I glance over my shoulder.
Adriana stands near the doorway, already dressed. The red gown clings to her body perfectly. She looks beautiful, yeah, but mostly she looks tense. Her shoulders are always tight when she’s around anyone else but me.
Erik takes a slow step toward her, smile widening. “A perfect choice.”
She doesn’t smile back. “I’m not going with you.”
His expression barely changes. Just a small sigh, like she’s mildly inconvenienced him. “You are.”
“No.”
He rolls his eyes, then gestures casually in my direction. “Your boyfriend will be joining later.” His tone turns lightly amused. “After he finishes his task.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, worry flashing across her face. I give her a small nod, which is about the only reassurance I can manage right now.I’ll survive.That’s what the nod means.
I always fucking do.
Erik reaches for her arm, already bored with the conversation. “Come along. We’re leaving.”
She resists for half a second, then lets him guide her toward the hall, but not before throwing one more look over hershoulder at me. I want to tell her it’ll be fine. I don’t, because we both know that would be a lie. I, at least, am not entirely concerned that Erik would dare hurt her, considering I killed the fuck out of the last man who did.
The door closes behind them, and I’m left in the quiet of the guesthouse. I stare at the mask for another few seconds, then set it down on the counter. My reflection catches in a small mirror on the wall, and my eyes are darker than I remember them being, with a fresh bruise on my jaw. The Slavic pendant is warm against my chest.
“Let’s get it over with,” I mutter, snatching the keys and my gun. I head for the car, each step feeling a lot like slow motion as I think about what I’m about to do. I’ve never killed this many people at once. I’m not nervous, though. If they kill me, they fucking kill me. I don’t even care anymore. I’d have to feel to care.
I slide into the driver’s seat of the Lamborghini, toss the gun into the passenger side compartment, and start the engine. The roar of it is loud enough to drown out the thoughts for a second.Justa second.
The engine screams as I push the car faster, the city lights smearing into long streaks through the windshield.“The Undertaker (Renholder Mix)”by Puscifer blasts through the speakers, bass pounding hard enough to rattle the doors. It’s loud and aggressive, which is perfect for me right now.
The mask sits in the passenger seat, tilted toward me like it’s watching me with that horrific smile and empty eyes. I glance at it once at a red light, then look away, my body absorbing every beat of the music. The light turns green, and I hit the gas.
Alexei’s location is an old warehouse district near the river, mostly abandoned except for the occasional late-night shipment. It’s quiet and isolated, a perfect place for committing murder. The song continues as I pull into the lot, tires crunching lightly over gravel. I kill the engine but leave the music blasting for another second, letting the last violent pulse of sound fill the car before everything drops into silence.
My heartbeat sounds louder without it.
I pick up the mask and turn it over in my hands before sliding it over my face. My chest immediately settles the moment it’s on, like I just stepped into the version of myself I’m most comfortable with. The gun feels steady in my hand as I walk toward the side entrance Alexei described. I push it open and step inside.
Four men stand around a folding table scattered with papers and an open laptop. Conversation cuts off the second they see me. Confusion flashes, then melts rapidly into tension. One of them starts to speak.
“Who the—”
I raise the gun. Two shots crack through the room, deafening in the enclosed space. The first man drops before the echo fades, and I know he’s dead instantly. The second collapses backward over the table, chair screeching loudly across the concrete floor. The other two don’t even have time to run.
One grabs his side, blood already spreading through his shirt where the bullet caught him in the guts. The other stumbles, falling to one knee, trying to reach for something tucked at his waistband. But I shoot him again before his hand gets there.
Silence follows, except for the ragged breathing of the two still alive. I stand there for a moment, gun lowered slightly, watching them struggle. Nothing moves inside me whatsoever. No racing thoughts telling me to stop. Just a flat, distant awareness that this is happening and I’m the one doing it.
One of the men looks up at me, eyes wide with panic. “P—please—”
I walk over with confident footsteps. He tries to crawl back, leaving a smear of blood behind him, fingers slipping uselessly against the floor.
I put the gun to his forehead and pull the trigger.
The last man alive wheezes somewhere behind me. I turn, take a few steps, and crouch beside him. He’s shaking, trying to press both hands against the wound in his stomach like he can hold himself together through sheer effort. For a second, I just watch him breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
I wait until he meets my eyes through the mask. Then I fire. The sound rings out, then leaves the warehouse completely swallowed in stillness.