“You wanted to erase me from her head?” I hissed. “Now I’ll erase you from the fucking map.”
When he choked, I pinched his nose shut and kept shoving. “Swallow, you motherfucker,” I snarled. “Swallow every last one. You filth. You fucking filth.” He gasped, sputtered, foamed, but I didn’t stop. His throat convulsed, his eyes rolling, legs kicking weakly as his body started to rebel.
“Swallow!” I roared again, holding his mouth shut, blocking his nose until he gulped from reflex. “You nearly ended my girl. This is the price.”
He gurgled—spasms wracking his frame, eyes bulging, bile rising. Foam and spit trickled down his chin as the pills did their work. Still, I shoved the last few past his teeth.
I watched him gag on his own poison. Watched the panic bleed into horror, then into something slack and twitching.
I took the car keys from his pocket. Then I hauled him up and out like a sack of rot. I wasn’t leaving this mess in Valeria’s apartment. Whatever she was, she was still Kira’s friend.
I found his car, shoved him into the passenger seat, and left him there in the rain, engine cold, doors locked. He wouldn’t see the morning.
Justice doesn’t always look clean. But it’s final. And so was he.
I got back in the car and drove to her.
Back to the only place that mattered.
I returned soaked and shaking, rainwater and sweat clinging to my skin. I peeled off my coat and headed for the shower. The hot water hit my skin, washing away the dirt. I scrubbed until the steam blurred the mirror and the heat seared some of the filth from my bones.
I dried off quickly, threw on a pair of sweats, and padded barefoot into the bedroom. She was still there, but the pile of duvets had shifted—kicked half-off in her sleep. Her skin had regained some color, warmth lingering now where there’d only been ice before. Her face was flushed with heat, her breathing even. I paused in the doorway, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
I climbed into the bed and dragged her into me like she belonged there—because she fucking did. Her body curled soft and warm against mine, finally yielding after hours of ice. She shifted once, a small sound in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Her breath brushed my throat, slow and even, the only thing tethering me to sanity. I held on until the adrenaline bled out, until the violence in my veins quieted to a simmer.
32
Where It Hurts the Most
—Kira—
Iwoke slowly, as though my body was dragging itself through mud.
Light hit me like something violent.
Too bright. Too sharp. It burned through my eyelids and straight into my skull, and I groaned, trying to turn away from it, but even that felt like too much. My head throbbed—deep, heavy, wrong—like every pulse was pushing against bone.
Fuck.
My mouth was dry. My stomach rolled. Something sour climbed up my throat, and I swallowed it back, barely.
My heart was racing—too fast. It wasn’t just the speed of anxiety; it was chemically unmoored, beating like it had forgotten its rhythm and was now trying to outrun something invisible.
When I opened my eyes again, more carefully this time, the ceiling above me confirmed what I already feared: I wasn’t home. The surface was concrete-gray, with clean lines. No chandelier. No gold. No velvet curtains. My throat tightened.
I tried moving my arm, and pain bloomed instantly behind my eyes.
“Easy.” A voice reached me—low, familiar in the most dangerous way.
I froze.
Maksym stepped into my field of vision, already kneeling beside the bed, his presence overwhelming in its closeness. He wore a dark hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, his damp hair clinging lightly to his forehead, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. In one hand, he held a glass of water; in the other, two small pills rested on his palm.
For a moment, I just stared at him without blinking, trying to decide if he was real or if my brain was still misfiring.
“Take this,” he said gently. “It’ll help with the headache.”
I swallowed, my mouth thick with bitterness and a metallic taste that felt foreign.
