CHAPTER 20 #2
Hemlock sneers, visibly emboldened by my apparent submission.
He walks closer, the barrel of his ridiculous gold-plated pistol gleaming under the flickering, damaged overhead light.
He steps within five feet of me. Striking distance.
He actually thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s the predator in this room.
He uses the barrel of his gun to lift my chin, forcing me to make eye contact with his smug fucking face.
The cold circle of the metal presses right into my jawbone.
I can hear his shallow, excited breathing.
A gold gun. What a fucking amateur. I’m going to shove it so far down his throat he’ll be shitting bullets for a week.
"On your knees, Ignatov," Hemlock spits.
"I want to see the great Russian bear beg."
"Show her how a coward dies."
My peripheral vision is dead-locked on the two guards.
The guy on the left is tense, his finger twitching nervously on the trigger guard.
The guy on the right is bored, his rifle dipping down by a fraction of a degree.
I’m counting their heartbeats by the visible pulse in their thick necks.
I need the left one to look away. I need him to look at Ruby.
I begin to slowly lower myself, popping my knees to mimic the start of a humiliating kneel.
The distant wail of the purge siren is blaring outside the walls, but in here it’s just the sound of my boots shifting on the grit.
Three... two... give me the opening, Ruby.
"Whatever you want," I say, dropping my shoulders.
"Just let her go."
"Please."
Ruby lets out a choked, wet sound. It’s a flawless imitation of someone whose brain is about to completely lose consciousness.
She sways dangerously to the side, her eyes rolling back into her head.
She intentionally knocks a heavy metal stapler off the desk as she goes.
It hits the concrete with a loud, sharp clack.
The guard on the left instinctively snaps his rifle toward the noise, his gaze following her collapse straight to the floor.
His boots shift on the grit. The opening is a microscopic window, but it’s there. That’s it. That’s my fucking girl.
"I can't..." she whimpers.
"Everything's dark..."
"Andrei!"
Our eyes meet for one final, singular millisecond.
The silent communication is completely finished.
There is no more Andrei and Ruby in this room.
There is only the kill. I see the wild fire burning through the fake haze in her eyes.
She sees the dead ice in mine. We are perfectly syncopated, two halves of a lethal fucking heart.
My right hand finally closes completely around the knife hilt behind me, my grip locking down so tight my knuckles turn bone-white.
It’s time to show these rich fucks why you never trap a wolf in a room with its mate.
"Now," I whisper.
"Kill."
"Ours."
Adrenaline completely floods my system, hitting my veins with a familiar, toxic burn.
My muscles are coiled tight like steel springs, my entire weight perfectly balanced on the balls of my feet.
I curl my toes into the dust, completely grounding myself for the launch.
I watch Ruby’s chest heave with one last, desperate breath before the act turns into bloody reality.
The smell of my own sweat mixes with the roaring of blood rushing in my ears.
I’m going to paint the walls of this panic room with their fucking brains.
"Steady," I breathe out, barely a whisper.
"Wait for the drop."
The guards' trigger discipline completely slips. Just a millimeter, but that’s all it takes.
The distraction worked perfectly. Their eyes are entirely on the fainting girl on the floor, their tactical brains stupidly processing her as a non-threat.
The guard on the right actually blinks, his focus momentarily softened by Ruby’s pathetic display.
His shoulders slacken just a fraction, the barrel of his rifle wavering away from my chest. Mistake. Your last fucking one.
"Watch her!" the left guard snaps.
"She's going down."
Ruby begins her complete collapse. She doesn't just fall, she expertly executes a controlled, dead-weight drop that looks exactly like a tragic loss of motor function. Her bare knee hits the concrete floor with a dull, sickening thud, puffing up a small cloud of white dust around her body. It’s the final signal.
My world instantly narrows down to a single, razor-sharp point of absolute violent intent. Good night, Arthur.
"Help me..." she gasps out.
"I'm falling..."
A massive wave of violent, unchecked pride surges right through my chest. I didn't just buy a helpless captive in this godforsaken building; I forged a goddamn killer. As she falls, I catch the metallic glint of the knife she’s currently got hidden flat under her palm.
Her grip is as sure and deadly as mine. We are both monsters, and the rest of the world is about to find out exactly what happens when you corner us.
My shadow stretches out long across the floor under the flickering light, looming over Hemlock like the grim fucking reaper.
She’s perfect. My violent, beautiful girl.
"You should have killed me in the dark," I say to Hemlock, the sudden baseline drop of my voice making him flinch.
"Now you’re mine."
The sound of Hemlock's mocking voice fades into a muffled buzz.
The drywall dust coats my throat. None of his arrogant bullshit matters anymore.
All that's left is the math. The two-beat rhythm we are about to unleash: her fall, my strike.
I stare into Hemlock's oblivious eyes, my pupils blown wide.
Three.
Two.
One.