Page 7 of Fractured Allegiance
And I wasn’t repulsed.
That’s the part I’m still scrubbing off.
I rise, roll the cloth tight, and drop it into the laundry bin beneath the sink. The cleaner I use stings a little where it hits the cuts on my palm—small, shallow nicks from a splintered drawer handle I haven’t gotten around to replacing. I don’t bandage them. I want to feel the sting.
It reminds me where I end.
In the bathroom, I shower under pressure so strong it leaves red trails across my back. The water’s almost scalding, a ritual of reset more than hygiene.
When I step out, I don’t look at myself in the mirror. I never do right after waking. It’s too honest. And I can’t afford to be honest until I’m dressed.
The closet holds three suits: black, dark gray, and another black. I pick the gray one today. It feels the least severe. I don’t need to draw blood with my wardrobe. Just maintain the illusion I have some part of this life by the throat.
I pair it with a structured blouse, unbuttoned just enough to pass without questions in Dom’s world, and smooth my hair back into a tight knot.
My lips are bare, neck clean, and ankles covered.
No part of me is for show.
I sit at the counter and pour a shot of vodka. I don’t drink it. I just hold it. I’ve done this every morning since Drazen forced me back into the fold. It’s not a ritual. It’s a reminder.
This isn’t freedom.
It’s maintenance.
The shot sits untouched.
My phone buzzes.
Dom.
“You’re expected before noon. V’s got something.”
“‘Clean hands. Clean shoes. No eye contact.’”
“His words.”
Of course they are.
I delete the messages.
No point asking what the job is. Drazen doesn’t send details. Just orders.
I down the shot in one swallow, then rinse the glass and return it to the second shelf, left corner, rim down.
It’s only when I go to grab my holster that I pause.
Because I remember the ring.
Not mine.
His.
The man from last night. That silver band on his right hand—plain, old, worn. Not flashy. Not modern. Worn the way a soldier wears something he was told to forget but couldn’t.
Why the fuck do I remember that?
I close the drawer harder than necessary.
