Chapter 19
THE FIXER
It was a clever disguise for something like her—a humble shop maiden. There was no discernible reason to suspect she might be the mad hatchet-woman that she was.
I watched from across the street as the shop sign flipped to “Closed” and Alina swept the dried dirt tracked in by the day’s patrons.
She even wore an adorable smock apron to truly sell the image.
Feasibly, she would be better off like that.
Is this why Silas could somehow see her being subservient?
I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.
My cigarette became half an inch shorter with a single breath.
The snow dusted the shoulders of my coat; I hadn’t moved in an hour.
Alina wasn’t very observant of her surroundings, so I could probably go another hour in the same spot without her noticing.
It was a miracle she was still alive, truly.
The sun took its time rising this morning, the outside dark and stale, my wait only accompanied by the streetlights and the single lamp flickering from inside the shop.
As Alina wiped down the counter, she paused.
You can feel me, can’t you?
Her actions slowed, as if she was trying to confirm who she was seeing in her periphery.
Would you rather it be him or me?
Alina stopped cleaning the counter, turning her head to look out at the darkness beyond her haven. At first her eyes were distant, desperate to adjust to the outside. Finally, they settled on me.
The pulsing of my jugular was hot and fast, as was everywhere else. The slight tingle of blood filled my eyes, and inevitably, a dribble of blood escaped my blind side.
One quick gesture and her face went dark, so did the shop as the light went out.
A heavy sigh manifested itself in a cloud in the cold air, and I crossed the frozen street.
With one heavy kick, the front door slapped open, the small bolt lock clattering to the floor along with its screws.
Empty.
Slap!
The door behind the counter closed, and skittering steps sounded behind the wall.
In the stairwell, a movement at the top of the stairs came as that door closed, too.
Stupid girl.
I skipped steps until I was flinging the door open.
Something shimmered in the dimness, coming for my face directly upon my entrance.
A needle glimmered, just inches away from my nose as I leaned back. A soft brush of air indicated how close it was. Just not close enough.
My boot buried in her abdomen as the needle passed, her body dragging across the floor until her back smacked against the opposite wall.
“You would have had better chances running. It seemed to work well the last time,” I chuckled, brushing off my hands and stepping into the room.
It was grimy. Unorganized tools, the scent of dried blood and bodily fluids. It reminded me of the basement kitchen at the London Nest.
Footsteps.
She was up again, hoisting her arms above her head to stab me with that needle as if it were a sacrificial blade. She brought it down, and I caught her wrists, squeezing.
Her eyes locked with mine, evincing so much rage. A delicious, savory delicacy.
I gave her a pitiful smile, her arm shaking as she continued to hold the pressure, the long upholstery needle dangling above my chest. “Do you think this one will work as poorly as the last one? Poison is a girlish weapon for a reason.”
Her lips curled into a menacing dare. “How about we test that theory?”
“Well, I am still your lab partner after all.” I leaned a little closer, hovering it over my heart, “How about here? Directly into the blood and everywhere else.”
“Let go of my hand, and I can make that a reality.”
“Another time,” I cocked my head, crushing her wrist in my grip. There was a notable pop and the dull chime of the needle hitting the floor.
Alina muffled a cry and yanked her wrist away, holding it tenderly.
“Not so easy to control when someone doesn’t want to follow your silly rules, is it?” I clasped my hands behind my back, walking over to her cluttered workbench, “I’m impressed. Don’t get me wrong. I would never expect anyone to listen to you, but here you are with an army of dolls.”
She leaned against the opposite wall, grasping the hilt of a shovel, but she didn’t engage just yet.
You’re getting smarter; good girl.
“With your intimate experience with my poison, one would expect you to have a little more faith, possibly a bit more caution,” she said through clenched teeth, her heart racing. I could hear it.
“It is the only thing you’ve done worth remembering. It sure left an impression. I’m thankful to have gotten the faulty batch.” I ran my finger over the table, rubbing the grime between my fingers before slouching into the chair.
“Maybe so—but that is why people trust me. I can protect them. They will be safe from the likes of you.”
“Safe.” I laughed, shaking my head. “It would only take one fully mature male Vipera to reduce you all to ribbons.”
“Many assumptions. I thought you were a man of proof,” she scoffed.
“Women are not dangerous enough to respect, to keep people in line.”
“And why is that?” She laughed, approaching the middle of the room with the shovel head dragging behind her on the floor. “This is why you are left maimed. Your weakness is your”—she paused—“blind eye.”
I snapped my head toward her. “Choose your next words wisely, Alina.”
That earned a smirk from her.
“A woman will always come above you because you believe they cannot be violent and cruel. You will die at the hands of a woman, and you won’t know until it is too late.”
“You can drink to it in your dreams, Dorogusha, because it is a fantasy.”
“You bear my mark upon your face and still believe the lie you tell yourself after all this time?” Her brows furrowed, her smile coy with pure disbelief.
“It is well earned, but ultimately a sign of your failure.”
She swung the shovel, and it smacked against my palm as I caught it.
I stood quickly, stomping forward before pinning her to the wall with the handle across her chest, pressing down on her.
I lowered my face, just above hers. A few black drops of blood from my eye landed on her forehead, then her cheek. “I’m not here to hurt you. Not today.”
She laughed, straining against the pressure I was putting on her physically.
I refrained from any response.
“I can’t imagine anything worse for you; under the control of a man you hate.” Her tone was cutting, spiteful. “I suppose it’s about time you wore the collar.”