Page 26

I couldn't return to my apartment. It wouldn’t take long for them to learn my real address and then that would be the first place they'd look.

My grandmother's nursing home was too obvious as well.

I needed somewhere temporary, just for the rest of the night.

Marcy from the club might let me crash on her couch.

Or maybe that shelter downtown that didn't ask questions.

My steps lightened as I pushed harder, ignoring my protesting thighs.

One more turn and I'd reach the main street with its businesses and steady traffic flow, busy even at this hour.

One more turn to freedom.

Nearly tasting liberty, I rounded the sharp corner, only to barely avoid colliding with an unfamiliar guard, a massive gun strapped to his chest.

Before he could react, I raisedmy weapon.

It trembled in my hand, but I aimed directly at his head.

My finger moved to the trigger, applying just enough pressure to feel the resistance. For a heartbeat, I saw myself pulling it, saw his head exploding like the man Pavel had killed. The image sickened me, yet something dark inside me whispered it might be necessary.

"Move," I said through gritted teeth. "Or I swear to God I'll shoot."

The guard hesitated, his eyes assessing whether I was capable of murder.

I cocked the hammer, the metallic click echoing between the buildings.

He raised his hands and stepped aside.

"You won't get far," he snarled, his accent thicker than Pavel's. "He owns this city."

I didn't respond.

No reason to. We both knew he was probably right.

I took two giant steps sideways, circling him and leaving plenty of distance between us. I couldn't risk getting close enough for him to seize the gun.

His eyes darted between my face and the weapon repeatedly.

I read his thoughts clearly.

He viewed me as a coward, a pathetic, lost girl. He doubted I would pull the trigger. He believed he could easily overpower me.

Radio static crackled. Pavel's voice cut in over the line: “Goddammit. Who the fuck has eyes on her?”

We both glanced at the radio clipped to his belt.

I raised the gun a few inches even as he lowered his hand toward his radio.

Testing me.

Calling my bluff.

Dammit. He was right. I couldn’t shoot.

Instead I ran.