“Go downstairs and check on William. Make sure he’s dead,” I tell him. “I can’t stand to look at you right now.”
“We need to find the drive,” he answers sheepishly.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I shake my head. “I’m going to clean up your fucking mess here, and while I do that, you can look downstairs. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Yes,” he grunts. “I got it.”
He disappears out the door, and my eyes drift to Nina. The urge to retch overtakes me, but I choke it back down as I consider what I have to do. I can’t think of her as Kat’s friend anymore. I can’t think of this in any way other than what it is now. Damage control.
But I also can’t leave her here like this. Disgraced and humiliated. Carefully, I dig through her dresser drawers and find a pair of pajama pants. It might not make much of a difference, considering what I’ll have to do now, but this is the last thing I can do for her.
I dress her and lay her back in her bed, covering her up. And for a full minute, I just stand there, wondering when this became my life. My chest is heavy when I drape the blanket over Nina’s face, but there isn’t time to consider how fucked up this situation is. At the end of the day, all I know how to do is get on with the job of surviving. Cleaning up Andrei’s messes and doing Vasily’s bidding. A burden I resent more and more with each passing day.
As I dissect the room, tearing through every possible hidey-hole for the drive, I fantasize about a different life. A life where I have the answers that brought me into this world in the first place. A life where my mother’s death hasn’t gone unavenged, and I can actually look myself in the mirror at night. But these are just empty thoughts, built upon a crumbling foundation. I’ve been working for my uncle for ten years now, and I am still no closer to having the answers I seek. The hope of leaving this existence behind abandoned me long ago, but I’m still here, still functioning on autopilot. And right now, I’m not any closer to finding the drive that Vasily sent us here for in the first place. The drive that William von Brandt knew very well could sink us.
Just when I think I’ve turned over every inch of Nina’s room, something catches my eye. The familiar shade of pink from a scarf I know all too well. Ice coats my veins as I grab the ratty old scarf and bring it to my nose, inhaling.
Katerina.
She was here. But when? A glance at the window only intensifies the churning in my gut. It’s not fully closed, and just outside, a few strands of faded Magenta hair stick to the trellis. She left in a hurry.
Fuck.
My heart slams into my rib cage as I consider what might have happened if she hadn’t. But what’s worse is the fact she may have seen something or heard something. What did Nina tell her? Has she already called the cops?
My brain is firing off questions faster than I can answer them, but the only thing I know for certain is that I need to get the fuck out of here and find her, fast.
“Andrei!” I yell down the stairs. “We need to go. Have you found anything?”
“No,” he grunts.
“I have one more room to clear,” I tell him. “Start looking for some accelerant. Anything you can find.”
He mumbles something I can’t understand as I tear through the von Brandt’s master suite. But my search turns up nothing. There are only two possibilities left. Either the drive is no longer here, or it will go down in flames with the rest of the evidence. There isn’t time for anything else.
“This ought to do it.” Andrei appears with two gas cans he must have found in the garage.
I nod and take one of them. “I’ll handle the upper level. You get downstairs. Make sure to douse William, the drapes, anything that will burn.”
He limps away and does as I request without protest, still nursing his wounds from earlier. Vasily will probably have something to say about me beating his face in, but I’m long past giving a fuck.
I douse the carpet, the beds, and Nina’s body with gasoline. When Andrei shouts that he’s done downstairs, I grab the pack of matches I found in the bathroom and set flame to the beds and the carpet. Downstairs, I repeat the process on William’s body and the other places that Andrei points out. The smoke is already starting to fill the house, and when the fire alarms are triggered, I gesture for Andrei.
On our way out the door, he nearly trips over a muddy pair of shoes. The same shoes I tripped over on my way in. And it isn’t until he looks at them and his brows pinch together that I realize the scarf isn’t the only thing Kat left behind.
“Whose shoes are those?” he asks.
“Probably Nina’s,” I lie.
He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen her wear them. And she hasn’t left the house today, so why would they be muddy?”
The one time I need Andrei to be a dumb fuck, he starts piecing shit together.
“Then they’re Elizabeth’s. Who gives a shit? We need to go.”
“There was a scarf upstairs too.” His brows pinch together. “That drunk chick from the club. She had one just like it.”
“Andrei, we need to get the fuck out of here. The cops are coming,” I bark.
He takes one more long look at the shoes and then bolts out the door. I should be thinking about my exit strategy, potential witnesses, and a million other problems that have just presented themselves, but there’s only one thing on my mind now.
Andrei knows, and I am so fucked.
I told Andrei I would meet him back at the club, and he bought it for now. When I pull up to Kat’s apartment complex, I’m not entirely sure how this will play out. It’s not even dinnertime yet. People are still up, getting home from work and watching TV. It’s not like I can drag her out of here in broad daylight. But I can’t leave her here either.
My fist rattles the door in its frame before Rachel finally pokes her head out through the chain.
“What do you want?” She glares.
“I need to see Kat.”
“She isn’t here,” she hisses.
“Bullshit.”
“Look, asshole. I don’t know who you are—”
I slam my shoulder into the door without warning, and Rachel stumbles back in horror as I enter the apartment and shut the door behind me.
“Don’t scream.” I shake my finger at her when she opens her mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you make a scene, I’ll tape your fucking mouth shut.”
Her eyes dart to the door. She considers her options, but it doesn’t take her long to accept that she’s trapped.
“Kat isn’t here,” she repeats. “I don’t know what you want, but—”
“Where is she?” I glance down the hall toward her room.
“She bailed.” Rachel glares up at me. “I don’t know what’s going on. She just came home, freaked out, and said she had to leave. She grabbed a bag of clothes, and she was gone. That’s all I know.”
Christ.
I don’t want to believe it, but the empty silence in the apartment only seems to confirm Rachel’s account. If Kat was here, she’d be out in the living room by now, trying to defend her friend. That much I know.
“Show me.” I gesture for Rachel to move, and she hesitates.