Page 144 of Blood & Snow
I grip the supply bag tighter, knuckles white against the canvas straps.
How many nights have I stood in doorways exactly like this one, preparing to scrub blood from concretewhile he watched me with some giddy expression?
How many times have I erased evidence of his violence while walked away clean as a fucking whistle?
The injustice of it infuriates me.
He calls mePtichka, claims I'm precious to him, then sends me alone into warehouses where men died because of his orders.
If I truly meant something beyond my usefulness, wouldn't he stay to ensure my safety?
Wouldn't he at least acknowledge the risk he places me in every time his phone buzzes with coordinates?
But no.
I'm the cleaner, the woman who makes problems disappear.
My feelings, my fears, my need for basic human consideration—none of it registers beside the urgent necessity of sanitizing crime scenes before dawn breaks.
I blink back tears that feel more like acid than salt water.
This is exactly why I need to walk away, why I can't allow myself to believe he could ever care about me.
Men who love you don't leave you alone with the corpses of their enemies.
They don't reduce you to a glorified janitor who happens to be good in bed.
I check my phone again, hoping for another message from Xander.
Perhaps an explanation for his absence, or words that might ease the tension between us.
But the screen remains blank, offering no comfort for the ache that's settled in my chest.
The warehouse door stands open, hanging from hinges damaged by forced entry.
Light trickles out but it's stained red by the emergency bulbs overhead.
Just enough light to find my way in, which means my cell will be dead in a few hours from using my flashlight app.
I step across the threshold, preparing to confront the aftermath of another night's violence.
But the scene that greets me is wrong.
Completely, terrifyingly wrong.
Instead of pools of blood and splatters on the walls, armed figures emerge from behind shipping containers and machinery, weapons trained on my body.
Five men in dark clothing with faces obscured by masks and absolutely zero bullet holes in them.
Terror floods through my veins as understanding crystallizes.
These men can't get to Xander so they're coming for me.
They waited in hiding somewhere they wouldn’t be found until his work was done, and they came out of hiding just for me.
The other option—that Xander set this up to end me because he can't do it himself—is unthinkable.
I push that notion away immediately.
