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Another thud. Something rattled. I heard a grunt.
“What the fuck?” I said and walked toward the room. “Robin? You okay?”
I heard another grunt, this one distinctly masculine.
My pulse spiked. I threw open the door.
And found a man with his arm around Robin’s throat.
He had dark hair, dark eyes, wore a black shirt and jeans. His arms were covered in shitty jailhouse tattoos and his beard was scraggly and uneven. He was choking her out, but she was trying to slam an elbow into his gut and stomp on his foot. She was doing a good job, but the guy was twice her size, and seemingly hell-bent on making sure she stopped.
I ran over to them just as he looked up at me.
Then punched him in the nose.
It wasn’t the hardest punch ever, since I had to make sure I didn’t hit her. But I got him square in the nose and felt a satisfying crunch as the cartilage and bone snapped. He grunted and his grip released. I ripped his arm off Robin and shoved her onto the bed as I slammed my other fist into the guy’s gut.
He doubled over. I brought my knee up and smashed it into his face.
He stumbled backwards and ran up against the wall. His eyes went blank as he came at me, punching hard and furious. I turned the first blow, took one on the cheek, returned with my own jab to his broken nose. He gasped in pain and staggered back.
I pushed hard and hit him three more times. Each punch made a dull thud. His body crumpled forward as I brought my elbow into the back of his neck.
He dropped. I fell on top of him, my hand rifling over his body.
There, in the back of his waistband. I grabbed the gun and ripped it free.
He stared up at me as I shoved the barrel of his own gun against his face.
The whole fight lasted less than ten seconds.
Robin coughed, gagged, coughed again.
“You okay?” I asked. “Robin, you alive?”
“I’m okay,” she said, gasping for air. “I’m alive, I’m okay. What the fuck, what the hell, what the hell?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Stay calm.” I looked back at the guy. He was younger than I guessed at first. The beard threw me off. His eyes were a deep, dark brown and his teeth were white and straight, though tinged with blood from his smashed nose and torn gums.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“No name,” he said. “Fuck you. No name.”
I pressed the gun harder. “What’s your name?” I asked again.
He spit at me. I hit him in the face with the butt of the gun.
He groaned and his head rolled back.
“I can keep hitting you all night,” I said. “Or you can save us both the trouble and talk.”
“Donald,” he said. “My name’s Donald.”
“All right, Donald. Who sent you?”
“Fuck you.”
I hit him again. Then again. Then again. Robin sat up and stared as Donald groaned on the floor. I stood up and kicked him in the gut.
“Who sent you?” I asked. “Make me say it one more time and I won’t waste another breath on you.”
“Volkov,” he said, wheezing. “Volkov sent me.”
I glanced at Robin. Not a big surprise, but still.
“Why were you choking the girl?”
“Sent… to kill her. And you.” He grinned at me. “Others will come. Just you—”
I shot him in the face before he could finish that sentence.
His head exploded. Blood and gore splattered across the room. Robin let out a strangled scream and fell backwards. She covered her head with a pillow and I heard a strangled sob.
Interesting. She hadn’t reacted like that to her own cousin getting killed. She was probably too afraid to freak out, or maybe getting brought to the brink of death terrified her even more.
Fucking bastards. I expected them to come for me.
But I never thought they’d go after her.
I sighed and tossed the gun onto Donald’s corpse.
“What an asshole,” I said. “What a fucking asshole. Now we have to run, all because he had to come into my apartment and try to kill us.” I shook my head, annoyed and frustrated. “I’m going to have to find a new fucking place to live.”
Robin lay curled into the fetal position on the bed.
I let her stay there while I packed a bag. At least her stuff was ready to go. I grabbed my black duffel bag from the closet and jammed clothes inside. When I finished, she sat up and rubbed at her face. Donald’s blood spread across the carpet in a thick puddle.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Packing.”
“Where are you going?”
“We’re going somewhere safe.”
“But—”
“We can’t stay here.” I gestured at the body. “We could get rid of this, but a neighbor would’ve heard that gunshot. Plus, they knew where I live, which means they’ll send someone else. It’s not safe here anymore.”
