Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Sara saw them die.
She saw me kill them.
“Can you take Ilya’s shift for the rest of the night?” I ask Anton when we stop in front of Sara’s house. With the big oaks shading the driveway and the nearest neighbors a good distance away, the place is nice and private—great in a situation like this. It’s too bad she’s selling the house; I’ve grown to really like it.
“No problem,” Anton replies. “I’ll be around. You going to be here until morning?”
“Yes.” I glance at Sara, who’s still staring straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to our arrival. “I’ll be with her.”
Taking Sara’s hand, I tell her in English, “We’re here, ptichka. Come on, let’s get you home.”
Her slender fingers are icy in my grip; she’s still in shock. However, as I help her out of the car, she looks up at me and asks hoarsely, “What about the clinic?”
“What about it?”
“They’ll wonder what happened to me.”
“No, they won’t.” I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out her phone, which I got from her bag during our trip. “I sent them this.” I show her the text message about having to see to an emergency at the hospital.
“Oh.” She gives me a perplexed look. “You sent this?”
I nod, slipping the phone back into my pocket as I lead her away from the car. “You were a little out of it during the ride.” That’s actually an understatement; after I dragged her into the car, she stopped fighting and became almost catatonic.
She blinks. “But… what about the bodies?”
“That’s taken care of, too,” I assure her. “Nothing will tie you to that scene. You’re safe.”
Sara visibly shudders, so I quickly usher her into the house, opening the door with keys I fished out from her bag earlier. I have my own pair of keys—I had them made a month ago, when I returned for her—but I’d rather Sara not know that. If she changes the locks again, it’ll be annoying to go through the process a second time.
“Here, sit,” I say, leading her to the couch. “I’ll make you some chamomile tea.”
“No, I…” She twists out of my hold. “I have to wash my hands.”
“All right.” I remember she has a thing about that. “Go for it.”
She disappears around the corner into the bathroom, and I walk over to the kitchen sink to soap up as well. I was careful to keep out of the spray of blood as I sliced those men’s throats, but I still find a few small red stains on my forearms.
Hopefully, Sara hasn’t seen them.
I wash my hands and forearms, then turn on the electric tea kettle. When the water boils, I make two cups of tea and carry them over to the table. Sara is not back yet, so I decide to check on her.
Walking over to the bathroom, I knock on the door. “Everything okay?”
There’s no answer, only the sound of running water. Worried, I try the door handle but find it locked.
“Sara?”
No response.
“Sara, open the door.”
Nothing.
I take a calming breath and say in a softer voice, “Ptichka, I know you’re upset, but if you don’t open the door now, I’ll have no choice but to break it.” Or to pick the lock, but I don’t say that. Breaking the door sounds way more threatening.
The water turns off, but the door remains locked.
“Sara. I’m giving you to the count of five. One. Two. Three—”
The lock clicks.
Relieved, I push the door open—and realize I was right to be concerned. Sara is sitting on the floor, her back against the tub and her knees drawn up to her chest. She’s not making a sound, but her face is streaked with tears, and she’s shaking.
Fuck. I really shouldn’t have killed them in front of her.
“Sara…” I kneel next to her, and she scoots to the side, away from me. Ignoring her reaction, I gently grasp her arm and pull her into my embrace. “I won’t hurt you, ptichka,” I whisper into her hair when I feel her shaking intensify. “You’re safe with me.”
A stifled sob escapes her throat, then another and another, and suddenly, she’s clinging to me, her slender arms folding around my neck as she begins to cry in earnest. I rub her back in soothing circles as she shakes with uncontrollable sobs, and she grips me tighter, burying her face against my neck. I feel the wetness of her tears, and I’m reminded of that time in the kitchen, when I was trying to calm her after the waterboarding. The memory sickens me; I can’t imagine doing that to her now, can’t picture hurting her for any reason.
She’s not just a person to me now; she’s my world, and I will protect her from everyone and everything.
It takes a long time for her sobs to ease, so long that my legs feel stiff when I finally get up and gently pull her to her feet.