Where was she? Why was she so wet and cold? Her heart beat sluggishly, and she strained for consciousness. Behind her eyelids, she sensed light. She shivered with cold, felt a strange wetness under her shoulder. She struggled to open her eyes, but the effort seemed so great. Lethargy sucked at her, and she sank down into a quiet haze before again trying to fight her way to the surface.
Drip. Drop. Drip… drop.
Familiar scents teased her nose. She tried to inhale, but something large and heavy crushed her ribcage. What was it? She smelled laundry detergent and men’s cologne. These scents mingled with others, familiar, but not pleasant—the stench of sweat and fear and something else, something distinct and metallic.
Her limbs seemed far away, her head fuzzy. She tried to move her legs, her hands, but, like her eyelids, they didn’t quite obey. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she move?
Drip. Drop. Drip… drop.
Her thoughts tangled and drifted. Unfocused images played behind her eyes. The lacy hem of a short red dress against her thighs. A sparkling drink with a wedge of lime. The dizzying glitter of the chandeliers at Troika.
Troika. She remembered accepting a drink from the bartender at her brother’s nightclub. Then what? Her memory was blank.
Drip… drop… drip… drop.
She recognized the coppery smell now. Blood. It was blood. And the scent was all around her.
Panic knifed through her stupor. She opened her eyes. She was on the floor. Light from a chandelier stabbed at her eyes, and she turned her head away.
Near her shoulder, she saw a long-fingered hand with wisps of black hair over olive skin, palm spread against the familiar tiles of the nightclub she had decorated. A man’s hand.
Dread jolted her system, coursed through her limbs. He was on top of her, his groin against hers, his leg thrown over hers. She thrashed underneath him, trying to heave him off, but he didn’t budge.
He didn’t resist her efforts. He didn’t move at all.
Drip… drop… drip… drop.
Who was he? She craned her neck, felt slick, sticky wetness under her cheek and the skin of her bare shoulder. She angled her head to look at him, but couldn’t see his face. His chin was cradled against her shoulder, and his arm had pinioned hers. All she could see was the blood pooled on the floor.
Something was in her hand. She managed to wiggle and flex her fingers. They curled around something hard and cold and heavy. A gun.
There was a gun in her hand! Her body started to shake uncontrollably. Had she killed him?
Inna squeezed her eyes closed, prayed she was hallucinating. When she opened them again, the horror was still there. Someone started screaming, a shrill keening.
Only when she felt the raw pain in her throat did she realize the screams were hers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
D. B. Shuster is a professor of Sociology in New York. While her depictions of university life may be more…accurate than some people would care to admit, this is a work of fiction! From neurotic academics to Russian gangsters in Brooklyn, she enjoys writing about complex and quirky characters behaving badly, and she loves serving up serial thrills to readers. She lives in New York with her family.
I love to hear from readers. Here are some ways to connect with me:
Email: [email protected]
Website: dbshuster.com
Twitter: @DBShuster
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/dbshuster/
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 D. B. Shuster
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2014 Crime Bytes Media
Cover design by Asha Hossain, Asha Hossain Design, Inc.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
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The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: [email protected].
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