A first aid kit lies on my bed. Like all the times before, I take it along with my sweatpants and sweater and walk into the bathroom.
I set everything down on the counter, then lift my eyes to the mirror.
I’m pale, my eyes too large, too dark.
You’re okay.
My breathing starts to speed up, and once again, I shove the turbulent emotions deep down, not giving them the chance to surface.
You’re okay.
Turning on a faucet, I cup my hands and splash water over my face before taking a couple of painkillers. Unbuttoning my shirt, I carefully pull the tattered fabric off, winching whenever it tugs at the fresh wounds.
You’re okay.
Opening the first aid kit, I turn so I can see the right side of my back in the mirror. Old marks are now covered by fresh, red welts. Clenching my jaw, I begin the painstaking process of cleaning myself up.
It takes a while to tend to my wounds, my teeth aching from all the clenching. There are gashes I can’t reach. The best I could do was draping a warm, wet cloth over them to get rid of some of the blood.
It’s no use asking one of the other staff members to help. We never get personally involved because you don’t know who will die next. It would be stupid to form bonds. It would only make things more challenging, so it’s everyone for themselves.
I learned this lesson after Mom died, and I was left to fend for myself. She got bronchitis, and when she had breathing problems, she was taken away, and I was told she died.
There was no funeral.
When my time comes, I won’t have a funeral either. Like all the ones before me, I’ll just vanish.
Just wiped from existence while life in the mansion goes on as always.
You accept these things when you’re given no other choice. It’s better not to fight.
It’s better not to hope.
It makes everything easier.
Knowing the other staff members need to clean up after a long day’s work, I get dressed in my sweatpants and sweater. Gathering the bloody shirt, my skirt, and pumps, I leave the bathroom.
A new shirt lies on my bed.
I tuck the new shirt, my skirt, and pumps away in the box, then head up to the kitchen to throw the ruined shirt away.
The wounds keep tightening, and I know I won’t get much sleep tonight. The next week will be brutal because I still have to see to all my chores.
I walk past the main part of the kitchen and into the section that’s used for laundry and stocking the cleaning supplies. The smell of stew still hangs in the air, but having no appetite, I ignore the pot on the small gas stove.
Agnes prepares our meals, and it’s always some kind of stew with egg bread. As long as our stomachs are full, we don’t complain.
I toss the ruined shirt in the trash, then pour myself a glass of water. Standing by the sink, I only drink half and throw the rest down the drain.
A sudden popping of gunfire coming from outside has me quickly walking to the small window. Glancing into the night, lights illuminate the grounds at the side of the mansion. I can’t see anything, but when more gunfire fills the air and I hear men shouting, I take a hesitant step away from the window.
Is the mansion under attack?
Suddenly the lights go out, plunging me into darkness. My heart kicks in my chest before continuing to beat frantically.
What’s happening?
Something like this has never happened before, so I don’t know what to do.
Hide!
I squint my eyes, and with my arms held out in front of me, I feel my way into the main part of the kitchen.
All hell descends on the mansion as gunfire pours through the hallways.
Dear God!
I duck behind the marble island, my arm pressing against it. I keep blinking, my eyes finally starting to adjust to the darkness. On all fours, I crawl to the side of the island and peek around it.
Where are the other staff? Do I try to make a run for it or hide?
The gunfire is sporadic, then I hear a man shout, “Clear all the rooms. I want Mazur found.”
God, they’ll probably kill me just for working here.
The gunfire comes closer, the shots sounding impossibly loud and making my heart beat faster in my chest.
Get to safety! You’ve survived too much to die tonight.
I glance to the other section of the kitchen, and as I stand up to make a run for the backdoor, it bursts open, and men pour inside.
Crap!
Panicking, I run in the opposite direction, and darting into the hallway, bullets fly past me. My mouth instantly grows bone dry, and before I can take another step, a bullet slams into my side, tearing through my flesh and insides with excruciating pain.
Another bullet hits me in the stomach, and as pain engulfs me for a second time, my body drops into a pit of darkness.
Chapter 4
Gabriel
It happens fast. One second, I’m firing at Mazur’s soldiers, and the next, someone darts right into my line of fire.
Reaching the body, I notice the person isn’t wearing any combat gear, and there’s no weapon. I crouch down, on guard for any threat, while my men sweep through the mansion.
“Dead?” Emre asks as he crouches on the other side of the body.
“Looks dead,” I mutter, not able to see the person clearly.
Then Emre shines a light over the body, and I stare at the familiar face of the woman I bumped into outside Aqua.
She belongs to Mazur?
Just like earlier, her light brown hair is tied back in a tight bun that does nothing to flatter her average features. By the worn sweatpants and sweater, it’s safe to guess she’s probably a maid or some kind of employee. I’ve heard Mazur doesn’t give a fuck about his staff.
My eyebrows draw together when I hear the gunshots tampering out.
As I climb to my feet to continue my search for Mazur, Emre asks, “Is it the same woman from earlier?”
“Evet.” I lift an eyebrow at one of my soldiers. “Any sign of Mazur?”
“Not yet, boss,” he answers before disappearing down the hallway.
Emre searches the woman’s neck for a pulse, then glances at me. “She’s still alive.”
I doubt it’s a coincidence that she bumped into me on the same day I planned to attack. I swear, if Mazur got away and she had something to do with it, I’ll make her wish she was never born.
An edgy feeling ghosts over my skin, increasing the restlessness already tightening my muscles.
I want to know why she was at Aqua and any other information she has on Mazur. “Take her.”
Emre signals for two of my men to come closer. “Where are they taking her?”
“Home. One of the cottages at the back of the property. Get the doctor to take care of her.”
“Home?” Emre questions me.
“I want every piece of information she can give me.”
“If she survives,” my cousin mutters.
While my men take care of the woman, I continue to walk through the house, and when every soldier shakes their head, intense disappointment starts to fill my chest.
“No sign of Mazur or Dydek,” Daniel, one of my lieutenants, informs me as he comes into the sitting room. His words hit a nail in the coffin containing my hope that tonight would be the night Mazur pays for what he did to my parents.
I wanted that fucker to die tonight. I wanted his blood coating my hands, his screams filling my ears.
I bite out the instruction, “Find out if any of our men were wounded, and get the lights turned on.”