Page 52 of Stricken

As we shovel dirt over the grave, I feel a piece of my soul splinter and break, lost to the unforgiving desert sands. But I do not mourn its loss. Cannot afford to. In this life we lead, there is no room for regret.

We smooth the earth, erasing all trace of our presence, and I feel a some kind of sick satisfaction settle in my chest. We have done what needed to be done. Survived to fight another day.

Vlad reaches into the back of the SUV, pulling out a bottle of lighter fluid. The early morning sun glints off the plastic, a deceptively innocent sight in the midst of our ominous task. He unscrews the cap and the sharp scent of the fluid cuts through the dry air as he douses the small hole we've dug next to the grave.

He flicks the lighter and tosses it into the pit. The fire roars to life, hungry and consuming, casting flickering shadows across Vlad's face. In the shifting light, I see the duality of our existence laid bare. By day, we are businessmen, polite and polished, but by night, we are killers.

There's an urgency in our movements as we strip off our shirts and pants. We work quickly, methodically. I keep my eyes focused on the task at hand, refusing to let my gaze linger on the planes of Vlad's body.

Vlad tosses our dirty clothes and shoes into the flames—both sets. Ones we had on while cleaning up his place and what we wore on the way here. The fabric curls and blackens in the heat. The sight is both mesmerizing and horrifying, a physical manifestation of the lengths we must go to protect ourselves, to erase any trace of our involvement.

The fire consumes the evidence lightning-fast. Vlad pours more lighter fluid in.

We dress in the second change of clothes without saying anything. When we're done, Vlad kicks dirt over the dying embers, extinguishing the last of the flames. We climb back into the SUV and the engine roars to life as we speed away from the scene.

We make one final stop to bury the shattered remnants of the decanter in a remote spot. The glass glints in the sun like jagged diamonds before we lower them into the ground. And then we're back on the road. Eventually, the city rises in the distance, a glittering mirage that promises to swallow us whole along with our sins.

CHAPTER17

VLAD

Our footsteps in the quiet apartment seem too loud as Nico and I step inside. The air feels heavy, hard to breathe, oddly painful. As if there are still tiny pieces of the decanter floating throughout. It's a strange sensation. Strange and unfamiliar. I've killed before. Not because I wanted, but because it was either the man Yuri ordered to end or me. It was part of my play to get in his good graces. To eliminate lives to eventually be able to eliminate the monster.

These things always require sacrifices and I did what I had to. I shove my guilt down, bury it deep, just like the body we buried a couple of hours ago.

But this is different. This is something I didn't need to do. I could have told Nico to deal with it on his own. Yet, I couldn't.

With a grim finality, I lock the door, sealing away the morning raging beyond these walls.

Nico and I exchange a wordless glance, a thousand unsaid things passing between us in that loaded moment. I feel it—the gravity of it all.

There are still things to be done, tracks to be covered.

Needing some time to think, I move to the window, gazing out at the restless city that never sleeps. Somewhere out there, there is probably another man who breathes his last breath because of me. One more ghost to haunt my dreams in the future.

Behind me, Nico paces the living room, his agitation palpable. "What now?" His normally smooth voice carries a ragged edge.

I sigh, not taking my eyes from the window. "We need to finish cleaning up here. Check the walls, behind furniture, anywhere else you can think of. I'll call the regular cleaner in a couple of weeks, so it's not too suspicious. Needs to look like regular service request. Ivan can handle the other stuff."

"I'll start on the rest then." Nico strides to the bathroom to grab the cleaning supplies we left there, purpose momentarily eclipsing his panic.

As his footsteps fade, I allow myself a weary exhale, my head throbbing from the lack of sleep.

It occurs to me I can't remember when I felt untainted. Clean. Was there ever such a time? The red in my ledger could drown the world.

I clench my fists. Conscience is a luxury men like me cannot afford. Not with vultures circling, eager for any sign of vulnerability. Not with so much at stake. So I lock my doubts away, just like I locked that door. I'll fall apart later. But not now. Not yet.

The muffled clatter of Nico working carries from down the hall, a dissonant soundtrack to this aftermath. I focus on the city landscape. No absolution to be found there. Only the resolve to endure. To keep moving forward, no matter the cost.

I retrieve the burner from the top drawer of the accent chest in the corner and dial Ivan.

"I have a task for you," I mutter in Russian. "You need to handle the security footage from the Elevate building. Neither Nicola nor I were here tonight."

"Understood, boss." He doesn't ask questions, and for that, I'm grateful.

"The sooner the better." I end the call, the phone a deadweight in my hand.

I join Nico in the hallway, where he's wiping away the leftover of evidence of our crime cover up. His every movement is a study in precision, desperation etched into his features. I know that look all too well. I've seen it in the mirror.

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