. Then I look down at my hands. The hands that almostkilled a man. The hands that have held Kirsten, touched her, made her cry out my name.
The same hands.
I walk to my desk and sit down heavily. My phone vibrates with a text from Pavel: Package secured. Will handle from here.
I don’t respond. I just stare at the dent in the wall where Viktor’s head hit, and I wonder if I’ve just lost something I didn’t even know I wanted to keep.
Chapter 15 - Kirsten
It’s been three days since I watched Menlow choke a man nearly to death in his office, and I still can’t close my eyes without seeing it.
The purple face. The bulging eyes. The way Viktor’s feet kicked against the wall as he struggled for breath.
The way Menlow looked while he did it. Cold. Focused. Like squeezing the life out of another human being was just another task on his to-do list.
I’ve been avoiding him. It’s not hard, considering he’s barely been home. That first night after the incident, he didn’t come back at all. I lay awake until three in the morning, listening for the sound of the front door, before finally giving up and falling into a fitful sleep.
The second night was the same. And the third.
