Page 3 of Brutal Knight

“All right,” the dealer says. He shoves the cash away and passes me the bag. “There you go. Knock yourself out.”

He’s grinning at his own bad joke. I ignore him and hang around the corner of the building while he leaves, glancing around the alley casually, like he just stopped by to sell a candy bar.

I dig my nails into my palm as I watch the man walk away. I just want him gone so I can take the fucking pill. I keep thinking he’ll come back, smarmy and sketchy, and then things will get worse. Maybe he’ll ask if I’m single. Maybe he’ll try to stop me from leaving.

I should be careful, but I don’t want to be careful right now. Dmitri is gone and I have nowhere to go.

But I do have a pill.

As soon as the dealer is out of sight, I press my palm to my mouth. The pill is sticky on my skin already from being held for so long. It sticks on my tongue, too, and I have to work up to swallowing it.

I stare at the end of the alley while I wait for it to kick in. I imagine someone coming down it, walking toward me, offering a solution. A way out. I imagine somebody, anybody that could take me away from here.

I know my family won’t save me. They never wanted to. They only peddled me off to Dmitri and then let me bruise and rot in his care.

My throat feels like a pinhole. The anxiety always creeps up like that—it makes your chest tight, makes your head ache, makes your throat feel swollen. It sets you on edge.

But then the pill kicks in, and every edge blurs.

The world starts to soften. The street lights overhead aren’t as harsh, their halos of light diffused. I start to feel warm, like I’ve swallowed a spoonful of hot soup. Every muscle in my body relaxes, a wonderful looseness that makes me want to pass out.

I slide down the alley wall as the Demerol spreads. I feel safer, even if it’s just an illusion.

This is my reality right now. It’s all I need. The pills helped me survive my marriage to Dmitri, and they’re the only thing I have to give me any semblance of comfort now.

Marriage.

There’s another man who planned to marry me. Connor O’Reilly.

I remember seeing Connor at a gala not that long ago. I’d seen him so many times before, but for some reason, I really saw him that night.

He’s handsome in a rough, dark way—not like Dmitri. Dmitri was always more terrifying than rough. He would’ve killed someone without thinking, and he did on more than one occasion. Connor had a different air about him. Like he would do anything for his people, but he’d never use violence casually.

Connor looked good in a suit. He has messy, dark blond hair. I always liked the way it looked, like he just got done doing something physical. He was always a little unbuttoned.

I liked his brown eyes from afar. They seemed warm, especially when he was talking to a woman he knew that night. I knew she was a ballerina, a friend of the O’Reilly family. They seemed close.

I wished I was her that day. I watched them and wished I was in her position, even for a second. I wanted someone to look at me with a smile, with joy in their eyes. With just an ounce of love.

I wanted to feel beautiful again. Loved. Wanted.

But Connor was going to marry me, and I ran before he could do it. I escaped.

I had to.

Right now, I have to get up. Even though I feel better—fuzzy—I need to keep moving. I know I shouldn’t stay here, not long. The longer I stay in one place, the more likely it is they’ll find me. They’re all over the city. The various mafia organizations that make up the Assembly have people everywhere.

I stand slowly, getting my bearings. I know what direction I want to go: toward the train station, if I can manage it.

I’m about to leave when someone appears at the mouth of the alley, and my footsteps stutter as I see who it is.

Victor.

He was Dmitri’s second. I never liked him. I never really liked any of Dmitri’s men. They were like him, vicious and uncaring. Cruel. I didn’t doubt that some of them would hurt me if they could, if I wasn’t Dmitri’s property.

Victor was never my friend. He was never my enemy, either—but that was when Dmitri was alive. What about now?

“I’ve been looking for you,” Victor says. He sounds relieved, a sigh escaping him. He runs a hand through his hair. “Thank God.”

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