Page 8 of Ruin

“Speak or don’t,” I rasp. “I have things to do,” I dismiss, curling my fingers over the edge of the table.

“I miss you,” she whispers, swallowing so loudly I hear it in the hush of the room.

My arse just lifts off the seat when she says it and I still, chest adjacent to the table top, knees bent in a half-standing position. My ears buzz and I feel the colour drain out of my face. It feels like shock. Like I’ve fallen through thin ice, and I am desperately inhaling freezing water, the temperature of it stabbing the insides of my lungs as I swallow it down, but my limbs won’t work. I can’t surface. And just for a moment I want to laugh.

The silence in the room is deafening. My insides tighten like a coiling serpent, constricting around my lungs. How dare she do this to me, choke me with guilt, when she has everything she fucking wants and is still trying to fuck me up.

I don’t look at her, because if I do, I might grab her by the throat, rip her across this fucking table and cut her into pieces with a blunt butter knife.

Instead, slowly, my eyes roll up, so I am looking at her from beneath my fan of white lashes. She stares at me with sad eyes, and I want to smack her for it.

“Congratulations,” I tell her with venom, just as a tear rolls down her cheek.

I push up from the table and it takes everything inside of me not to look back.

Chapter5

Charlie

Blood drips from my lashes as I blink in the dark. The trespasser from the docks hangs limp. Legs roped together, his nailless toes graze the rough concrete floor of the warehouse, his body swinging softly from the ceiling. It’s been a while since I’ve been down here. Preferring my basement at home. But that’s currently occupied by a skeleton in a cage, so it was here or nowhere, and we need answers out of this guy.

Eli sits in the far back corner of the space, rocking on a rickety old chair. The click of its legs as it tilts back and forth echoing around inside my head. I wipe my wet hand down my jean-clad thigh. Push my white hair back with the other, finger and thumb still circled around the hilt of my curved blade, the base of its handle rolling over my scalp.

“Name,” I rasp again, my throat tight and dry now with the effort of questioning.

I cock my head, stare up at his ashen face, eyes rolling back in their sockets. I tap his cheek with the side of my blade, the tip snagging the skin at the corner of his eye, not enough to cut, just enough to regain his attention. This is the one time I don’t enjoy being ignored. Any other day. Any other time. That’s exactly what I need. Ignorance. The blissful state of just existing without anybody paying me any attention.

Too many hours have passed. Sweat slicks my cool skin, my muscles are tight, my brain is tired and I’m unsure if any of this was even worth it. I thought of this man as a grunt worker. A skivvy. Someone at the lowest rank of the pecking order. Now, I’m not so sure. He’s held out far longer than most, and for the first time ever, I am desperate to be done here.

Curiosity plagues my mind as I absentmindedly continue with my work. Thoughts of the occupied cage in my basement gathering inside my skull like a smoggy veil of storm clouds. I blink again, the man’s grunted screams wailing through gritted teeth, I drag my blade out of his trapezius muscle, swipe it over the front of his torn shirt.

“Who do you work for?” this is the last time I’m going to ask.

My endless patience seems to be wearing a little thin, and the constant rocking taps of Eli’s chair legs echoing in my ears is driving me to the brink of murder.

“Ivanov,” he finally rasps, blood and saliva hanging heavily on his bottom lip.

Vision unfocused, thoughts ofhimflash through my mind. Hands, lips, tongues,betrayal. Nostrils flaring, my insides heat, my skin cool, sticky with blood. I feel hot and itchy and irritable.

“The Russians?” Eli says almost silently.

This man won’t hear him, but I do, my senses have adapted, evolved. So used to being plunged into silent darkness, everything is sharper now. Because ofthem.

Him.

“Why there?” I ask quietly, slowly twirling my knife in my hand, point of the blade in the centre of my palm.

I think of the docks,mine,think of why anyone would cage a girl and then hide them in someone else’s territory. It doesn’t make sense. It means nothing.

All of this was for nothing.

The curve of my blade connects with the side of his neck, his carotid artery bursting beneath the pressure as I drive my knife through tissue and fat. Blood arcs, spraying over my bare chest, exposed neck, face. I let my eyes close as his body jerks in its bindings, swinging violently from the hook in the ceiling. My head falls back, the spray of warm liquid calms my racing heart as it hits my skin. The droplets run down my goosebump pricked flesh, soothing me somewhat.

Another kill.

Another body.

Just another day for me.

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