Taisiya
Big Ben strikes midnight. The great bell clangs in the distance as I stare down at the body on the ground. My free hand shakes, and I clench it into a fist.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Shit.” Panic hits, but I can’t let it take over.
Gregor Melnikov is Anton Melnikov’s younger brother.
And I just killed him.
“Fuck,” I whisper and force myself to move.
The blade in my hand, a simple kitchen knife from the block on the kitchen counter in my one-bed flat, is still in my hand, covered in blood.
When Anton finds out who killed his brother, I’ll be the one lying in a pool of my own blood down a back alley somewhere.
I trip as the rain turns into that godawful drizzle that drenches you completely.
I push my brown hair away from my grey-green eyes, my hand trembling as I rush to get away from the body.
I know he’s dead. I stabbed him in the neck when he got too close.
I knew it was coming. He has been hinting at it every day for weeks now.
He wanted sex in exchange for the money I owe him.
Money that I have but refuse to part with because I’ve paid my due.
The added interest he retroactively added on and kept increasing by the day is unfair, and I refuse to part with my hard-earned cash just to appease the ego of a little Bratva shit, whose parents clearly didn’t teach any manners to.
I didn’t mean to kill him.
But I did.
I know I did. There is blood everywhere, and no one is coming to help him. I look back over my shoulder, but I can’t see him in the darkness. He will be found tomorrow; Anton will find out his brother was killed, and he will start looking. He will find me. I know he will.
I have to leave.
I have to get out of this city, this country. I force my legs to work.
My flat sits three streets away in Camberwell. Too close to Gregor’s body. Too close to every camera that might have recorded him following me home from work.
I shove the knife into my coat pocket. The blade catches on the lining, and I nearly cut my hand getting it inside.
I walk faster.
Running would attract attention. A woman running after midnight in bloody clothes would attract even more. I keep my head down and take the quieter streets, though I don’t know if that helps. The police can identify me before breakfast if they want.
Anton can do it faster.
Gregor knew where I lived. He knew where I worked. He knew my full name, my bank details, and which bus I took every morning. Anton will have access to all of it.
A taxi passes. I turn my face away from the windows and continue walking.
My flat is dark when I reach the building. The downstairs security light has burned out again. Usually, I complain about it. Tonight, I could kiss the landlord for being a cheap bastard.
I enter the code and hurry inside. No one stops me on the stairs. No doors open. The silence should calm me, but my pulse refuses to slow.
Inside my flat, I lock the door and slide the chain into place before flicking all the lights on. I hate the dark. I hate the quiet. Working in a busy bar in the centre of London suits me and my need for noise. The quiet is too reflective. Too sombre.
I dump my bag and then pull the knife out of my jacket pocket. Throwing it into the kitchen sink, I run the hot water over it. Pink water rushes down the drain.
“What the fuck am I doing?”
I snatch my hand back from the tap before shoving them both under and scrubbing them until the water is too hot to handle.
Washing the knife won’t undo anything. It might destroy evidence, but Gregor is still dead in the alleyway. I shove it in the tiny dishwasher and turn it on an intensive wash, even though there is only the knife, a glass, a fork, and a bowl in it.
I stare down at myself. Blood marks my clothes; a dark spray covers the front of my white work top.
Panic surges into my throat.
I strip off as fast as I can. My fingers refuse to cooperate with the buttons, so I tear the last two open and throw everything into the washing machine I was lucky enough to have left in here from the previous tenant. My jeans follow.
I stare at the bruise forming around my wrist.
His fingers were on me. His other hand was under my top. He told me nobody would care if I screamed.
He was wrong.
I cared.
“Self-defence,” I mutter, as I shut the door with my foot and turn it on. “It was self-defence.”
Anton won’t give a shit.
The police might, if they believe me. But that ship has probably sailed now because I ran. I didn’t stay and call them. I’ve also cleaned the weapon, and my clothes are in the wash.
I hurry into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
When it’s hot enough, I get in and scrub until my skin turns red.
My wrist hurts. The bruise is already darkening.
I press two fingers against it and remember Gregor laughing when I told him to let go.
Nobody will care if you scream.
The water keeps running. I stand under it until my breathing settles enough for me to think.
I need a way out of the country before Anton learns I exist. Nowhere in the UK will be safe once he gets word of who it was.
He probably already knows.
I shut off the shower and grab a towel. My bedroom contains everything I own, which is depressing under normal circumstances and convenient tonight.
All the cash I have is hidden inside a torn copy of Anna Karenina that I bought because my mother insisted every Russian woman should own it, and she also insisted that banks couldn’t be trusted.
Four thousand pounds.
Gregor wanted all of it, and probably more. It is a debt I was stupid and desperate enough to take out, and it will be a debt that will never be repaid no matter how much or for how long I pay it. The Bratva will find a way to keep adding interest to it.
I pull my passport out and stare at it. Taisiya Korotayeva. It’s not exactly a name that blends in. I tell everyone to call me Tai, like Thai, because it’s just easier than going through the pronunciation every single goddamn day of my life.
I chuck it on the bed and shove my hands into my hair. This is no good. I use it, and he will track me. I need a new one, a fake one under a new name. I’m not na?ve. I know these people exist in this city. I know they are all bad guys. Some probably even know or work for Melnikov.
I grab my phone from my bag and stare at it.
Aliksa from the bar is always talking up a big game about knowing this and that Bratva family.
It’s how I got involved with Melnikov in the first place.
I consider my actions to be panicked and remarkably dumb to text her for help, but I have nothing else.
Anton will find me and kill me. Aliksa has no loyalty if the things she says are true.
She only mentioned Melnikov because I asked for the cheapest terms. She warned me and tried to steer me to anyone else.
I didn’t listen.
Hey, Ali, I text and chew my lip as I debate my next words, know anyone who can get a fake passport - asking for a friend.
I roll my eyes even as I hit send, shaking my head at my stupidity. But the text is gone into the world with no takey-backey. “Fuck,” I mutter and crawl into bed, gripping my phone as I wait for her to text back, even though it’s closing in on 1 AM.
The phone vibrates against my palm less than a minute later, making me jump a mile.
Ali: What kind of trouble are you in?
I stare at the message.
Me: My friend needs to leave the country.
Three dots appear, vanish, then return.
All I get is the eyeroll emoji. Then: Zatmeniye
Eclipse. The club in Mayfair that is too exclusive for my arse to even walk past.
Me: Got a name?
Ali: Voronov. That’s all I’ve got. Be careful. You didn’t get this from me.
Me: Thanks, Ali.
Ali: Fuck off.
I do. I fuck off by turning my phone off. Zatmeniye. Shit. I don’t think I own anything even remotely posh enough to get past the bouncers there. But I don’t have much choice. If this is where Ali thinks I have to go, then I need to check it out.
I breathe in and out a few times. Okay. The plan. Tomorrow I will go there and stake it out. See if there is any immediate danger. If I sense anything wrong, I’ll walk away.
I flop back to the bed at this horrendous idiocy. I roll onto my side and turn on the small DAB radio on the bedside cabinet to fill my head with noise.
This is the better of the three options I have laid out in front of me.
And that right there says too much about my life, and I hate that for me.