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Afterward, I collapse onto my back, catching my breath. Angel shuffles closer to me, clutching his arm.
"Who the fuck is that in the bedroom?"
I’m still dragging in air, trying to calm the pounding of my heart. He’s referring to the dead body in the bedroom, the one this assailant obviously killed. “Oleg,” I say, my voice a low growl as I get to my knees and try to see how badly my shoulder is cut. Blood still oozes, but it’s not life -threatening. I’ve sustained far worse injuries.
Angel looks up, confusion etched on his face. “What the fuck is an Oleg?”
“He was part of my street team,” I explain, the memory of Oleg’s eager grin flashing in my mind. “A good fighter. If we could have gotten here before this asshole killed him, the three of us would have won easily.”
Angel shakes his head, disbelief in his eyes. “I didn’t know Azrael recruited that young.” Angel is staring at the dead body beside us. His face is an unrecognizable mess.
“Me, either,” I admit, frustration gnawing at me. He was barely out of his teens.
Angel’s face hardens as the realization sinks in. “This means that Azrael could be anyone.”
I snort, getting to my feet. I slowly peel off my blood-stained shirt and drop it to the ground. Leaving Angel, I enter the master bedroom, where Oleg lies still on the side of the room. I open the wardrobe and remove a fresh shirt. Before leaving the bedroom, I gather my pistol. “I’ve been surrounded by enemies my entire life. This changes nothing.”
Angel has gotten to his feet but sways slightly. He needs to patch himself up. I enter the small bathroom and run water on my shoulder. It stings like a bitch. I remove the first aid kit and patch up my shoulder as best I can before washing the blood from my face and putting on the fresh shirt. I return to Angel and hand him the first aid kit, ‘Do something with your arm.”
He takes the box and goes into the bathroom that I just came out of. I use the time to check both bodies, but like any professional, they have nothing on them. By the time Angel returns, he looks a bit better.
The apartment feels claustrophobic, the air thick with the metallic scent of freshly spilled blood.
I glance out the window, my eyes catching the figure standing across the street from the laundromat. A silent sentry. A constant observer. Taking notes. My gut tightens. Our eyes meet through the windowpane, and he dashes away.
“We need to empty out the laundromat and burn this place down,” I inform Angel, letting the curtain fall back into place.
I am a monster being hunted.
Chapter 13
Vivi
Around four in themorning, a slow, steady rain begins to fall upon the city. I see it in the distance, a sort of blurry cloud that catches the light emanating from the windows of the buildings. By the time it reaches the building I’m in, a low, rumbling thunder accompanies the raindrops. A flash of lightning strikes in the distance, and thunder answers it.
I watch the droplets of water slowly roll down the glass window panes, only paying attention to the lightning in my peripheral vision.
Nature’s cat-and-mouse game continues for an endless span of time. Lightning teases with its momentary appearance, disappearing the instant thunder deigns to answer. They never quite sync up.
So much like me and Ivan. Both of us are here…in this city…but we haven’t yet found each other. He’s thunder, chasing my lightning.
Doesn’t lightning get tired of dancing in the sky? I’m so fucking tired.
Stifling a sigh, I stand and move away from the wall of windows toward one of the stiff-looking leather chairs in front of the desk. Nikolai barricaded me in this office after our arrival earlier, one of the more private ones within a larger suite of offices on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise. It looks as though it may belong to a law firm, judging from the books on the low bookcase spanning one wall.
All I know for certain, though, is that this is not Romanov property. Nikolai had to pick the lock to get us inside. Why he chose this particular office over thousands of available others in the city is something I have yet to figure out. If I had to guess, I’d venture a Romanov property may be in this building somewhere. That’s why we were able to get through the night security checks.
If I had to make another guess, I’d say Nikolai is feeling a lot less confident about hiding in known safehouses after Damon Papparado shut him down. He’s spiraling, his every movement twitchy and agitated.
I draw in a deep breath in an effort to curb the anxiety threatening to send me into a curled-up ball on the floor. His nerves make me nervous.
He locked me in this private office so he could get a few hours of sleep in another part of the suite of rooms, but I don’t think he’s getting much rest. The front of the office I’m in is mostly glass, and every time I peek through the long, vertical blinds to look out at Nikolai, he’s sitting or lying in a different position.
It doesn’t appear that he’s able to relax enough to sleep. I laugh a little, careful to keep the sound beneath my breath.
Serves him right.
I thought of attempting to get some sleep myself, but I know it’s useless. My brain won’t shut off, won’t stop spinning in ceaseless circles. Did I make a mistake when I left with Nikolai? A huge, irreversible one?
