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Chapter Eight
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I knew she was speaking to me, peppering me with questions, but it felt as though I was dreaming her, or as though we existed in two parallel universes and we’d somehow broken through to each other.
She was a devil and an angel all mixed into one.
She had the ability to hurt, but at the same time I wanted to experience her hands on my skin. Through my haze, I looked forward to her pressing a cool compress against my forehead, and even though she’d caused my wounds, and they hurt when she touched them, I knew she was helping me heal with the ointment she applied. She asked me questions, but my head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool, and even if I’d been able to think of an answer, I couldn’t get my tongue to work.
I didn’t know how much time had passed. Had I been here for hours, or had it been days?
My whole body throbbed, though the pain seemed to center in my arm and leg. Everything hurt, though, and I had the vague memory of falling, but I couldn’t remember why. I searched my mind, trying to recall what had happened. I remembered the two men I had killed, but what had happened after that? She’d come at me with a knife, but then …
It came back to me in a flash. The woman with the tattoos and the cool hands had thrown me down the stairs, I remembered now, the inelegant tumbling and bumping, and hitting the bottom, only for the two bodies to end up piled on top of me.
It hadn’t been the highlight of my career so far.
My pride had been injured as much as my body, but I knew an injured pride wouldn’t kill me.
There was something else important I needed to remember. It hovered at the back of my brain like a hummingbird, flitting away every time I reached for it. But a certainty filled me.
I couldn’t stay here. It was dangerous to remain in the same place for too long. People would catch up with me, though at that moment, I couldn’t piece my thoughts together for long enough to remember who.
