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“Fuck what O’Sullivan wants. You better crawl as fast as you can, Ada, because when I catch up with you, I am going to beat you to death for this.”
I’m going to die. I’m going to die.
Every movement takes precision and concentration to stop me passing out from the pain. I’m leaving a trail of blood behind from the deep scrapes on my elbows.
Where is he? Why isn’t he following?
I hear his footsteps fade back downstairs, and then they’re louder again. I’ve crawled all the way to my bedroom door when his mocking voice rings out.
“You ran right past my weapon of choice in the hallway, Ada. Seems only right I break the rest of you with it.”
My blood turns to ice again.
He has a baseball bat.
I can hear him trailing it along the wall behind me now, a sinister scrape that makes me crawl faster.
He’s only a few metres away.
Tearing through my lip with my teeth, I force myself onto my hands and knees, jerking sideways with all my strength as he takes a swing and the metal bites into the door frame, splintering wood in all directions.
Throwing myself across the bed, I duck just in time before another swing destroys my bedside table and shatters my lamp, pelting me with shards of ceramic and glass.
“You want to know how we knew about Lastra, Ada?” he taunts. “You should not leave notes from your lover in your pillowcase for your housekeeper to find!”
Valeriya.
Watchful silent eyes waiting to ruin me.
I don’t roll away from his next swing quick enough and the tip of the baseball bat catches my hip.
“Shit!” I scream.
“Like that, did you?”
He swings again as I scramble to the other side of the bed and tumble to the floor.
Where’s the gun? Please don’t tell me Valeriya found the gun, too.
Ramming my hand under the mattress, I search frantically for the weapon as Kirill circles the bed, lifting his baseball bat for another swing. His nose is bleeding freely now, and his face is a red mess because of it.
“You were so pretty when you were a child,” he murmurs, as my fingers connect with cold steel. “And now you are so ugly and damaged.”
Not to Frankie.
Not to the only man who matters.
Please God, work for me. Please let me aim straight.
Wrenching the gun out from its hiding place, I fling myself backwards against the wall and aim it at his head. “Get the fuck away from me, you sick bastard!” I scream, as every emotion I’ve repressed over the years comes spilling out of me. My hand is shaking so hard I can’t even keep the muzzle straight. “Just fucking die!”
I watch his expression switch from surprise to anger, and that’s when I close my eyes and fire.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
