When she managed to fight her way back to consciousness, it was to loud shouts and low moans. Her head was pillowed on someone’s lap, cool fingers stroking the hair away from her face. It should’ve felt comforting.
Instead, it felt paralyzing.
Memory came back in bits and pieces, the danger thrumming in her heart. Kevin, dressed in a suit and smiling. Heels too long. Faking a limp, smiling into a security guard’s face. Heat and pain.
“Can you hear me, darling?” a cool voice whispered into her ear, a voice on the edge of familiarity, “Niyati, can you hear me?”
Oh, fuck.
“No,” she whispered, a reaction more than an answer. She tried to twist away but gentle fingers suddenly became firm and fast, digging into her shoulders, and she stared up with her heart caught in her throat.
Her gaze was met by cold, dark eyes and bright red lips twisted into a smile. “Hello, krasotka.”
“Nastya,” she whispered, half in shock, half in terror.
“You remember who I am.” Nastya’s smile looked delighted. “Looks like you didn’t hit your head that hard, then.” Soft fingers skimmed her scalp, lightly passing over a wound, sore and throbbing, and Niyati waited for those fingers to tighten, for fists to clench in her hair and yank at her wound and make her scream –
The fingers passed and brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face. Niyati opened her eyes in surprise. “You are a long way from home, my little lamb,” Nastya said softly, “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”
Yes, Niyati minded. She minded quite a lot. A few more memories slipped into place – the information had been missing. There had been a bomb. It was safe to assume that the bomb had gone off, which meant –
Niyati attempted to get up for a better look but that – that was not a good decision. Pain immediately flared across her body, a heavy weight digging into her chest and searing burns along her bare arms. She fell back inelegantly, back into Nastya’s arms, teeth gritted against a scream as her muscles locked up.
“Shh, krasotka, you’re hurt pretty badly,” Nastya said, a sick parody of comfort when Niyati could see the pipe sticking out of her leg.
The pipe impaling her leg.
Niyati couldn’t hide the whimper.
“You’re not going to bleed out – not yet anyway,” Nastya whispered and a part of Niyati – the one that wasn’t struggling to take deep breaths and block out the sickening sight of metal emerging from her leg, drenched in blood – noted the woman’s hushed tone. That part sounded even more danger alarms.
There were very few places in the world where Nastya Ivanova was not the most dangerous thing in the room. It seemed like she’d landed herself in one of them.
“What?” She wanted to ask ‘what’s going on’ but shifting even an inch caused the metal pipe to tear at her and she stilled completely, her scream caught in her teeth.
“The room collapsed, darling,” Nastya said, and her fingers stilled, “Shall I assume it was the work of your little…gang?” There were several other things Nastya had previously called their group, several more vehement things and Niyati was confused by the euphemism.
She was confused by a lot of things – the realization and panic hampered by disorientation and the throbbing pain. She didn’t remember where the mission had taken place, only that there had been a mission. She knew there had been a bomb but didn’t remember what information they were trying to steal and from whom. Kevin had been with her, but what about the others – were they here too, unconscious and injured?
She tried to sit up and check but something in her chest shifted and breathing was now more difficult, every breath a gasp. “Shh, krasotka,” Nastya said, easing her back down. Niyati had seen glimpses of fallen rafters and rubble and bodies that were lying far, far too still. The light was cold and clinical and created more shadows than it illuminated and everything was touched with red.
“Where are we?” she gasped out. Her vision was blurry again and when she blinked, something cool slipped down her cheeks. A finger brushed against it and she could see Nastya’s look of fascination.
“Did hit your head after all, hmm,” was Nastya’s only reply. Niyati weakly twisted in her grasp, trying to see the woman’s face better, hidden in shadows as it was, but her attempt was interrupted by a series of hard footsteps.
Nastya’s fingers curled over her arms and Niyati subsided to look at the newcomer through half-open eyes.
He looked angry. No, he looked enraged, his hand tightening on the gun in his hand like he was itching to shoot someone. Dust marred his fine clothes, dust and blood. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t say who he was – a splitting headache developed as she tried.
“Has she woken up, then?” the man spat out and Niyati felt a thrill of fear.
Nastya did not, however, stand up and proceed to show him exactly why no one used that kind of tone with her, and Niyati’s confusion grew.
“She’s confused,” Nastya said, her voice mild, “She doesn’t know where she is.”
“She has a mouth, doesn’t she?” the man said roughly, and she could see him sit on his haunches, the gun a little too close for her liking. “Let her speak.”
“She’s disoriented,” Nastya said, voice still mild, but Niyati’s heart rate picked up because there had been something in her tone, not obvious enough for a warning. Like the barest glimpse of sharp teeth.
The man didn’t catch it, he didn’t even pause before he shook her roughly. Niyati’s eyes flew open and she met his gaze.
This close, she could make out more details. There were swipes of dried blood on his face and dust caulked into his hair. His eyes were narrowed as they glared at her. She could catch a hint of gold at his throat – a flash of a symbol that felt familiar but she couldn’t recognize.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Niyati stared at him for a moment, panic beginning to build – they’d gone under fake names, hadn’t they? What had they been this time?
“Nikki,” she responded to buy herself time. It was a common enough nickname for a few of her aliases.
“Well, Nikki, what’s the last thing you remember?” he asked. He was looking at her face, scanning it, and Niyati felt dread build.
“The explosion,” she said. She hoped her earpiece was gone, lying underneath some rubble somewhere. If it was in her ear, it wasn’t working, and she didn’t want anyone to find it.
“I don’t remember seeing you at the party,” he said, and her stomach dropped. Nastya’s fingers tightened on her arms.
“I had just arrived,” she said shakily. In an instant, the man’s expression twisted.
“Really?” he said, his tone maniac and his eyes frightening, “Because the lovely Miss Ivanova said you’d been here for some time. She assured me that she had spoken to you before she sat at my table.”
Nastya’s grip tightened further. Well, at least Niyati now knew that Nastya hadn’t seen her enter – it wasn’t funny, but she still felt a hysterical giggle threatening to escape.
“One of you is a liar,” the man said lowly, “Shall we find out which one?”
“Grigori –” Nastya started – Grigori as in the owner of the building, of the information they were trying to steal, the target – but her words and Niyati’s realization was cut off by sharp, burning pain as the man caught ahold of the metal pipe and twisted.
Niyati could barely remember screaming because the pain blocked out everything else – it scraped against bone and it tore her apart and there were hands holding her down, forcing her down, and she saw red and black and red –
I was in Emilio’s car and um, his remote for his security gate malfunctioned so I jumped out to open it and... well, a few seconds either way of course and... So, Emilio’s bodyguards threw me in the back of their car and got me to a ‘doctor’ which in retrospect I was pretty sure was a vet, patched me up and shot me with a horse tranquilizer and put me out for 15 hours...
