"I know you're here, old hag! And that caregiver—when I catch you, I'm gonna scrape the fat off you layer by layer!"
I nearly collapsed from terror.
"Run faster!" Olga snapped, her eyes cold as blades—nothing like the woman who complained about stale tea leaves. "If you want to live."
Her intensity shocked me into obedience. I followed her quick steps through the hallway.
We turned two corners and stopped at a storage room. Olga shoved the door open and yanked me inside. She locked it quickly, then motioned for me to help push a metal rack full of linens against the door.
Once we finished, we crouched behind two old wheelchairs in the corner. In the darkness, I could hear my own ragged breathing and my heart slamming against my ribs. I tried to calm down, but my mind was chaos—Kirill, mafia, guns, men hunting us in the hallway... none of it felt real.
Footsteps suddenly crushed past the door, shattering my scattered thoughts. The sound grew closer, clearer. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed God would keep us hidden.
"I'm sorry, Harper." Olga's voice broke the silence. "I didn't want you dragged into this. You're a good girl. Clumsy, terrible taste, but a good girl."
My throat tightened. My eyes stung. Honestly, I'd always thought Olga didn't like me much. She never had a kind word. She complained when I brushed her hair too roughly, griped that my oatmeal was too thin, and banged her cane on the floor whenever I turned off her TV.
But maybe this was just how she showed affection.
The sound of a door being kicked echoed in the hallway. He was searching room by room.
The heavy footsteps closed in. I heard cursing, the crash of carts being overturned.
"Ha. Anotherdoor here."
A rough voice spoke just outside the storage room. So close it felt like he was whispering in my ear.
The doorknob rattled violently, metal grinding against metal. Olga's hand tightened around mine, her knuckles digging into my skin, but I didn't dare struggle or even move.
"Don't make a sound."
But we both knew the flimsy rack wouldn't hold. The nursing home used the cheapest locks to save money.
Then came the thud of a shoulder slamming into the door.
The fragile door didn't last long. With a crack, the lock broke. The door flew open, the metal rack toppling sideways.
A flashlight beam stabbed my eyes. I raised my hand to shield my face and saw a massive shadow through the glare.
Before I could react, a hand shot in and grabbed Olga's silver curls, yanking her violently toward the door.
"Finally found you, you old bitch."
Olga just stared coldly at the man gripping her hair. No fear in her eyes.
"You idiot. You think grabbing me means you're walking out of here alive?"
"Shut up!" The man released her hair and grabbed her throat instead.
"Let her go!"
The words left my mouth before I realized what I was doing. I wasn't brave. I got nervous arguing with cashiers over wrong change. But right now, I had no idea where the strength came from—I lunged forward and slammed into the man's side.
He stumbled back, surprised, and released Olga.
"Fuck!" He roared and backhanded me across the face.
The force sent stars exploding across my vision. I hit the cold concrete floor, my temple ringing.
