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Right there, seated comfortably with one leg crossed over the other on my gray settee, was the darkness himself, staring back at me with fiery green eyes, like a predator ready to rip his prey to shreds.
Egor Yezhov had escaped from the jail cell.
His lips quirked to the side and fell. And when he spoke, his brittle tone and the cold tremors running down my spine suddenly reminded me of a million and one reasons why I should never have threatened him.
“Nice place you’ve got here, Detective. Did you know, research says that organized people like yourself usually have lots of secrets buried?”
This was the best time to pull that stunt, if I had a sliver of audacity left. But I wasn’t feeling very audacious at the moment.
Iwas, however, feeling light-headed, like the ground beneath me was swaying and the Earth was spinning.
His snide comment hit a sore spot, digging up memories of my dad and uncle. But I fought to retaliate with something snarky.
“You know, I almost didn’t recognize you with this”—I motioned to his appearance— “hoodie phase you’re going through. Are you trying to drown your identity in the size of that thing?”
“I mean, that’s the point, isn’t it? To not be recognized. Although, technically, I’m not a fugitive. This isn’t a case of prison break. I was released on bail.” His eyes twinkled dangerously, and he played with the strings on the oversized hood. “You like it?”
I eyed him. His hair looked like a bird’s nest, like his fingers had rushed through his scalp multiple times, and his fingertips had something like charcoal dust on them.
“You feeling like a junkie yet?”
He laughed, and I didn’t expect the sound of it to be as hearty and throaty as it was. “Would that change your perception of me?”
My smile matched his. “You mean the perception where I see you as both a junkieanda murderer?”
That wiped the glimmer of mischief from his eyes, and he returned to assuming the stoic expressions of one of the statues in downtown LA, restating therealreason he was here.
“You know, Detective, you’ve got a lot of guts. And strangely, I like it. Coming across a woman who’s able to hold her ground is not something I see every day. But as much as I would like to commend you for your display of courage—because threatening a man like myself takes a lot of bravery—I won’t. Not everyone can do that, and the ones that did try it lived for only three hundred seconds.”
Five minutes.
I swallowed.
I had only five minutes to get out of here.
Egor was still talking. “I must say that it was as clever as it was stupid.” He tutted but was a far cry from looking disappointed. “What did you think? That I wouldn’t be able to make it out of that shithole before ten days was up? You underestimated me, andthat’sgoing to be to your detriment.”
He was right; I’d underestimated him—downplayed his true potential and, maybe, should have done better research to know who exactly I was dealing with. But there was no time for that now. I barely had three minutes on the clock.
He said to the man behind me, “Podnimi ee.”
Lift her.
I seized the moment to strike.
I twisted to my right side to create a gap big enough, clenched my fist, and swung an arm into the man behind me. My fist connected with his jaw, and he growled a dark, “Fuck.”
Quickly, I set for the hills but didn’t make it very far.
He lurched forward, grabbed my hair—why did I decide today, of all days, to put my hair in a braided ponytail?—and yanked me backward. I wrestled his side. The man with the buzzcut, the one who stood behind me, was a lot taller than I’d imagined him to be, so it was easier to attack his waistline and arms with swift punches.
He shoved me hard, but I didn’t budge. I went on defense, kicked my feet up, and swung my arm again, but I didn’t hit him in time.
His bulky arm came flying down, and his folded fingers collided with my face. Hard.
I swore.
I felt that one.
