Thirty-Six
Ara
Everything happens fast. Too fast for me to even comprehend.
The door closed behind us as we entered, Yuri pulling me behind him while he pulled the knife embedded in his shoulder to lodge into the ear of the man who tried to jump me from where he locked the front door. Five men came out of the shadows wearing murderous expressions on their faces.
“Run,” Yuri says.
I turn to do the exact thing when a voice rings out.
“If you do, we will come after your kid.”
Anger. Pure, unadulterated rage fills my veins at the open threat. When I turn back, it is to pin the man who is clad in black—all of them are—but the others stand behind him. I suppose he is the leader, and he is the same one who openly threatened my kid. My kid.
“I dare you to try.” I hiss.
There is a reason I was able to escape the clutches of the vilest man. There is a reason why I was able to run away from his guards: trained with brutality and trained not to experience pain. All those months in captivity have turned me into something I don’t recognise anymore. The torture bore witness to the depravity, and after killing many innocent women, a switch was flipped.
It took time, but when it did, a darkness enveloped my whole being. A certain darkness that transformed me into a violent person. A violent person who single-handedly killed four of Vir’s best men. The same darkness I’ve carefully tucked into a corner because the cost of unleashing it came with a price I cannot pay.
But now, it doesn’t need anyone’s permission to break free of its reins. I don’t make an effort to pull it back. If he thinks he can get to my kid, he is in for a rude awakening.
“Fiery little thing, aren’t we.” His nasal voice mocks.
I note that there are, in total, six men, not five. A bald man is in the shadows, leaning on the railing of my staircase, observing. He stands at the side as if he is not a part of the group. The leader goes to lean on the kitchen counter, crossing his hands over his chest, his eyes studying Yuri, me and his dead man beside our feet.
“Get her.” He commands.
The tension in the room is suffocating, the air thick with the threat of violence. I can barely breathe as the men step forward, closing in on Yuri. He keeps me behind him, his body a shield, every muscle tensed and coiled like a spring ready to snap.
Two men charge, but Yuri is faster, his movements sharp and calculated, every strike precise. He’s a master, no doubt. But he’s outnumbered. I watch, helpless, as one of the men lunges for Yuri’s phone, ripping it from his pocket. My heart skips a beat. That’s all it takes. The distraction is enough for the man to land a punch to Yuri’s side.
Yuri grunts but doesn’t falter. He counters with a crushing elbow to the man’s ribs, sending him sprawling. But the second attacker is already there, going for Yuri’s arm, locking it in a painful twist that forces a sickening crack to echo through the room. Yuri’s breath hisses between his teeth, but he fights through it, never once allowing his eyes to stray from the group.
He’s bleeding now, his shirt torn, and his hand hanging limply at his side. But he doesn’t give up.
I instinctively reach for my phone in my purse. My fingers are trembling as I dial Zagan’s number, desperate to reach him. But before the call can go through, a hand grips my hair, pulling me back with a brutal yank. I gasp, pain flashing across my scalp as I’m yanked away from the safety of Yuri’s back.
“Let her go!” Yuri roars, his voice thick with fury.
But there’s no stopping the man who drags me away, forcing me to stumble. I see Yuri fight with everything he has, twisting and turning, but his hand is useless now, broken. Blood slicks his skin as he draws his knife with his good hand, brandishing it with deadly intent.
He’s relentless. Each movement is filled with desperation and precision. And he’s winning. The two men step back, wary of the blade in Yuri’s hand, eyes flicking to each other, assessing the risk. But then, just as Yuri raises his knife for another strike, the bald man steps forward.
He’s bigger, stronger. He pushes the other two men aside with a single swipe of his hand, taking their place in front of Yuri. His gaze is cold, calculating.
Yuri doesn’t hesitate. He lunges, the knife flashing in the dim light. But the bald man is faster, his hand catching Yuri’s wrist mid-attack, twisting it with brutal force. A sickening crunch reverberates through the room as Yuri’s hand is broken, the knife falling from his grasp. I scream, fighting in the hands of the man who holds me.
Yuri stumbles back, gasping for air, blood dripping from his side. His breath comes in ragged gasps, but he refuses to kneel. Refusing to let them win.
“Yuri, no!” I scream, my heart threatening to tear itself from my chest.
But it’s too late. The bald man moves in, his expression cold and final. With a single fluid motion, he steps forward and drives his fist into Yuri’s chest.
Yuri gasps, his body jerking with the force of the blow. I watch, frozen, as his knees buckle beneath him, his face twisting in pain. And then he crumbles down on the floor.
I try to rush forward, to reach him, but the man still holding my hair tightens his grip, yanking me backwards with a force that leaves me gasping for breath. I can’t focus. My heart is pounding in my ears, my vision blurring with tears.
I know I have to escape. But at this moment, I feel something inside me snap.
I bring my head back with a brutal force that lands its target. I hear the crunch of a bone and a cry of pain before the grip on my hair loosens. I stumble forward, trying to reach Yuri, who lies unmoving on the floor.
No. No, no, no. I see a faint rising in his chest, but I need to make sure he is okay. I need to pull him away from them-
I yelp when a brutal kick lands on my side, sending me flying to the other side of the room. The table goes crashing with me as I skid towards the chair beside the fireplace.
“Fucking bitch.”
The pain barely registers as I try to get up when I see the man with a bleeding nose stalk towards me with murder in his eyes. His legs lift, and this time, I’m able to bring the cushion which flew from the chair between his leg and my stomach before he lands another brutal kick. This one knocks all my breath out of me, leaving me heaving and coughing.
He bends to grip my hair harshly to throw me sideways, making me crash into the wall, the frames adorning it crashing down with a thud. He bends, his hands fisting as it meets my temple, knocking my head to the wall again.
“Keep her alive,” I hear the leader droll from somewhere behind.
The broken-nose idiot is so busy landing another punch, using his leg to kick, that he doesn’t notice my hands gripping a broken glass. This time, when he goes to pull my hair so that he can throw me around, I use all my force to stick the glass to the side of his neck. I’ve taken an anatomy course. I know where the carotid artery is.
I see his eyes widening in shock as I go to stand, using his grip on my hair. I twist the broken shard inside his neck, feeling the numbness that comes with this part of my awakening. I push him to the floor and stomp on the glass to embed it deeper into his neck.
When I turn to face the room, it is to see shock on all their faces. Men often mistake us women to be damsels—someone who is incapable of protecting themselves. From that misplaced thought comes a narcissistic need for monsters like them to think that it is their right to hurt us. To use their physicality to overpower us. I’ve learnt how to use those misplaced thoughts and bigger-headed egos to my gain.
Even now, even after looking at what I’m capable of, the remaining four—apart from the bald man— look at me as if I’m beneath them. They still underestimate me just because I’m a woman. I take in a deep breath, ignoring the pain in my ribs and everywhere else as I gather my hair to pull it together. My face hurts, and I can feel blood streaking from inside my hair, but all my focus is on Yuri and getting him out of there.
Both of our phones are smashed. And if I have any hope of making it out alive, I need my gun. And it is inside the bag that was strewn across the floor. For that, I have to cross them. So be it.
“Breaking her bones might teach the cunt a lesson.” The leader growls before he takes a step forward.
His men follow, but the bald man stays back. As if he has noticed my eyes straying towards the TV room, he situates himself right in front of it. I bend down, both my hands grabbing two broken glass shards, trying to remember the basic self-defence lessons I learnt after the attack in the fighting ring.
I don’t understand why they don’t draw in their guns. Maybe it is for the same reasons as Yuri. I knew he didn’t use a gun because he didn’t want to risk the bullet hitting me. These men want me intact. Even with a few bruises or broken bones, they want me alive.
My eyes fly to the bald guy, and for the first time, I notice the ritual symbol on the side of his neck. I grit my teeth, wanting to skin that part away. It confirms who he is. Why he and all these men are here. Vir sent them.
All of a sudden, all the men, including the bald man, turn their heads. Towards the backdoor, their bodies on high alert. They draw their guns and knives while I try to sneak past them.
I reach Yuri’s legs in three steps. I pull at his ankle, bringing him to my side of the room, being mindful of not breaking the eerie silence. I don’t care why they turned. I need to check the damage on the man who tried to protect me. I need to see…I need to…I cannot even bring myself to finish the thought.
And suddenly, the backdoor opens with a thud, startling me to a jump. Two figures head inside my home. The darkness shrouds them both as one of them stands guard of the door while the other, the lither one, moves forward.
I hear the sound of footsteps—quick, light, like they're moving with purpose. But it's too dark to make out anything, and I can only guess at what's coming next.
“Don’t fucking shoot. I don’t want people calling the police!” The leader orders.
His men follow, pushing away their guns.
The leader, a thick-set bastard with a knife in his hand, takes a step toward the kitchen, ready to grab another weapon. But before his foot even hits the floor, something moves too fast for my spectacle-less eyes to follow. It's a blur, a shadow. He’s disarmed in an instant; the knife is snatched from his hand as though it is nothing. He barely has time to react before he’s shoved into the counter with a crash that rattles the walls.
The others freeze, but only for a second. Then they rush forward, their eyes filled with aggression, convinced they’ve got the upper hand. But whoever the hell just entered the room, they’re a storm. A force. I can hear the movements, fast and clean but lethal. One man swings a discarded wood. The stranger is there, gone, and then they’re behind him, their elbow driving into his throat with a sound that makes me wince. He drops like a sack of bricks, gasping for air.
Whoever they are, they are moving in the shadows, as if they are well versed in this game of hide and seek.
Another swings a knife, but it’s a wasted effort. The stranger is already ducking, moving with an impressive fluidity. There’s no hesitation, no wasted motion. They’re on him, their legs sweeping him off his feet with ease, and he crumples to the floor, barely making a sound.
I can barely see any of it. It’s all shadows and flashes of movement, but the chaos is real. Another man tries to grab a gun in final desperation, but the stranger beats him to it.
“No guns, fucker.” I hear the distinctive voice of a female.
The gun’s in her hand before he can even aim it, and then she’s driving her fist into his temple. I hear it—the sickening crack of bone—and he slumps to the ground, unconscious before he even hits the floor.
And then it’s just one man left—the bald one. The one who’s still standing, glaring at the darkness, calculating.
The bald man charges, fists raised, but I know this is different. He’s strong, built like a tank, but whoever’s fighting him, she’s better. And faster. I hear the movement again, and then she’s on him, close enough that he’s too late to land a punch. There’s a grunt, a sound of impact, but it’s not him hitting her. She’s the one in control, shifting and twisting, like she’s in the air, and he’s stuck on the ground. I hear the sound of bones crunching—his ribs, maybe—and he staggers back, growling in pain.
He doesn’t stop. The bald man throws another wild punch, but it’s like he’s fighting the wind. She’s not there, not anymore. And then— bam . She’s right back in his space, a low, devastating blow to his ribs, and I hear him gasp. His breath catches, and I know he’s hurt badly. But he’s not done.
He roars and comes at her again, but she’s just... faster. His hands swipe at the air where she was a second ago, but she’s already somewhere else, twisting, turning, anticipating every move. I can’t see what she’s doing, but I can hear it. Her feet tapping the floor with deadly precision, like a cat pouncing on prey.
I hear him shout, but it’s all anger, all rage now. He’s throwing everything he has, but she’s out of his reach. I can feel it, the tension in the air. She’s toying with him, pulling him apart piece by piece. And then, like a snake striking, her knee drives into his chest. I hear the sickening thud , and I know he’s hurt— really hurt. But he’s not done.
He tries again, slashing out with his fists, but it’s too wild, too sloppy. She steps in—too quick, too quiet—and when she moves, it’s like the world stands still for a moment. Her grip tightens around his wrist, and I hear the snap —a bone breaking, or maybe a joint dislocating. He howls in pain, but there’s no mercy in the stranger’s movements.
She doesn’t give him a chance to recover. There’s a sickening finality when her fist lands against his face. The sound of bone against bone. I can almost feel it in my own skull, but I don’t dare blink. I know he’s finished. He crumples like a rag doll, his body no longer a threat.
The room is still, the silence deafening. I don’t know how it ended—how it was over so quickly—but the men lie in various states of unconsciousness or worse.
The mystery figure stands at the centre of it all, breathing steadily, almost like she didn’t just tear through a room of men twice her size. I still can’t see her clearly, but something in the way she moves tells me everything I need to know. I look around for my glasses, finding them beside Yuri and am quick to put them on.
She’s dangerous, and dangerous people didn’t help without a reason.
As if my thoughts were audible, she turns, her heeled boots stepping into the light first before her entire frame does.