Читать книгу The Darkest Torment - Gena Showalter - Страница 15

5

“If this situation sucked any harder, I’d have an orgasm.”

—Paris, keeper of Promiscuity

KATARINA REMAINED DOCILE as Baden ushered her down a long hallway. He probably viewed her passivity as another sign of weakness. Let him. His mistake, her gain. He would never expect her to act against him. Which she planned to do, in three...two...one...

She sagged into him, pretending to faint while reaching inside his pocket to filch the vial. Success!

She hid the drug within the folds of her gown as he snarled and hefted her into his arms. He carried her inside a spacious bedroom, the sleeves of his shirt lifting to reveal the metal bands fixed to his biceps. Bands warm to the touch. He tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed.

She maintained a smooth expression and lax body as she bounced.

“Behave, girl, and tomorrow morning you’ll be returned to your husband in the same condition you left him.” Footsteps pounded. The door snicked shut, sealing her inside. The lock engaged with an ominous click.

She waited one second...five...ten...before opening her eyes. Alone! Yes! She jumped up and rushed around the room, searching for a way out. Maybe Baden would take her to Alek tomorrow, maybe he wouldn’t. Probably he wouldn’t. She’d seen his face; she could identify him to authorities. Once he had the coin, he would be better off killing her.

The window had been sealed shut. The knob on the balcony doors had been removed and plastered over, preventing her from picking the lock. Fine. She switched gears, hunting for weapons. But all knickknacks had been removed. There were no paintings on the walls—nothing to smash over his fat head. In the bathroom, there were no brushes to use as shanks.

Either he’d expected to take a prisoner and prepared, or she wasn’t the first person he’d abducted.

Think, think. She spun in a circle, eyeing every piece of furniture as if it was the answer to the question: Will I live or die? The dresser! Determined, she opened an empty drawer. A sense of triumph overtook her when she noticed the knobs were attached with nails.

The plan: use those nails to gouge Baden’s eyes and escape.

Though she broke several of her own nails and ended up with multiple cuts on her fingers, she managed to unscrew two before the door lock clicked.

Her heart an unruly hammer against her ribs, she dove onto the bed, hiding her hands in the folds of the comforter.

Baden rolled in a cart of food. “Eat. You won’t wither away on my watch.” He threw a bundle of clothing at her feet. “Also, do us both a favor and change. I’ve never seen an uglier dress.”

Then he hadn’t rifled through the closet Alek had filled for her. “I’m curious. What poison did you use to flavor this food?”

He scowled at her, but took a bite of every dish before stalking to the exit.

“Don’t you want to eat with me? We can—”

He shut the door and turned the lock.

Great! How was she supposed to drug him if he refused to spend time with her?

The answer ceased to matter as the scents of sugar, spice and everything nice wafted to her nose. Can’t...resist... Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled as she walked toward the cart. Since her arrival in New York...however long ago...Alek had basically starved her.

Have to maintain your girlish figure.

And, she was sure, the lack of nourishment had the added bonus of keeping her weak and befuddled.

Weak...

I’ve never met a feebler female.

Don’t like him, his opinion doesn’t matter.

As she lifted the lid from each dish, the scents intensified, and so did the grumbles in her stomach. She discovered creamy pasta with flakes of crabmeat, a bacon-wrapped filet with butter-drenched asparagus on the side, a strawberry-and-spinach salad, and a bowl of French onion soup. But her favorite? The pecan pie soaked in melting vanilla ice cream. Baden might be a bastard, but he was a bastard with excellent taste buds.

She inhaled the dessert first, shoveling in bite after bite. The pasta received the same treatment, and by the time she cleared the plate, she was moaning with discomfort, so full she might pop.

Battling a stomachache, she changed into the new clothes: a pair of shorts and a pink T-shirt that read “William Approved.” Both were a little too snug, but she’d have an easier time moving in them.

She’d make him regret the gift.

She padded to the door. She could pick the lock as she’d done at Alek’s home, but why? Baden would stop her. Maybe she could prevent him from getting in, at least for a little while, and figure out her next move without fear he’d harm her any second.

She struggled and strained to pull the dresser in front of the entrance, and finally succeeded. Not the best barricade, but adequate.

Her mind raced as she worked on liberating another nail. Considering Baden had accomplices, the more ammunition she acquired the better. But the stomachache only intensified, eventually welcoming bone-deep fatigue. Her adrenaline began to crash, her limbs growing heavier, until they weighed a thousand pounds each.

Don’t fall asleep. Don’t you dare fall asleep.

Sleep, even a light doze, would leave her vulnerable. The very reason she’d only catnapped since Alek entered her life.

Her best option for escape? The balcony. After stuffing the nails and the vial in her pocket, she dragged the comforter to the balcony doors. If she could get outside, she could flag help. She wrapped a pillow around her fist and punched, punched, punched. Finally a section of glass shattered. The tinkling sound was muffled, thanks to the comforter she’d draped, but it still made her cringe. She waited one minute, two, a seeming eternity, unable to breathe.

Baden never reentered the room. Was he even nearby? Or had he taken off, leaving her to rot?

She removed as much glass as possible and shimmied through the opening. Hot summer air had turned the entire area into an oven. She stood, expecting to see wrought iron, but the bright rays of sunshine highlighted six-foot-tall brick walls with ivy spilling over the sides. Tristo hrmenych! The balcony was completely surrounded by the brick, in fact. She could see no one, no other room and no other balcony.

She’d have to climb the wall to catch someone’s attention. Heart, don’t fail me now. She scaled up...up...using irregularities in the bricks as handholds and footrests. When finally she cleared the top, she straddled the ledge and held on for dear life.

Don’t you dare look down.

She looked down, and oh, wow, her heart failed her, shuttering in her chest. She was a million flights up. Cars looked like ants and people mere specks. If she fell, she would become the definition of splat.

Sweat beading over her skin, she scanned the C-shaped building. Most of the window drapes were drawn. The few balconies within range were guarded only by wrought iron, not brick. A point in her favor. But no one stood—wait! A woman stepped onto the balcony to Katarina’s right.

A striking twentysomething with shoulder-length black hair, the ends straight as a pin but uneven, as if she’d cut the strands with a kitchen knife—and no mirror. She had a strong, angular face and an equally strong body. The kind Baden preferred? Her black tank top put her toned biceps and the black bands wrapped around them on display. Bands just like Baden’s. An American fashion statement?

Both of her arms were tattooed, but from this distance, Katarina couldn’t catalog the designs.

A cigar rested between the woman’s lips, black smoke curling around her. In one hand, she clutched a glass of amber liquid. In the other, she clutched a bottle of amber liquid.

“Madam!” Katarina whisper-yelled, waving her arms. “Madam!”

Eyes of indeterminate color focused on her.

“Potrebujem pomoc. Zavolajte políciu!” The words left in a rush. Speak English! Right. “My name is Katarina Joelle, and I need help. I’m being held prisoner by a man named Baden. He’s a killer. Call the police—”

The woman stubbed out her cigar, turned around and entered her room, shutting the door behind her. Without ever speaking a word.

Katarina withered with disappointment. One of her dogs would have leaped across the building to reach her, but a fellow human being couldn’t be bothered to reply?

Damn it, what was she going to do now?

* * *

The time had come to earn his first point.

Baden flashed to—

The spirit realm. A cottage by the sea, judging by the sound of lapping waves, the scent of salt in the cool evening breeze. The furnishings were sparse, offering only the bare necessities. A couch, a coffee table and a chair. There were no pictures or decorations. No personal items of any kind, the kind of things that made a house a home.

A sweet melody drifted from the back of the house. A woman was humming. More specifically, a siren was humming. The lush, magical quality of her voice swept over Baden and even...soothed Destruction?

A trick of the beast to lull him into a false sense of calm? Always a possibility. Or a wile of the siren?

Baden couldn’t make himself care. He closed his eyes and enjoyed a rare and precious moment of peace.

Only when pots and pans clanged did he snap to attention. Anger burned through him, and Destruction growled. Not a trick, after all. The woman had managed to distract them both without trying. If she had the same power over Hades...

No wonder the male wanted her silenced.

Her, an innocent. Guilt razed Baden all over again.

Can’t afford to lose the game. He still wasn’t convinced Hades would keep his word and free the winner, but right now, he had no solution. He had to participate and buy time.

Determined, he stalked through the house. He stopped in the kitchen entrance, watching as the woman from his ash-vision dried and stored dishes. She moved slowly and always used both hands—one to hold the dish, the other to feel the cabinets as if...

She was blind?

He observed her for several more minutes, just to be sure, and decided, yes, she was blind. Twice, she’d turned in his direction but she’d never displayed a single hint of distress.

Horror joined his guilt. Hades expected him to mute a blind siren? No. Absolutely not. There were lines one simply didn’t cross. Once you did, there was no going back. No being the man you used to be.

What if, when Baden returned without the girl’s tongue, Hades sent Pandora to finish the job? Knowing her, she would act without question. She had centuries’ worth of rage trapped inside her.

Damn it! There was no good option here.

The siren stiffened, quieted. Her ears twitched. “Who’s there?”

Now or never. He flashed directly in front of her, wound his arm around her waist and, as she beat at his chest to no avail, flashed her to Hades.

“I will not hurt her,” Baden announced, and the girl stilled. “You wanted her tongue. Now you have it—attached to her body. If you want to keep it, you will vow not to harm her.”

The king sat upon the throne, the rest of the chamber empty. “You defy me right out of the gate. Shocking.” Such a dry tone.

“If you wanted a devoted acolyte, you should have given the bands to someone else.”

“What I wanted was a minion of darkness. What I got was a pussy! You need to get your shit together.” Hades drummed his fingers impatiently. “I’ll give you one more chance to man up. Let it be known henceforth. Hades, king of the underworld, shall grant his slave Baden one boon, good today only. You may use it any way you see fit. Freedom? A physical body?”

Baden blinked, and the siren vanished from his arms. Another blink, and she reappeared draped over Hades’s lap. She trembled so violently she might have been having a seizure. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, making him think about the tears Katarina hadn’t shed. A pang in his chest.

Hades combed gentle fingers through the girl’s hair, his gaze locked on Baden. “I will take her tongue. Unless you use your boon to stop me.”

Rage—all his own. More guilt. Helplessness. Each bombarded him.

“Think carefully,” Hades said. “You don’t know the crimes this woman has committed against me.”

What gives you the right to be judge, jury and executioner?

“Release her,” he said through gritted teeth. “Vow never to harm her, and never to allow someone else to harm her.”

Hades arched a brow. “This is your boon? You’re sure?”

No. No!

He canted his head in agreement, earning a sigh from the king.

“I’ll be damned,” Hades said. “You’re the first of my slaves to do so.”

Others had worn the bands? What had happened to them?

A twinge of hope. With those few words, the king had revealed more than he’d probably wished. A fact Baden would use to his advantage. He would find the answers—and act.

Hades’s days as his lord were numbered.

“I’m disappointed in you,” Hades said. “One day you’ll learn people are never what they seem. Isn’t that right, siren?”

Her tears dried, and she laughed. “Wow. You really are a pompous dick. Let me up. This position isn’t exactly comfortable.”

With a fond smile, Hades released her. She slugged him in the shoulder before she stood. Her eyes remained unfocused as she descended the dais steps, counting silently.

Realization hit. She was blind, but she was no innocent. She was wily as hell.

“What would you have done if I’d put a blade to her?” Baden demanded.

“He would have done nothing,” she said, answering for the king. “I would have stopped you.”

“She’s one of my best fighters.” How proud Hades sounded now.

People are never what they seem...

A trick. Only a trick.

“Await me in my chambers,” Hades told her.

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.”

Baden snarled at her when she passed him. She sensed his ire and flipped him off, unabashed, as she sailed through the door.

Were all the tasks Hades assigned him trivial? Or were they tests? What of Aleksander and the coin?

No, not a test. Baden had scented zero fear from the siren, but Aleksander had projected the emotion from the beginning.

Hades wanted him to do his bidding, never certain of the reason, never knowing what was real and what was fake. Perhaps so Baden would never scheme to keep something or someone for himself.

Well, Baden would treat every task with the utmost importance. He would watch and learn. He would find his moment...find a way to beat Pandora and Hades.

“You’ve made a grave error this day, King.” He spat the title like the curse it was.

“Or have I learned more about you than you were able to learn about me?” Hades smiled at him. “Consider today’s lessons freebies, Red. The next one will cost you dearly.”

* * *

Katarina climbed the balcony wall throughout the night...the morning...cursing the height of the brick that blocked any type of view, hoping to catch the attention of someone else. All the while, she listened for Baden, thinking she’d jump down and dive on the bed when he busted through her blockade. And when he was within reach, she would finally put the nails to good use.

As she straddled the top of the balcony wall for what had to be the thousandth time, a hard hand wrapped her ankle and yanked. She tumbled into an equally hard chest. A hiss sounded—one she recognized—and strong arms caught her.

Baden was here!

He roared like a grizzly bear woken too early from hibernation as he set her away from him. His features tightened with...disgust?

Definitely disgust. It was his favorite reaction to her.

“Going somewhere, nevesta?”

Her blood flash-froze. Keep it together. “Just seeing the sights, kretén.” Asshole.

“There’s that naughty mouth again.” Sunlight stroked him, unconcerned by the danger he presented. Or the darkness inside him.

Could she really blame the sun, though? Baden smelled edible. Like honey-and-cinnamon candles set ablaze in the heart of midnight. Delicious and seductive...wanton.

A killer shouldn’t smell like that.

“Do you need the elixir?” he asked.

“Nie.” Soon he would realize the vial was no longer in his possession.

Strike. Now!

In a lightning-fast motion, she grabbed a nail from her pocket and slammed the tip into his neck. Hissing again, he shoved her away from him. She stumbled backward and hit the balcony doors—the closed balcony doors. They sprang open on impact, and she toppled inside the room, skidding into the wall. Stars glittered in front of her eyes.

“Do not touch me,” he barked. “Ever.”

She was that repulsive to him?

When she caught her breath, she said in a dry tone, “But attempting to injure you is okay?”

He plucked the nail from his skin, not a drop of blood leaking from the wound. Was that a drop of...motor oil? “You tried to fight back the only way you could.” He actually sounded impressed. Then he appeared irritated. “Don’t try again.”

Trembling with a mix of astonishment and fear, she lumbered to her feet. His gaze raked her scanty attire, and he lost his air of enmity. He suddenly appeared appreciative.

Had the heater just switched on? Because perspiration now sheened her skin. “Are you taking me to Alek?”

A blank mask quickly covered his features. “No.”

“But why? It’s a new day. He might have the coin ready for you.” He wouldn’t. He’d have an army ready instead. “Don’t you want your treasure? You’ve worked so hard for it...”

Baden combed a hand through his hair, leaving the strands sticking out in spikes. Could he be any sexier?

Shame on her for noticing!

“I want it,” he said, “but I don’t want Hades to have it. So Aleksander can wait.”

“Hades is—”

“Not a topic up for discussion.”

She motored on, anyway. A distracted Baden was better than a roaring Baden. At first glance, he could pass for calm. Upon closer inspection, she realized his pupils were blown, his eyes wild. The muscles in his arms were clenched, the bands pressing deep into his biceps.

“You work for Hades but you don’t actually like him? Why don’t you present him with your resignation and—”

He crossed his arms over his chest. A warning?

“All right. You win,” she said. “We’ll talk about something else while we have a drink, yes?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he motioned to the bedroom door. A door still blocked by the dresser.

She peered at him in question. “How did you get inside?” A secret passage?

Silent, he stalked past her and shoved the dresser out of the way with a single swipe of his arm. Such strength! Her heart pounded as she entered the hallway and followed the path he’d taken last night, snaking around a corner, stepping into the familiar sitting area.

She stopped at the wet bar, keeping her back to him as she poured two glasses of whiskey...and stealthily withdrew the vial; she emptied the contents into the bottle rather than a glass. There was a good chance Baden would decline any drink she offered him, but an even better chance he would indulge on his own later.

As she drained the contents of one glass, she faced him and held out the second. He shook his head. With a shrug, she drained it, too. The alcohol burned going down but settled like melted honey in her stomach, soon warming her.

“Where are your friends?” she asked.

He glared at her as if debating whether to answer her or strangle her.

Maintaining a neutral expression, she looked him over. He wore yesterday’s blood-splattered clothing. Had he slept in them or forced himself to stay awake, like her? Probably the latter. His features were so taut she wasn’t sure he’d ever slept, the poor man.

Wait. Poor man? She had sympathy for him?

No, oh no. Unacceptable! But it made her wonder...what had shaped him into the cold, calculating monster he was?

Finally, he said, “The others are out buying essentials.”

That sweet feeling of melted honey in her stomach? Gone in an instant. “Rope? Knives? Plastic tarp to protect the furniture from blood spray?”

“Monopoly. Candy Land. Jenga.” He settled in the chair across from the couch, the floral fabric somehow showcasing his intense masculinity to perfection.

“Board games?” She chose to remain standing, the dominant position. “For children?”

“Apparently I’m boring. And immature. As soon as I returned from—” He white-knuckled the arms of the chair. “Anyway. The others left.”

That grip of his...a sign his friends had hurt his feelings?

How sad.

No. It wasn’t. It wasn’t! A new plan formed. Make nice with Baden while creating a one-way bond with him, ensuring he kept his word not to harm her, then escape, save her dogs, and run.

Rule six of training canines: keep interactions short and sweet.

Seven: always end on a positive note.

“I’ll get to know you,” she said, feigning delight, “and I’ll decide if you’re boring or not.”

“Your opinion of me hardly matters. We’ll sit in silence.”

Don’t like him. “Poor dear. I’m a very excellent conversationalist, and you fear you’ll struggle to keep up. I understand.”

His lips pursed. “Did your conversation win Aleksander?”

“Please. I blinked, and he came running.” Which was the truth. Unfortunately. “Don’t you consider yourself stronger and smarter than Alek? Shouldn’t you be able to resist my potent allure?”

He traced his tongue over his teeth and stood, the motion jerky. As he marched to the wet bar and poured himself a drink, he avoided her gaze.

Hope unfurled. Finally! Something was going her way.

“What do you want to know about me?” He returned to the chair, his glass half-full. “Why do you want to know?”

A sense of anticipation and triumph flared, one she tried her best to hide. “Why? I’m a curious creature. What? More than once you and your friends have mentioned the people around you are human, implying you yourselves are not. The white-haired man—”

“Torin.”

“Torin even said you are something better. The boogeyman is not better.”

He continued to hold the glass without drinking. Don’t stare. Shouldn’t appear too eager.

“I know you’re not a literal monster,” she said. Had she put a tad too much emphasis on the word?

“So you think we’re...what?” he asked. “Delusional?”

No reason to lie. “Yes. But what do you think you are?”

“Immortal.”

She barked out a laugh. “Like vampires? Werewolves?” The current movie fad.

“If I were a bloodsucker, you would already be drained. If I were a wolf, you would be chained to my bed and used as a pack whore. A kurva jebat’, you’d call it.”

There wasn’t an ounce of amusement in his tone, and she sobered, realizing he truly believed what he was saying—believed creatures of the night existed.

“I’ll tell no one,” she said, raising her right hand. In fiction, otherworldly predators liked to keep their origins a secret, often killing the ones who discovered the truth. “You have my word.”

“Tell whoever you’d like. You’ll be labeled crazy. Insane.” He shrugged and at long last drained the glass.

Relief bathed her, cool and sweet. She waited, watching him closely for any sign of sedation, but nothing changed.

Rule eight: distract when necessary. “Convince me. Tell me about your life.”

“Again, why should I bother?”

“Because I’d really love to hear your story?”

“That’s insufficient enticement.”

“So...what do you want?”

His gaze heated. He inhaled sharply, as if he wasn’t pleased with the direction of his thoughts. Or maybe he was a little too pleased. His pants suddenly looked tighter.

The moisture in her mouth dried. She pressed her hands together, forming a steeple. “Just tell me. Pretty please. Please!”

The plea...actually softened his expression. “For centuries I lived in Mount Olympus, a guard to Zeus. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Everyone has. My friends and I were vastly offended when he gave his greatest treasure, dimOuniak, to a female to guard. You know this treasure as Pandora’s box. To punish Zeus, we stole it, opened it and unleashed the demons trapped inside it.”

Wait, wait, wait. “Demons?”

A curt nod. “He decided to punish us and cursed us to host a demon inside our bodies. I was given Distrust, though I was liberated from him the day I was beheaded.”

She snorted. “Beheaded? And yet, here you are, alive and well.”

“Alive, yes. Well, no. No one, immortal or human, is merely a body. We have spirits and as you can see, my spirit is still very much intact.”

“You’re saying you’re a ghost?”

“In a fashion.” He set his empty glass on the side table, his arm disappointingly steady. “I spent the past four thousand years trapped inside a prison realm. Until a few weeks ago, when I was freed just like the demons in the box.”

“Demons,” she repeated hollowly. She accepted the supernatural and always had. The world, humans and animals were so amazingly intricate, so perfectly honed, and so clearly of intelligent design, she knew there was a God...and if there was a God, there were guardian angels.

Her guardian angel was on vacation. Obviously.

Also, she’d seen far too much evil not to believe there were demons ruled by a devil. But...but...

Baden wasn’t an immortal. He couldn’t be. Things like this didn’t happen to people like her. Normal. Ordinary.

“Where’s your laughter now, nevesta?”

Her eyes narrowed on him. He dared mock her? “Perhaps I’m too busy wondering if you’re going to blame your crimes on the demon.”

“No,” he said, surprising her. “I’m no longer possessed. Not by a demon, anyway. I’m not sure what inhabits me now. A dark presence...a beast named Destruction. But I don’t blame him for what was done at the chapel. I made my own choices. I pulled the trigger. I wielded the blade.”

A beast? Destruction? “You hurt the men in the chapel so easily. I’m guessing violence isn’t new to your wheelhouse, whether you are what you claim or not.”

“No, it’s not new to me. But sometimes it’s a special treat.”

Cold fingers of dread walked the length of her spine. “The more evil you do, the more evil you are,” she said softly. For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined she was safe in Peter’s arms. A girl with a bright future. Happy. Hopeful. “What does your girlfriend...wife?...think of your proclivities?”

“I have no woman I call my own. There’s no one strong enough to handle me.”

Without strength, we have nothing. We are nothing.

“Strength is your only requirement in a mate?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “No. I want no mate. I’m too dangerous.”

He looked away from her, focusing beyond her. The color drained from his face, and flickers of red lit his eyes. No, no. His eyes were bloodshot, that was all. The horror of the situation—and his declarations—had affected her perception of him.

Sweat rolled from his brow as a tremor rocked him. Was he having a panic attack? Or was he fighting whatever he considered the beast?

She contemplated comforting him, but she knew better than to touch him.

“Sing,” he croaked. “Sing now.”

She wanted to snap at him for issuing such a harsh command, but she obeyed him instead. She’d often serenaded her dogs whenever they’d been frenzied. More often than not, they’d calmed. Within a few minutes, the red began to ebb from Baden’s eyes. He released a heavy sigh, the color returning to his cheeks.

He rubbed his temple, as if to ward off an ache. Or a voice he couldn’t silence.

Were the drugs finally kicking in? She licked her lips, suddenly nervous. If he suspected...

Keep him distracted.

“Well. It’s my turn to share.” Before he could order her to be quiet, she said, “I grew up with an American father. He was black. My mother was Slovak and as white as snow. Most people accepted our family, but there were some who didn’t. I got in trouble on more than one occasion for fighting the didn’ts. Knock-down-drag-outs at school. Daddy used to say we can’t fight fire with fire. We have to use water.”

“I had...no mother.” Baden blinked rapidly as his head lolled to the side. His eyes closed slowly, and stayed closed, his body slumping over the side of the couch.

What had he meant, he’d had no mother?

Did it matter? There was no better time to act. Stay calm. Stay focused. Katarina ran to the front door, searching for more weapons along the way. No knives, no guns. Nothing. Fine. She would go with what she had. Her hands shook as she flipped the lock. Hinges squeaked as the entrance swung open.

Ding. Elevator doors slid apart. Out strode the black-haired woman who’d smoked a cigar on her balcony. She had a big black bag slung over her shoulder—and headed straight for Katarina.

Humans weren’t a waste of space, after all. She’d come to help.

“Thank you!” Katarina stopped in front of her. “We need to notify—”

“Where’s Baden?” the woman asked, a raspy quality to her voice. Like Baden, she had a slight Greek accent.

The accent...the bands...

Unease overshadowed Katarina’s sense of elation. “In there. Asleep. I drugged him.”

The woman smiled with relish. “Well, well. Aren’t you full of surprises?”

Katarina latched onto her wrist to pull her back to the elevators. “Come on. We must notify the authorities. They’ll handle—”

“No. They won’t. But I will.” With that, the woman slammed her forehead into Katarina’s.

She careened backward, pain and vertigo rushing her. Her last thought before darkness swallowed her whole: Only I could escape a murderer and go from bad to worse.