Page 31 of Marked By His Touch
“Another lie from your filth mouth. Stupid American.” Nikolai sighs. “If you know nothing, then what the use are you? Kill him,seychas,” he says.
The men around him move with efficiency, practice, and emotionlessness. They have probably done this a hundred times before.
My breath hitches, and my body is a tangle of nerves. Panic pulses through me, but I force myself to stay still and focus on my plan: to stay alive.
“I will talk to him— To Cole—” Monroe’s voice is a desperate croak, “Don’t kill me, please.” He falls to his knees, pleading with a near-comical desperation in the face of Nikolai’s unwavering gaze.
The following two shots are almost casual. Two bullets whistle through the air, silencing Monroe’s pleas forever. I squeeze my eyes shut, the sound reverberating in my ears.
Nikolai lowers his gun and spits on the floor next to Monroe’s lifeless body. “Clean up the mess,da?” His voice is almost conversational.
My body wants to crumble, to run, to hide. But I have to be strong. I force myself to stand, my breath ragged, my mind focused. I descend the stairs, one step at a time, determined to find a way out of this nightmare. The image of Monroe’s battered face, the bloody pieces of flesh on the ground haunts my mind.
I stop just before exiting, holding my breath. I don’t want to bump into anyone from the other room, not yet.Not ever, actually.When the coast is clear, I slip out.
My eyes dart around, a frantic search for an escape route. Panic tightens my throat, but I force it down, channeling my fear into a desperate need to get out.
A heavy metal door at the end of the corridor catches my eye. It’s a plain, practical door, almost industrial in its design, with a rusty latch.
Maybe, just maybe.
Making sure no one is around, I push it open, the rusty hinges groaning like a wounded beast.Quickly, Ava.The air beyond is cold and damp, a slap of reality against my skin.
I’m in a basement, I think. It’s a maze of concrete, a labyrinth of tunnels and passageways, a world beneath the world. It makes sense. The club’s underground. This must be an alternative exit. Or maybe, an entrance. I try not to dwell on what it’s used for. I try not to think about the girl who called me a “pretty doll,” the one who looked so lost, high on—something.
The image of the dressed-up girl from the safe house, her weary eyes, flashes through my mind. Is she down here somewhere?
The faint hum from the walls intensifies as I move deeper, a low, throbbing rhythm that vibrates in my chest. Is there an air system down here?
I hear a faint echo, like footsteps approaching slowly. My pulse rises, and I press myself against the wall. The concrete feels rough and cold beneath my hand, the dust clinging to my fingers.
They’re coming for me.
I turn and run. My feet pound on the concrete, the rough surface sending a dull throb through my legs. My lungs burn, my breath ragged, but I can’t stop. I hear the sound of footsteps behind me, getting closer, faster.
I turn a corner, searching desperately for an exit. Then, I see a faint light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a smaller metal door,but this one looks new. It carries a green sign. It seems like an emergency exit, an access point for utilities, or perhaps a way to reach the outside world.
I sprint towards it, my body full of adrenaline. My legs scream in protest, but I push forward, driven by a primal instinct to survive.
I ascend a short flight of stairs and reach the door, my hand shaking as I grab the handle. I push it open. The air is cold and wet.I’m outside.I find myself in another narrow alley, the walls dark and towering. The air tastes like metal and decay, coating my tongue with a gritty film.
I don’t hesitate. I take off running. I run until my lungs burn and my legs ache. Escape. That's all I care about. Forget the car, forget everything else.Just get me the hell out of here.I stumble, my legs aching, my body screaming for a reprieve. I can’t run anymore. I need to find somewhere to hide. I duck behind a large dumpster, my body trembling with exhaustion.Just a quick break, Ava.
I breathe deeply and then get up. There’s no time to rest. As I disappear into the darkness toward the safe house, the chilling image of Nikolai’s cold cruelty burns into my memory. There is no going back from this and no safe harbor. I am now adrift in a world where the line between predator and prey is razor-thin.
But I’m not a victim. I’m going to fight. I have to. And it’s not the last time I set foot in “Kitty’s Port Bar. “
But next time, it’ll be with backup and a shit load of guns.
Chapter 9
The Safe House
The safe house is a tomb.Silence hangs in the air, heavy as the stale coffee that’s been brewing all night. A sliver of dawn, pale and unwelcome, creeps through the blinds. My limbs ache, and my stomach growls. I’ve been home for a few hours, and everything here seems normal. I showered and changed into my pajamas when I got back, but the city’s scent clings to me. His eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—flash in my mind.Nikolai Romanov.
Zara stands in my doorway, her fingers tapping steadily against the doorframe. “You okay, ragdoll?”
My heart sinks. How can I explain? How can I even begin to process what I’ve witnessed? I’m not sure I want to. The images are still too vivid, the sounds too raw, too real. Where is Alexander?
