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A sweaty MMA gym was a place I visited daily, where we all gathered to deal with problems the only way we knew how: by throwing punches until exhaustion overtook us.

Fighting might have been a group activity, but I was utterly alone.

No matter how interested I might have been, approaching anyone was out of the question. Not that I was afraid. Week after week, I watched the men spar in the cage, proving what I’d long known: I had my work cut out for me.

All this time, I dodged questions, kept to myself, and avoided any attention. A big portion of my brain was still paranoid, playing Mother’s words on repeat.

“Do not let them find you.” If only I knew who she was referring to.

The more I learned about my past and the secrets well buried, the angrier they made me. This wasn’t a revenge path I was on, but one of self-discovery, with a future full of possibilities in mind. Distant future, I thought.

I finished my regular session at the gym, packed my bag, and was about to head home. The usually active place was quite deserted, probably something to do with the recent trail of deaths showing up all over the city.

The search engine I developed alerted me every time the number grew, popping notifications on the screen like it was the Fourth of July. Shit was going down, and I wasn’t anywhere close to being ready. The plan remained the same: continue watching from a safe distance.

The changing room’s door was left open, but I stopped at the threshold.

The entire room spun as I found myself in a standoff.

A tall man stood in the middle, surrounded by three mean-looking men I’d never seen here before.

I recognized the tall man, but there was no sign of the crew he usually surrounded himself with.

His name began with I. Whenever his buds spoke it, I convinced myself it was “Lia.” But the name didn’t roll off my tongue the same way it did theirs.

Images of bodies lying on the ground flashed through my mind as I stared at the scene with a blank expression.

The logical step would be to use the advantage of my unannounced presence and backtrack to where I came from. Content with the decision, I was about to take the first step back when his eyes flicked to me. Given the lack of anything interesting around, the other pairs followed.

Confused about how he sensed my presence, certain I wasn’t even breathing, I eyed the tall man cautiously, but it was the stranger closest to me who approached first. My head snapped to the older man, assessing the level of danger, before his voice registered.

“Who do we have here?” He waved me over. “Come over here, doll. ”

A shrug might have escaped me at the sleazy comment, but I was too busy calculating the possibilities. Any hesitation on my part could be my last move.

I remained still, fingernails digging into my palms as I controlled each breath, willing every twitch of my muscles into submission. My gaze locked on the sole man in the group I recognized, seeking the familiarity of his eyes, but whatever they tried to communicate got lost in translation.

The turmoil of thoughts was still stirring when a slow-motion nod kicked my ass into gear. Now I understood. Between the two of us, our chances of leaving unharmed increased.

I allowed myself a second of panic to filter out the adrenaline, then launched at the one closest to me. The others were too wrapped up in each other, just as I needed them to be.

In seconds, I grabbed the gun he pulled, the handle warm from his touch. In a reverse move I didn’t know I was capable of, I pointed the tip at him. The old man never saw me coming. His underestimation was my advantage.

Fingers wrapped around the metal, I factored in the gun’s weight, making sure my breath was steady. In a blink, I was transported back to the house, imagining myself in the very spot my mother stood. The gray walls of the gym suddenly turned yellow.

I remembered Mom picking the color, insisting the sun should be visible from even the darkest corners. The memory of paintbrushes and smudges that took ages to scrub off my fingers granted me the last bit of strength I lacked. Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.

Bang.

The fallback from the shot didn’t faze me. Hours spent at the gun range had ensured that.

The man fell to his knees before crumpling to the floor, his body outstretched on the mat.

A trail of blood gushed from the hole between his eyes, sliding down his forehead, and I followed the movement until the drop disappeared down his neck.

Blood spots formed on the collar of his shirt, staining the white linen.

How strange, I thought, to witness life leave his body and see his vacant eyes locked on mine. Who was he? What sort of life had he led? Did I just turn someone into a widow? An orphan, like me?

He stared, long gone, but beyond the emptiness hid a look of shock. He spent his last seconds staring at his executioner.

A little girl. A useless woman. A weakling. I’ve made peace with the perceptions that followed me. Has he made peace with death? Accepted the higher probability that comes with the lifestyle?

Strong arms snatched me by the shoulders, snapping me out of the trance. Eyes narrowing at the intruder, I hissed the best response I could manage, then swatted his hands away.

I couldn’t recall a time when someone had touched me without my notice.

“We need to get out of here. My guys will handle the rest,” he said, his tone blunt. Before I could reply, I was shoved out the door and into the SUV parked outside.

Despite the season, the air inside the car was surprisingly warm.

The leather-covered seats invited me to touch the soothing texture, and I did, drawing circles under my knees, enjoying the comfort it brought.

A driver’s license wasn’t high on the priority list. The handful of instances I’ve spent in a vehicle were in single digits.

Still, I wished to experience the freedom.

Aware of the lack of shaking or any reaction that would signify what transpired, I stared ahead, far too calmly. I killed a man. A dangerous individual. But was he?

“Who were they?” I addressed the stranger beside me for the very first time.

“She speaks.” He chuckled, his accent catching my attention, the melodic sound strangely familiar .

“Yeah. I just asked you a question,” I yelled back, my voice rising an octave with every word.

“They were there to cause trouble. You possibly just saved my life.” With his hand on the wheel, he turned to the passenger’s seat, looking me dead in the eye. “The better question is: who are you?”

His gaze called to me, but I ignored the intensity and faced the window instead. My shoulders slumped at the untrue words about to leave my mouth. “No one.”

“Right.” He scoffed, not buying it.

“Who do you run with?” he asked casually, as though no one could be without an association. To his credit, it was unusual in this city. You were at least a low-ranked somebody.

“Nobody,” I repeated, louder this time.

He shot me a sharp look. “You do now.”

His words didn’t sit well with me, alarm bells sounding in my mind. “I don’t think so. Did you not hear me?”

I knew I was pushing it, but there was something about his tone that made me dig my heels in.

He refused to budge. “I did. But you just saved my life. And that comes with consequences.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d do just fine. I’ve seen you fight.” Far too many times.

“Probably,” he smirked. “But you’ve got skills I’m interested in. And what you just did? In my world, people get rewarded for that shit.”

“I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re offering.”

His gaze didn’t waver, shifting between the streets and me in the passenger seat. “At least hear me out. You might wanna lie low until my guys clean up the mess.”

I mentally slapped myself for not even thinking about the bodies and the evidence we left behind .

“Your guys?” I chuckled, trying to keep the disbelief in check. “Are you from the higher ranks?”

The man shrugged with casual indifference. “You could say that.”

“How high?” I pressed, attempting to piece together a profile that matched what I knew.

“Like, the highest.”

“Fuuuck,” I muttered under my breath. The connection clicked into place, his face completing the puzzle.

Ilya Aistov, the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva.

He was young, having just taken over after his father’s death, whose reign had been one of the shortest in history.

Now it all made sense. How naive of me not to see the connection.

Hours spent behind the computer, researching, only for me to waltz right under their noses. I had a long way to go, I thought.

I gathered Ilya was someone important from the number of bodies constantly surrounding him like a shield, but I’d pictured the boss working out somewhere private, not in a bustling downtown gym.

I observed the way his hands rested on the steering wheel, silently wondering how many lives they’d taken. For the first time, I came close to the danger I’d been chasing, getting a literal front-row seat.

But when I glanced at my hands next, they were clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. Where his knuckles were busted, bruising covering the skin, mine were pale, healed thanks to the miracle cream I bought in Chinatown.

I wondered what the lady behind the counter had for healing the mind, for it seemed my recent actions only left a mark there.

When the car drove out of the city, panic hit me, my throat closing too quickly. I had long forgotten the kill; this was about survival. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Everything got too real, too fast. I needed more time. So much more time .

I motioned to the sidewalk as we drove and turned to the driver. “You can drop me off here.” Desperate to escape the situation, I yanked on the door handle.