𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟓𝟐 | 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

I was left alone. The only thing that kept me the company was fear and thoughts. I don't know what was worse. To be scared or be tortured by my own head?

I pressed my palms hard against my temples. Some thoughts hurt more than the edge of a knife. I didn't want to think about anything anymore.

My mother used to tell me that if I overcame my fear, I would be able to go through the fire. When I was younger, I didn't understand that. After all, how could an ordinary mortal do such a thing?

Now I finally understand. We've been doing this our whole lives. Every obstacle means a path full of barbed thorns and hot flames. We are all warriors and we have it written all over our bodies. Just look at our bruises, scars, unhealed wounds...

My mother's face appeared in front of me.

"Don't worry, Ria. You're not just an ordinary girl. You're like a hurricane with skin as hard as steel and guts after your father." A faint half-smile flashed across my face. I'm not what you think, Mom. I am nothing more than a huge rage in a tiny body. I went through so many fires that I don't even know if I survived and I'm alive or still burning.

I slowly sucked air into my hot lungs and held it there for a moment. With closed eyelids, I counted to five and then exhaled. I can do it, I encouraged myself. There is no doubt about that.

Immediately after sending a few motivating thoughts to my brain center, the sound of a siren irritated my eardrums. My moment has finally come. With another deep breath, determination flooded me from head to toe. I was ready.

I cautiously came out of the box where I was hiding, and I stretched myself. The journey was not long, but even so, it managed to stiffen all my bones and weaken my muscles during that time.

I strained my ears and waited for what would have happened. Apart from the loud horn, I didn't hear anything from the outside for a while. But then there was a slight knock. It was a signal that Patrick was standing on the other side of the door. With my hand, I touched the weapon, covered with a piece of cloth from my T-shirt. The door opened. Patrick looked really focused. He was careful to make as little noise as possible during his activities.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, nervously looking around.

"I came with my friends to break into the residence of the mobsters, whose leader I killed. Of course. Everything is fine. A typical Saturday," I replied quietly with irony, my lips spreading into a small grin. It is strange how quickly one begins to adapt to new situations and ways of life. If someone had told me two weeks ago that I will be throwing myself and Otto into dangerous situations, I would probably have laughed at its absurdity. Mostly it was my father who was taking the risks. It was him who did not respect human life and who exposed himself and those closest to him to death. But many things have changed. I'm not the same person I used to be. I already have innocent blood on my hands. I've already become a murderer.

I got goosebumps thinking about the word "murderer". I quickly shook off any emotions and told myself that now was not the time to regret terrible actions. There are more lives at stake. The lives of people I didn't want to lose at any cost.

I stepped out of the van. I realized that shooting could start every second, but I still stood there with confidence, full of determination. It was strange how quickly my feelings alternated.

Patrick looked at me sideways and nodded to indicate that I should follow him. We entered the building as quietly as a mouse. There was no living soul anywhere, which aroused a little insecurity in me. Everything seemed too easy.

We walked down a long corridor. Patrick was in the foreground, and I followed him warily. I couldn't help but grow worried with each step. I looked closely at the person in front of me. Can we trust him? What if it's a trap?