41. STORM

Whether from cocaine or sheer insanity, Arkady’s brute strength is beating my every attempt to get away from him. His fist is knotted in my hair at the base of my skull – the pain is exquisite.

I scream at a group of people gyrating on the dance floor as he hauls me past them. “He’s going to rape me!” They flash me glassy-eyed grins and toast me with their plastic cups full of booze, never losing step with the thumping beat of the music filling every square inch of the club.

He yanks me through a lineup at the bar and grabs a bottle of vodka, draining a third of it in one swig as he marches. Finally, he tosses me through a side door into the empty street.

“This is my car,” he says, waving at a big black SUV. “Get in.”

“Fuck you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time – ”

The edge of my right palm collides with his Adam’s apple and cuts his reply short. He drops to his knees on the asphalt, gagging and clutching his throat.

For my part, I’m doubled over, trying to catch my breath, but still mighty proud of myself.

“I just needed some room to move,” I puff, positioning myself in front of him.

Next I take my hands off my thighs, clasp my fingers around the back of Arkady’s head and pull downward. At the same time, I bring my right knee up squarely into his nose. The wet cracking noise gives me goosebumps.

“Aagghhk,” he grunts, his eyes still wild.

As I look down at him, an odd calm comes over me. He’s incapable of defending himself now. After just two moves, I’ve got the upper hand and he’s helpless. Just like how I felt at the party in Long Beach. And on the cliffs with Darya. And in the storeroom upstairs.

And now I have the chance to do to him everything he’s done to me. And worse, if I want. I scan the area – there’s not another human being out here for blocks.

“How’s that blood taste going down your throat?” I ask casually, circling him. “Cakes a bit, doesn’t it?”

Arkaday snuffles out a clot of blood onto the pavement. I grimace and look away.

“That’s disgusting,” I say, picking him up off his knees by the collar. “Your mother must be proud.”

“Shu fuh up about muh mutha…”

I open the driver’s side door of his SUV and push him back down to his knees. He leans forward and props his hand on the running board to steady himself.

Meanwhile, I close the heavy door on the side of his head with a satisfying thump. When I open it again, he’s swaying.

“Would have thought your head was harder than that,” I sneer. “Guess we’ll see what a second one does to you. I have a feeling it’s going to crack like an egg.”

“Storm.”

I stop in mid-swing as I hear Nick’s voice. I turn to see him stumbling towards me, blood dripping from his chest and side.

“Nick!” I cry, running to him. “Thank God! Are you okay? What happened?”

“Darya and one of the others is dead,” he says. “The other isn’t a threat.”

I try to inspect his wounds, but there’s not enough light out here. Meanwhile, Nick looks at Arkady, kneeling against the side of the SUV.

“Nice work,” he says. “Come on. We have to go.”

“Go?” I ask, incredulous. “I’ve got him where I want him.”

Nick’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“One more slam of this door and it’ll all be over,” I say, standing over Arkady now. “He can never hurt us again.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t want to do that, Storm.”

I blink at him. “You were the one who told me, if someone attacks me, I need to stop him, no matter the consequences.”

“I was wrong,” he says, his eyes boring into mine. “This is wrong. This is murder. You’re not that person. I know you.”

“He made me that person!” I bellow. “He deserves worse than this!”

“But you don’t.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Nick?”

“You don’t deserve what will happen to you if you kill him,” he says. “What it will do to you, to your soul. Believe me. It eats at you. No matter how justified it is, it will always eat at you.”

I goggle at him. The man who taught me to kill is telling me not to.

“I need you to trust me on this,” he says. “We can still walk away.”

I look down at Arkady, see the blood pooling around his head. Think of his wild eyes, the cocaine flying up his nose, the insane ramblings. It would be so easy to just…

But Nick is right. Better to leave him like this.

“You owe Nick your life,” I say, toeing Arkady’s head with my shoe. “He convinced me to let you live.”

I crouch down beside him so that my words are for him alone. This is between the two of us.

“You’ll always have to live with the knowledge that you were beaten by a woman,” I whisper. “The woman you terrorized. Brutalized. That woman almost killed you, but decided in the end to let you live with it.”

I straighten up. “Have a nice life, Arkady,” I say as I turn to walk away.

Nick was right. The freedom I feel is incredible. Arkady can never have power over me again.

“Storm – ” Nick says, but before he can finish his thought, I feel the forearm around my neck and the cold steel of the gun barrel at my temple.

“Shoo of ooked inna cah, bish,” he mumbles. “See muh gun.”

My heart races as time seems to slow around me. I hear the gun cock, feel Arkady’s hot breath on my cheek, smell the coppery stench of his blood in my nostrils. My mind swirls as I try to think of a way out.

Then the deafening crack.

And the feel of Arkady’s forearm giving way around my throat. I open my eyes to see him sliding to the pavement, a red hole where his right eye was. In front of me, I see Nick, the barrel of the Ruger pointed in my direction, a wisp of smoke escaping.

Time catches up and I stagger forward, crashing into him. My body is wracked with tremors, forcing him to hold me up, even with his own injuries.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” he whispers in my ear.

I try to get my breathing under control, but Nick grabs my hand and starts pulling me along with him.

“It’s not over yet,” he says as we jog.

“What do you mean? We’re going to run away.”

“I killed Arkady,” he says. “We don’t have that option anymore. They’ll hunt us.”

“I don’t understand,” I pant as we reach the alley behind the building. Nick pulls his motorcycle from behind the Dumpster and hands me his helmet.

“We have to go home,” he says. “And prepare for war.”