Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
If I left it, I'd have nothing to protect myself.
If I took it, I became something else—someone who might have to decide whether to fire it.
My grandmother's face appeared in my mind’s eye. She depended on me. If I died tonight, what would happen to her?
I seized the gun, wrapping my fingers around its grip.
The weight surprised me; it was heavier than I expected, solid and deadly. My index finger hovered near the trigger as nausea and resolve battled within me.
It was either the smartest move or the dumbest decision of my life, but I had no time for second-guessing.
I was leaving one way or another.
I crouched low, staying beneath the cubicle walls as I scurried toward the back exit. The gun bumped against my thigh with each movement, a constant reminder of how drastically my situation had changed. Every creak of the building made me freeze, my ears straining for any sign of Pavel's return.
The door opened with a tiny click, and I peered into the hallway.
The main fluorescents were off, leaving only recessed lighting casting eerie shadows along the corridor. The stringent odor of industrial cleaner—usually just an occupational annoyance—now smelled like safety, like the normal world I was desperately trying to return to.
If Pavel remained on this floor, his men would be nearby too.
I hugged the shadows as I crept toward the stairwell door.
"Yeah, it's done. No, they don't know yet," a man's voice said as he appeared at the other end of the narrow hallway.
I ducked into an office before he spotted me.
Pressing against the wall behind the door, I held my breath. The gun felt impossibly loud in my hand, as if it might announce its presence.
He laughed into his phone. “His head exploded like a fucking watermelon. You should have been here. Bitch to clean up all that blood though.”
The casual tone made my skin crawl as he joked about the man whose brains were splattered across marble.
Static from a radio crackled, and Pavel's voice cut through.
"The cleaner ran off. She's still in the building, probably headed outside. Find her and bring her to me now."
A whimper of fear crawled up my throat.
I barely contained it as the man swore and ended his call.
Silence followed. My fingers pressed against the wall as my legs quivered. I clenched my muscles to stop their movement, remaining motionless.
The door to the office I was hiding in swung open and the man stepped into the room.
I froze, not even daring to breathe as I cowered behind the door, barely concealed.
My gaze was trained on the sliver of space between the door hinges and the wall, sweat trickling between my shoulder blades as I stood braced to run if discovered.
He cursed under his breath then left, slamming the door closed behind him.
I exhaled silently and leaned my head against the wall.
He opened several more doors down the hall, each one slamming shut with a finality that made me flinch.
After a few minutes of quiet, I eased the door open a crack and peeked out.
The man was gone, with no sign of other searchers...yet.
I crept in the opposite direction toward the stairwell and slipped through, closing the door softly. Voices echoed in the stairwell, but from floors above, moving away. The concrete walls amplified and distorted their words, to the point where they sounded almost inhuman.
"What are we supposed to do when we find the bitch? Kill her?" asked someone with a Russian accent that wasn't nearly as refined as Pavel's.
"Nah. Boss wants her alive, but he didn't say we couldn't take her for a spin first," another replied. They laughed as they climbed another story and exited the stairwell.
A chill washed over me as my mind raced with what they planned. I clutched the gun tighter, suddenly grateful for its reassuring weight.
No time to dwell on it.
I moved quickly but silently, eyes fixed on my feet to avoid tripping on the stairs. The rubber soles of my sneakers squeaked occasionally against the smooth concrete treads, each sound like a scream in the otherwise silent stairwell.
Down, down, down.
I wasted no time descending, not looking up until reaching the large steel door covered in warning signs.
Do Not Open—Alarm Will Sound.
If the Ivanovs were here tonight, they'd disabled the security systems.
Men like Pavel didn't leave electronic trails.
The best way to avoid police involvement was to avoid creating evidence.
I pushed that thought aside, realizing I was now evidence they would need to erase.
No point worrying about what I couldn't control. I pressed the door handle, bracing for alarms in case my assumption proved wrong.
Nothing happened.
I pushed the door open just enough to slip through.
Shifting the gun to my other hand, I ran my sweat-slicked palm over my thigh. The metal seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.
The cool, crisp air outside helped clear my thoughts.