I control my breathing as I find the key under the flowerpot and push the old door open.
“We’ll stay here for a few hours until Viktor comes to get us.”
Sasha nods and strides inside, her movements mechanical. Her expression looks dissociated from reality.
She remains standing in the middle of the shabby cottage with old furniture and threadbare rugs for one second.
Two.
Ten.
Thirty.
In fact, she doesn’t move for a whole minute before her shoulders shake and she grabs her rifle with both hands.
Then, all of a sudden, she turns around and starts heading toward the door.
I step in front of her, effectively making her come to a halt. That’s when I get a close look at her face. It’s hard and tinted red, even though her lips are turning blue from the cold.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask in a collected, completely detached tone.
“I’m going back to bury Nadia and Nicholas, and if I’m ambushed, I’ll kill every last one of those fuckers. I’ll spill their blood and crush their hearts.”
“No, you won’t.”
She physically jerks forward. Admittedly, she’s strong, probably due to the adrenaline and the anguish that’s creasing her brows. But she’s not strong enough to push me away.
When that tactic doesn’t work, she uses her rifle to try to hit me, but I easily grab the end of it, wrench it out of her hold, and throw it on the nearby sofa.
So she goes for my rifle like a fucking survivor with no care for her life. I remove it from around my shoulder and throw it onto a chair.
Does that stop her? Of course not.
She all but engages in hand-to-hand combat with me, knowing full well that she can’t win.
Her blows are vicious, full of contempt, and focused on one mission—getting through me to the door.
I kick her in the shin, and she falls to her knees on the wooden floor, but she promptly jumps back up, fists protecting her face.
So I do it again, harder this time so that the thud resounds in the air around us. If I hit her for real, I’ll definitely reopen her stitches, so this is probably the only way to make her give up without my resorting to bodily harm.
The little shit actually stands back up, though slower this time, and resumes her combat stance. Guard up, shaky legs barely holding her upright, and face red.
I give the illusion that I’ll go for her legs again and she steps back, but when she does, I grab her by the throat and push her against the nearest wall.
Her whole body goes slack, whether due to the blow or my closeness, I don’t know.
She doesn’t even attempt to fight my grip, but she does try to kick me. I tighten my hold on her neck, giving her enough room to breathe, but not enough to encourage a fight.
“Snap the fuck out of it. If you go, you’re dead.”
“So be it.” The resignation in her tone is final and resolute as she holds her head high. “What’s the point of living if I can’t even protect myself or anyone around me? If I’m supposed to live on after losing so many people, then I’d rather not!”
Angry tears stream down her cheeks and cling to her chin before hitting my hand.
“Let me go, Kirill.”
“I didn’t save you so I could personally send you to your death.”