I flex my fingers, eyeing the black tattoos that are inked onto my skin. Well, my hands are mostly clean. She swings a bag as she walks, her cheerful mood a beacon in the crowd. “I’m done,” she sings out. Normally, this kind of attention would be unwelcome, but I am too jubilant at the thought of Petrov being eliminated. Everly is safe from him. I start in her direction, intent upon taking her back to the hotel and making good on my promise to order room service desserts. Memories of this morning crowd their way to the forefront of my mind. My hands on her body, spreading her thighs, and holding her wrists prisoner. How she tasted on my tongue. The sounds she made when she came apart in my arms. My stomach roils. I can’t touch her, much less have sex with her. I’ve just killed a man. I glance at my hands once more, and they’re stained with blood instead of ink. I pivot and stride away, fighting the bile that threatens to rise. “Roman?” Everly calls out, her quickening footsteps growing closer as she follows me.
