Page 80 of Violent Possession
“Griffin, tell me exactly where you are,” I order. I grab my car keys and the gun from the drawer. “I’m coming.”
CHAPTER 6
ZUGZWANG
GRIFFIN
My vision blurs. It was all strange. Fast.
Seraphim was like a mirage. He appeared and then suddenly vanished, and there was nothing to confirm that I hadn’t completely lost my mind. Nothing but a tingling in my fingers where I’d felt his skin. Perfect skin. The marks of old, thin cuts looked just like... sketch lines of a masterpiece.
I don’t know where my head was. Not really. I got a message from Alexei, saying it was urgent, but it wasn’t from his usual number. I should have been suspicious. I should have noticed that itwasn’thim the instant the streets leading to this warehouse were too empty, that the guards had disappeared, that the sedan wasn’t following me anymore.
That was my confirmation. Seraphim really did appear to give me a final prophecy: Alexei’s brother digging into me, becausewho knowswhat Alexei is doing or inventing out there.
It was more adrenaline than anything.
The warehouse lights came on. The metal door slammed shut behind me. The trap. Six of them. Or seven? I broke a wrist bone with the metal from my arm. The scream. His gun in my hand.
The rest is a blur. A shot ripped through my thigh. I used a body as a shield. Gunpowder. I threw an empty pistol at one of their faces, crushed a jaw with my prosthesis. Someone had a knife and plunged it into my shoulder more than once. A taste of blood lingered in my mouth, I don’t know if it was mine or someone else’s.
Now, silence.
My phone shouldn’t be this heavy. I lean against one of the warehouse columns riddled with bullet holes. Is the oxygen I’m breathing actually reaching my lungs? It doesn’t feel like it. I pull in air but don’t feel them fill. It leaks out of me.
The gun I took from one of them falls to the floor. I can’t hold it. It’s too heavy. My vision dims and returns.
It dims and returns.
Blood loss, I guess. Dry mouth, thirst. Everything spinning. Usually means hemorrhage. Somewhere must be bleeding—there’s blood everywhere. Which fraction is mine?
There are bodies on the floor. Many. I won. I think.
It dims and returns.
A noise catches my attention. Metallic clang—the warehouse entrance gates opening. Cold air rushes in. Good. It was stuffy in here.
I try to focus. A silhouette appears in the doorway, walking. Tall, thin. Dressed in black—an overcoat. He has a gun in his hand.
Alexei.
My vision is failing, but I see movement near a stack of boxes. One of the men. He’s still alive. His hand drags across the floor, reaching for the pistol that fell inches away.
Alexei doesn’t need my warning.
He turns his face. I don’t know how much time passes—not long. He watches the man drag himself with nothing butcoldness. He raises his gun the instant the man’s hand finds the pistol on the floor.
As if it were nothing, Alexei shoots.
Absolute control amidst my chaos.
Now am I hallucinating? Me, who never truly associated violence with Alexei. Only danger. They’re not so different. His clean, elegant hands hold the gun with beautiful ease. The gun that molds to him. And he soils his fancy shoes in the river of blood.
Even with a hemorrhage, I think: was he always this hot? He just executed a man in cold blood to save me. Or to savehimself. I don’t know. Would his brother’s men have killed him?
Fuck it. His coolness feels good. It’s too hot in here.
He approaches. I don’t know when I slid down this column to be on the floor now, but he kneels down too. I see his face out of focus, but it’s unquestionably him. Tense, rigid, but him.
