Ravil stepped out of the alleyway, peeling off the bloodstained gloves and taking one last glance at the corpse. He shuddered, blinked, and rolled his shoulders, then made his way down the street like any normal person would. The rush that had accompanied the killing was beginning to wear off, leaving persistent chills in its wake.
He didn't fully realize what he had just done, but he knew it wasn't really his fault. It was the postcard. The Russians were messing with him. Whoever that Izmaylov guy was, Ravil knew he had something to do with it.
It's not my fault.
He went home, crept in through the front door, and spotted Artem, still curled up on the couch, sleeping like a baby. Ravil gave an uneasy smile, then walked to the bathroom, flinching when the floors creaked and relaxing when they didn't wake Artem.
Ravil turned on the kitchen sink and stuck his hands beneath the faucet, scrubbing them in cold water and soap until his skin turned raw and he was completely and wholly convinced that there was no blood remaining on them.
Then, he straightened and peered at himself in the mirror, meeting his own green-eyed stare.
"Dlya Rossii."
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Otkroveniye Complex // Book 1 of the Takaryev Series
Mystery / ThrillerRavil Galkin doesn't have much of a past, but as far as he's concerned, he's a completely normal person. Sure, he's a college drop out and basically a shut-in, but that's alright with him. But there's a whole different depth to the situation. An oc...
