I pushed through the front door of my building without another glance, boots thudding on the stairs—thinking about mygirl. Unstable, feral, mine. Fuck, I’d just left her and I already wanted her back.
My body ached for her. My mouth. My hands. Every part of me wanted to see her face, touch her again, make sure she was okay.But not like this. Not fucking drenched in the blood of the man who tried to take her.
I headed straight for the kitchen, opened the freezer, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of vodka. The cap twisted off with a crack, and I raised it to my lips, taking several deep swigs until the burn hit the back of my throat and spread through my chest like fire.
Clothes came off on the way to the bathroom—shirt first, then pants, underwear, all of it peeled off and left in a trail. The water in the shower blasted on, hot and furious, steam curling up the tiled walls.
Red swirled around my feet and circled the drain.
I scrubbed hard. Harder than necessary. Until my skin turned pink and raw, until there was no trace left—no blood, no grime, nothing but clean water sliding off me.
When I stepped out, I wrapped a towel around my waist and made my way to the living room. I lit a cigarette with slow, deliberate fingers, the flame dancing at the end before settling into a steady glow.
The couch groaned beneath me as I dropped onto it, muscles aching, joints stiff. I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, letting the noise fill the silence. Smoke curled upward, lazy and slow, coiling around my head. The sun was higher now, its light slanting through the blinds in pale stripes.
The city outside was waking up.
I leaned back and closed my eyes.
I was gone before the cigarette burned out.
Iwoke to the sound of voices drifting in from the TV.
The screen was still glowing, casting a pale flicker across the walls. I blinked a few times, groggy, and rubbed a hand over my face.
“...two bodies discovered early this morning in a wooded area outside Kyiv...”
That got my attention.
I sat up fast, the sudden movement yanking the last remnants of sleep out of me.
“...sources say one of the men was found in an extremely mutilated state by local residents gathering firewood. One of them reportedly fainted at the scene.”
Shit.
I grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.
“...no arms. Tongue removed. Eyes gouged out. Authorities believe the victim to be Felix Vlasov, the son of a prominent Moscow businessman and fiancé to the daughter of a powerful Ukrainian oligarch, due to documents found on his person—though forensic identification is still pending confirmation...”
They’d already found him.
I hadn’t expected it to hit the news this fast. Just hours later, and already some unlucky assholes out collecting firewood at dawn had stumbled into my mess like clueless hikers wandering into a bear trap.
Apparently, he hadn’t even died where I left him. There was a trail. A long one. Blood smeared through the underbrush like a breadcrumb path from hell. He’d wandered—staggered, really—trying to escape. No arms. No tongue. Just leaking out onto the forest floor with every step until his body gave up and bled out alone in the dirt.
Fitting, really.
I leaned forward and braced my elbows on my knees, letting out a slow breath.
Did she see this?
Had she heard already? Was she watching this exact report from her golden cage, eyes wide, stomach twisting, realizing exactly what I’d done?
And if she was—what was she thinking?
Did she think I was a monster?
Iama monster.
