I just drove, jaw clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel, the city bleeding away behind me as the road stretched out ahead. The clinic sat just outside the city limits, hidden by pines and promises. It looked peaceful from the outside.
They always fucking do.
But I knew better.
I walked through the front doors with my best fake smile, palms slick in my gloves and temper under control—for now.
Fear has a smell. People like me learn it early.
The receptionist barely looked up. I didn’t waste time with pleasantries.Her fingers froze on the keyboard when she finally met my eyes.
“I need to speak to whoever runs this place,” I said calmly. “Now.”
She swallowed. Once. Then nodded like her neck had forgotten how to do anything else. Phones were lifted. Whispers happened behind hands and then she rose from her chair. “Follow me,” she said, her voice tight. I followed her down a sterile corridor that reeked of false cleanliness. She stopped outside a door with frosted glass and gold lettering that read ADMINISTRATION. She gestured toward the chair beside it. “He’ll see you in a moment.”
I laughed. “That’s cute,” I said, walking past. “But no one keeps me waiting.”
I threw open the door and stepped inside.
A man in a designer suit sat behind the desk, speaking to what looked like a well-fed donor or another snake in polished shoes. Didn’t matter.
“Out,” I said flatly.
The man in the chair blinked. “Excuse me?”
I smiled without humor. “Get the fuck out before I start rearranging bones just to pass the time.”
He scrambled up, face pale, clutching his briefcase like it was a shield.
“Be a doll and shut that door behind you,” I added as he bolted.
The administrator—a soft-bellied, smooth-skinned puppet in an overpriced suit—rose to his feet, trying to salvage dignity. “Who the hell are you? You can’t just barge in here like this—”
I was already circling the desk.
I pressed both hands down on his shoulders and shoved.
“Sit.”
He did.
“Let’s not waste oxygen,” I said pleasantly and leaned in. “Irina Sokolova. You know her. Of course you do. Her husband compensates you generously to make sure she stays right where she is.”
His eyes twitched. Sweat gathered at his temples.
“Before you do anything stupid,” I continued, voice low, casual, almost amused, “I’d think real fucking hard about calling Sokolov or anyone else. Because if you do—I’ll know. I know where your wife does yoga. I know what school your daughter goes to. I know what your son jerks off to in his upstairs room.”
I leaned down, close enough for him to smell my aftershave.“I’ll slip into their rooms at night and paint their pillows red if a single word about this leaves your mouth.”
His skin went paper white. One hand trembled under the desk.
I straightened and patted his shoulder, almost fond.
“There we go. Communication—what a beautiful thing.”
I dragged a chair out and dropped into it like it was my office, boots landing against the edge of his desk.My hands laced together near my mouth, elbows resting casually on the armrests as I stared him down like this was a friendly little chat over coffee and not a warning before execution.
“Now. Back to business. Irina Sokolova. If I were to go see her right now, do you think she’d be able to hold a conversation? You think she’d even recognize her own fucking name?”
