4
Alisa woke slowly.
Except she wasn’t Alisa anymore. She was…Irina now. Irina. Had to repeat her new name until it was second nature. Irina Kovalenko. Irina Kovalenko.
Irina remembered her apartment burning, no, her torching her own apartment. She remembered…
Chyort voz’mi! She remembered slitting Sergey’s throat. She’d managed to lead him down to an out of the way dock along the waterfront after convincing him that taking her out to dinner was a sure path to success with her—thankfully Sevastopol was mostly waterfront.
While he’d been enjoying himself, groping her breasts with brutal strength, she’d slipped a blade up through the soft underpart of his chin and managed to cut his brainstem just like in training. For a moment he’d squeezed her breasts so convulsively hard that she was
