Page 160 of Konstantin

When I get near a window, I freeze. Voices drift through the glass, low and muffled. I push my back harder into the cold stone, every nerve on edge.

Time seems to slow, each second heavier than the last. I’m so damn close now. The electric hum of imminent danger pulses in my veins, the taste of it sharp on my tongue. One wrong move, one sound, and it’s over.

Approaching the back door, I test the handle. It turns with a soft click. I can’t help the dark smile that pulls at the corners of my mouth.

Well, they do say criminals are stupid…

The door parts inch by inch, barely a whisper, letting the cold air rush in. I hardly feel it, too focused on the low sounds inside: the faint crunch of someone chewing, the click of a TV remote, the steady hum of a conversation. There are at least three men.

I move silently, step by step, across the threshold. The smell of stale air and cheap beer fills my nose. Suppressing the urge to gag, I keep my eyes on the figure sitting on the couch, the back of his head my only view. He doesn’t notice me. His eyes are glued to the TV, completely oblivious to the fact that his life is about to end.

Creeping behind him, I already have the knife in my free hand, and with one clean slice across his throat, he doesn’t even know what hit him. Before he can react, blood gushes from him, quickly soaking through his shirt and dripping down onto the couch as he falls limp.

I back away with hushed footfalls, knowing getting rid of the others will be more challenging. Wiping the blood on my pants, I flip the knife closed and slip it back into my pocket, praying they’re actually keeping Konstantin here.

Moving silently toward the others, my body blending into the shadows, I’m consumed not by fear, but by an icy hunger for vengeance.

I sneak a glance around the corner, careful to stay out of sight. Oneman rummages through the microwave, slamming the door shut with a sharp bang that echoes, while the other lounges at the table, sipping from a glass, his attention elsewhere.

“You think the bitch isn’t showing up?” one of them says, his voice thick with a mixture of boredom and anticipation.

“I don’t see her. Do you?” The other man snickers.

As soon as he starts walking out of the kitchen, my heart rate spikes, adrenaline flooding my veins. Instinctively, I hold myself against the wall just out of sight as his footsteps grow louder, drawing nearer.

I stay perfectly still, listening to the sound of him moving past me, barely inches away. When the footfalls finally fade, my heart slams against my ribs.

Every second feels like an eternity. The quiet stretches on, broken only by the soft clink of glass and the low hum of the microwave. When I hear him return to the table, I slip back into motion.

Crouching low, I use the counters to provide me with a shield as I edge closer. All I need is two clean shots, and they’re done.

When I inch forward, I see him.

Oh God. Konstantin.

Panic hits me like a freight train, my chest seizing, the pressure crushing my lungs.

He looks just like he did in the photo they sent, but also somehow worse. Slumped in the chair, his body is so still, it’s almost as if he’s not even there. His arms are still bound behind him, his head hanging forward—a lifeless rag doll draped in the chair.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. The fury that crashes through me is violent, almost desperate. It ignites something inside me, something visceral.

They’vedone this to him. And they will pay for it.

My anger is now full-blown rage. They don’t know it yet, but their time is running out.

The moment I step into their line of sight, they’re finished. In seconds, I get to full height, firing a clean shot into the first man’s head, and before the other one even realizes what happened, he’s dead on the floor too.

Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. But I’m sure more will come. I need to get him out of here.

As soon as I rush toward Konstantin, I kneel in front of him, needing him to be alive so damn badly. I cup his face with one hand, the fingers of my other on his pulse. When I feel it, a rush of a breath leaves me, emotions clogging my throat.

He’s alive. He’s gonna be okay.

“Baby, wake up. I’m here.” I shake him, hoping whatever they gave him starts to wear off.

Removing my knife, I cut off his zip ties, setting him free.

“Konstantin, please…I need you to wake up now.”