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“Goin’—to Ivan—please…”
“No.” The word punches from me like a wound, and I hold her close, petting her hair and trying to stem the blood flow as if my touch will soothe her.
“P–Please,” she gurgles again, and I instantly know what she’s asking.
She doesn’t want to suffer. She doesn’t want to drown.
What remains of my heart tears itself to shreds as I pull my knife from my belt. It slips in my blood-soaked fingers and the world around me blurs. She nods, slowly dying in my arms, and a coldness sweeps through my entire soul.
I press the blade to her chest.
Nastja nods jerkily.
The blade slides deep into her chest far too easily. Her eyes widen with just one blink.
Then her hand falls away from my shirt, her body limp.
38
KRISTOF
Drive.
I have to drive.
I have to get to Alena.
To Alena.
Ivan is dead. My brother. My baby brother.
We never spent enough time together. I should have made more of an effort. I should have paid more attention to the quiet way he lived his life, his unwavering love and loyalty.
I don’t know shit about gardening. How am I going to keep his plants alive?
A dry, hollow laugh escapes me, and I tighten my hands on the steering wheel. They slip slightly from the wet blood coating my palms, and my stomach flips tightly.
I’m covered in blood.
Drenched in it.
Nastja’s blood.
Her weight still sits like a ghost in my arms, a pressure I can’t shake. Her warm blood turns cold on my clothes, sticky on my skin and dry on my neck.
Every time I blink, her face floats before me. Her wide, terrified eyes. The blood pulsing from her throat like a free-flowing hose. The death grip of her hands as she begged me to end it quickly and painlessly.
The wet shuck of the knife as it slid into her chest echoes in my ears with every heartbeat, and the flash of tired gratefulness in her eyes will stay with me for eternity. It does nothing to calm the guilt and anger raging like a storm in my chest.
Because she’s dead.
My sister is dead. My brother is dead.
And it’s all my fault.
I can’t even fathom how I could have done things differently. Maybe I should have brought more men. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Aleksander talk and shot him immediately. I was too cocky. Too selfish. Too blinded in my determination to show I was the top dog.
Now, my siblings lie cold in their graves, and I am alone.
