Four bodies.Done.
I straighten slowly, scanning the room out of habit even though I already know there’s no one else here. Still nothing. No reaction or emotion can be found. It’s like the part of me that used to feel things didn’t survive the last few months. Like they carved it out piece by piece until there was nothing left to protest what my hands do. With my grip still on the gun, I step over the fallen chair and head back toward the door without another glance behind me. Then I text Alexei.
It’s done. On my way.
The mask rides in the passenger seat again the whole way there. I let out a quiet, humorless snort at the absurdity of it. The city glows around me, the meth from earlier still lingering in myblood. My hands feel steady, but the rest of me feels…off. I guess I should be used to that kind of shit by now.
I glance down at my all-black suit, looking like someone who belongs on the top floor of a luxury building. Maybe dealing with stocks, finances, or even real estate. Not someone who just stepped over four bodies.
Alexei’s city penthouse towers over the block, warm light radiating through the windows against a dark sky. Valet takes the car without a word, and I grab the mask from the seat before stepping out, shoving it carelessly into the glove compartment. The elevator ride up is filled with instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. I stare at my reflection in the mirrored wall—eyes flat, posture relaxed, expression almost bored. I guess I look fine. I don’t look like anything is wrong necessarily.
The doors slide open, and sound hits me immediately. Bass-heavy music, laughter, the overlapping excitement of conversations. Then the purple, red, and blue pulsing lights. The penthouse living room stretches wide, the city skyline visible through massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Clusters of people move across marble floors, drinks in hand, bodies swaying lazily to the music.
It’s calmer than the last event. There seems to be fewer politicians, but it’s still filthy in its own way. I step inside, barely making it three feet before Adriana finds me. Her red dress catches the light like liquid fire as she pushes through the crowd, relief flashing across her face the second she sees me. Her hands land lightly on my arms, eyes scanning my face like she’s checking for damage.
“You’re later than I thought you’d be,” she says quietly.
“I’m good.”
She studies me for another moment, and I can tell she sees the emptiness sitting behind my eyes. I don’t try to hide it. I don’t have the energy. Before she can say anything else, a serverpasses carrying a tray of vodka shots. The woman’s outfit barely qualifies as clothing—lace, straps, and nothing else. Alexei’s usual aesthetic.
I take one glass. Then another. Then a third. The burn barely registers going down.
“Jesus, Jude,” Adriana murmurs, touching my wrist. “Maybe slow down—”
I wave her off and toss back the fourth shot, setting the empty glasses onto the tray without looking at her. I can’t feel anything tonight. Not even a little. Perhaps alcohol will allow for something.
A hand lands warmly on my shoulder, and I already know who it is. “There he is,” Alexei says, smiling like a proud mentor. “Excellent work tonight.”
I don’t respond. I just stare ahead, eyes unfocused.
He chuckles softly, then guides me a few steps away from the center of the room. Adriana follows automatically, staying close enough that her shoulder brushes mine.
“I wanted to check something,” Alexei says casually, already reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “You’ve been so good.”
I barely pay attention...that is, until he pulls out the photo. The second I see it, my entire body locks. Heat rushes up my spine so fast it almost feels like another electric shock. My teeth clench hard enough to crack them, my breath going sharp through my nose as the image burns into my vision.
Her.
Every muscle in my shoulders tightens instinctively, fists curling at my sides. A violent urge surges up in my chest, like a switch flipping without warning. “Get her out of my fucking face,” I snap.
Alexei doesn’t move the photo. If anything, his smile deepens slightly. “Why?”
“I said get it away from me.”
“Why?” he repeats.
My pulse pounds hard in my ears, my skin buzzing like I want to tear something apart just to make the feeling stop. “I want nothing to do with her,” I say, each word filled with fury.“Nothing.Now get it. The fuck. Away from me.”
Silence lingers for half a second. Then Alexei finally lowers the photo, clearly satisfied. “Good,” he murmurs. He pats my shoulder again, almost affectionately, before stepping away to greet someone across the room, leaving me standing there with the echo of that flash of fury still vibrating through my chest.
Adriana watches me carefully, confusion and worry tangled together in her expression, but I don’t look at her. I just reach for another drink as a server passes.
Motherfucker. That fucking motherfucker.
One second I’m standing there, the echo of his approval still ringing in my ears, and the next I’m moving through the crowd without really feeling my feet touch the floor. Bodies blur past me, laughing, dancing, hands sliding over skin, mouths pressed together on couches and against walls. Someone spills a drink. Someone else shouts over the music. The bass pulses through the marble and my bones.
None of it feels real.