Page 70 of Fight

But it was her face that held me.

I could see it clearly under the harsh glow of one of the streetlights. Not even the vomit that had dried on her face and pooled around her head could take away the pure bliss in her expression. It was the same face I sometimes thought I remembered from before, back when she’d been clean and I’d been happy.

I hoped she was now.

Two steps brought me closer to her, but I stopped before I touched her. I didn’t want to see her like this, but I couldn’t look away. I wouldn’t touch her though. I didn’t want to feel her cold skin, remember her as anything other than what she was—what she had been.

She was dead.

I knew it as surely as I knew anything. Tears should have come, but my eyes were dry. I felt nothing, wasn’t even quite sure I was here.

The cold voice that sliced through the room brought me crashing back to reality.

“Koshenya, what took you so long? I’ve missed you.”

Ioan

The minutes ticked by, soon became hours, but P was nowhere to be found.

I was certain now I’d blown it with her earlier, that my failure to tell her how I felt had sent her running, and I wanted to kick my own ass for allowing it to be so.

She’d been gone for three hours now, three of the longest of my life.

But the time had been helpful, clarifying.

I had been fighting, literally, in Markov’s ring, but in my head as well. I’d stayed back, held my tongue because I didn’t want to pressure her, unsure of how she felt. But every smile, every touch, every moment with her had pulled me closer and closer to her.

And these last hours had sent me over the brink.

I loved her.

There was no question of it now, no way that I could pretend I didn’t. And she loved me back. I knew that, and when she came back, I would tell her that and I wouldn’t let her deny how she felt about me. After three hours, I could no longer wait.

I needed to see her, so I went to the only place I knew she would go.

I’d found out her mother’s address weeks ago, though I hadn’t told her. I knew she was prideful, and extremely protective of her mother, so I hadn’t said anything, but I was glad I’d gotten the address.

I figured she’d go here, but as I got closer and closer to the address, the more I hoped she hadn’t.

This was no place for anyone, and certainly not one for her.

I got out in front of the building and stepped over the man who lay sprawled unconscious, the others leaning against the wall and went up the stairs.

I didn’t care who lived here. P would never come back to this place.

The entire building was foul and weighed down by the specter of despair and desolation. P needed to be somewhere happy, and though I knew she would fight me on the matter, it wasn’t something I would give on.

I ran up the stairs, ever watchful, though none of the people I passed even moved or seemed to notice my presence.

A ruse I was sure. There was no question in my mind that by now Markov’s men knew I was here. This was his territory and he had eyes and ears all over it. Given the way we’d left things, coming here was risky, especially without telling him first.

But I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was making sure that P got out of here and now.

I headed to unit 403, the apartment I’d been told belonged to her mother.

As I approached the door, warning bells began to go off in my head.

The hallway was dark, only lit from the streetlights outside, but even still, I could see the apartment door was open.

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