Page 127 of Inked Athena

Inch by inch, we retreat back into the bathroom. When we’re inside, Katerina shuts the door and throws the lock. She turns to face me. It’s then that I can look her in the face for the first time.

She’s wild-eyed. Her hair is mussed, unmade, split ends fraying in every direction. It’s so alien on her that I have to blink to be sure I’m truly seeing it.

But I am.

It’s desperation in Dolce & Gabbana.

“Stop fucking staring at me!” she seethes, surging forward suddenly to crack me across the face with a wicked backhand.

The unexpected blow snaps my head to one side and my neck screams in protest. One of her many rings cuts open my cheek, too, and I feel the wet heat of blood trickle from the wound.

But my mouth stays sealed shut. If she wants me to beg for mercy, she’ll have to do a hell of a lot worse.

She spits on the floor next to Myles’s unmoving body. “We have a few minutes,” she announces with a flourish of the Cartier watch on her wrist. “And he’s looking awfully pale, don’t you think? Fix him up. He’s still worth more to me alive than dead. Barely, but still.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I drop to my knees, seize up the hem of my dress in both hands, and rip until a strip of it comes free. I loop that around Myles’s head, then go back to work making more.

The ripping sound fills the silence between Katerina’s ragged breaths and Myles’s shallow ones. I press the wadded silk against Myles’s temple, watching crimson soak into the black fabric. His pulse flutters against my fingertips whenever I stop to check his neck, faint but real.

“Such tender care for the help.” Katerina’s voice drips sardonic acid. “He was always loyal to Samuil. Even when Samuil didn’t deserve it.”

I arrange Myles’s arms by his sides, buying us a few more precious seconds. Every moment he stays unconscious is another moment he’s not in danger from her twitchy trigger finger.

“Myles is loyal because Sam earned it,” I say, keeping my voice soft and steady. “Through friendship. Through trust.”

Her laugh bounces off the bathroom tiles. “Trust? Inourworld?”

But something passes there—a flash of raw hurt in her eyes, gone as quick as it appeared. A word that struck too close to home, I think.

I press another strip of silk over the first, letting my hands shake. I want her to see it. Let her think I’m terrified. Let her think I’m weak. She’s not the first person to underestimate me—and if I survive this, she won’t be the last.

The bathroom door rattles suddenly, making us both jump. “Is someone in there?” a woman’s voice calls. When we don’t answer, she tries the door again. “Hello? Nastya, are you in?—”

But she never gets to find out if it’s Nastya or not.

Because before she finishes her question, the rest of her words dissolve in a scream.

Then comes the sound that made her scream—a sharp crack that echoes off marble and stone. Another follows. And another.

Gunfire.

My brain stutters and buffers. This isn’t happening. Can’t be happening. But the next burst of gunfire is closer, unmistakable.

And the screams…

Those are real, too.

I’ve heard animal sounds like this before—when a predator breaches what should have been a safe space. The recognition scorches through me, instinctive and electric: we’re all prey now.

Katerina’s head snaps toward the chaos. Her body goes rigid. I’m waiting for her to laugh, for her to taunt me, to paint pictures of what must be happening to Samuil marooned out amongst the chaos…

But then I see how pale her cheeks are. How white her knuckles.

She’s just as surprised as I am.

And, more surprising: just as terrified.

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