Thirty-Two
Simone
I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
I kept whispering that in my head even when I stepped on something slick, soft, human, or what used to be.
I’m fine, I’m fine.
I kept saying that, even as my eyes burned, my lungs burned, and my head pounded like it would explode at any moment.
I’m fine. I’m fine.
I said that even as the horrid moans filled my ears, the screams in the distance got fainter, which didn’t comfort me at all when the sounds that could only be gunshots came rapid, then slowed, then stopped altogether.
I’m fine. Just walk, Simone, I whispered to myself.
And so I did that, counting each step, 632 so far, wishing I had a weapon, not knowing what I’d do with one if I did, but feeling so…exposed.
My fists were clenched tight, and we were more than halfway down the pitch-black hall when I remembered I was holding playing cards.
I’d had the Ace of Diamonds and the Ace of Clubs, and Aaron had been on the verge of defeat.
Pride had been on the line, and I was going to win.
He always hated when I did that. Said he was the one who had taught me how to play, so I could at least have the decency to let him win.
And then pandemonium.
I still wasn’t sure why that surprised me, why I’d let myself think for even a moment that everything was okay.
It wasn’t.
It never would be again, and I was playing cards like a moron, fucking an Albanian mobster who hated me, pretending like dead people hadn’t gotten up and walked around, pretending that I wasn’t trapped in a city jail in the middle of a city with four and a half million people and no way out.
And I had plastic playing cards as my only defense.
I could barely make out the figures in front of me. Even now, Rubin wasn’t afraid. He slashed through those things like they were weeds daring to invade his lawn. He slashed through them the way he slashed through absolutely every challenge he had ever faced, including me.
I almost shrieked when fingers closed around my wrist.
“You all right, Moni?”
It was Aaron, and I could have cried at hearing his voice, but I still pulled away.
That hold felt like confinement. Weird that it hadn’t felt that way when Rubin touched me, but it didn’t matter.
I’d had my knife then. Now I had nothing.
Aaron reached out, squeezed my wrist one more time, but then let go and I continued to walk.
I could barely see, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
There were fewer of those things here. And that was good.
Or it wasn’t. Maybe those had been a diversion, and as soon as we got to the end of this hall, the lights would come on and the staff would mow us down, much like Rubin had done the zombies.
And I would die here, and that would be it.
Or maybe—
I crashed into the wall so hard, it forced the air out of my lungs. I pressed my heels into the ground, trying to push back against the force that held me in place, but I couldn’t.
There was something against my back, a heavy weight squeezing me against the wall so hard, I thought my ribs would cave in. I braced my forearms against the wall, tried to push back, thinking that the bulk I often complained about would give me some advantage.
It didn’t. The weight against me was heavy, oppressive, and only got worse. And then I felt it. Fingers crawling up my sides, up my shoulder blades to settle against my neck and squeeze so tight that I couldn’t get a breath out. I wanted to scream, needed to do something, anything.
Most of all breathe.
But I couldn’t. I kept trying to push, my muscles tense until finally they started to relax and then delirious euphoria as light exploded behind my eyes and a softness started to take over.
This was it—
And then the pressure was gone. It took a moment for my mind to click back to life and realize that I could breathe.
And when I did, I sucked in a breath, winced at the harshness against my throat and the pain in my chest. My eyes were leaking.
But I wasn’t crying, or at least I didn’t think I was.
I was trying to breathe. I just needed to breathe. If only I could—
“Breathe, Simone.”
It was Rubin’s voice. I opened my eyes, not even sure when I had closed them. It made little difference, but in that near darkness, my gaze collided with Rubin’s. He held my eyes, his own gaze steady, and I sucked in a breath and coughed.
“That’s good. Another,” he said.
I breathed in again, swallowed this time, wincing with the pain in my throat.
“Keep going,” he said.
And so I did. My gaze stuck on his, following his motions as he breathed in deep and exhaled. I copied him, felt not quite calm, but not frantic either. And then I realized he was kneeling down on something. Something that was Lorik. And then I realized that Lorik was screaming.
And that there was a knife in his side and that Rubin’s knee was in his back.
I blinked, my mind trying to process.
Lorik coughed and then spoke. “Krye, she betrayed you. She deserves to—”
And then there was nothing. Rubin dug the knife in deeper and twisted. Lorik gurgled, blood flowing out of his mouth. And then he collapsed onto the ground.
Rubin pulled the knife out and blood rushed out of the new hole. Rubin paid it no mind as he wiped the knife on Lorik’s shirt and then stood.
“Keep breathing, Simone,” he said. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled me down the hall.
His grip was tight.
So tight it hurt.
I didn’t mind.