As the pain exploded and pulsed through me, I waited for him to pull the trigger. Why wasn't he ending it? Why was I still breathing? I saw something flash through his eyes and he lowered his gun and walked away. He. Walked. Away. I watched his retreating back and let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. My head was pounding, my whole body was sore and I swore I couldn't feel my limbs. Something was broken, I knew it. The sound of the distant sirens coming closer spurred me into action. Struggling severely, I moved my hands to shove myself up on the steering wheel, my head spinning with slow, steady movements.

My adrenaline kicked in when I heard shouting and as I ignored the pain, I tried to shove the door open without any luck. It was jammed. I unlatched my seat belt and maneuvered myself out of the broken window of the crashed car, but my foot caught on my belt coming out, making me hop and wince in pain at the action and I toppled to the ground with a groan when I landed on my back.

The sirens were getting closer, my adrenaline pumped a little more into my system, allowing me to ignore any pain I felt as I sprung to my feet and stepped toward the car to reach into the window to pull the door open. Once it was open I leaned in, and snatched my gun from the floor of the car and looked around, limping away from the car as I shoved the gun into my jacket pocket.

I hurried out of the tunnel, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one was following me, including the man I'd been sent to kill… the man who let him live. He soon found himself on the streets of Moscow, outside the tunnel and almost being run over by cars before I finally limped onto the sidewalk. Police cars whizzed past me as I tried to hide my face, still limping, the cold getting to me, freezing my blood as it flowed from my wounds. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood straight up and i knew i was being followed, but I didn't look around. I was in no position to fight.

"What are you looking at?" I said in English, because she looked American. She had dark brown wavy hair that fell to her shoulders and had blue streaks running through it. She had bright brown eyes that were filled with concern. Concern for me? She was wearing dark blue skinny jeans and a thick black coat that went all the way to her thighs, and she was wearing a poof-ball hat that was blue and had cartoon eyes on it. She was tiny, like 5"3 or 4, and she had a very nice body, as in curves in all the right places, which I'm not the kind of person to notice. She was in long story short: Very beautiful.

"Dude, are you okay?" she asked in a musical voice. What is wrong with me?

"I'm fine." I snapped. Her eyes hardened and she put her little hands on her small waist.

"Man, you're bleeding all over the sidewalk, limping, and you look like you just got through hell."

"I told you I'm fi-"I started, but I blacked out.

I groaned and slowly my eyes flittered open. Where the hell was I? I looked around and figured I was in an apartment living room. The walls were bare and the room had only a few bare essentials and had boxes piled up against the wall. The door creaked open and my head whipped over to look at it. But that movement hurt like a bitch.

"Oh, hey you're awake." That same musical voice said. I looked through my blurry eyes to see the same girl from the sidewalk sitting across from my on a recliner chair. Her eyes assessed me as my eyes did her. Her lips were slightly parted and she licked them as she studied me. For some odd reason I had to fight the urge to jump her. I distracted myself by looking down at me bare chest. Why was I half naked? I was clean of blood and my ankle and left side of my ribcage was wrapped neatly in gauze.

"Why am I not wearing a shirt?" I choked out.

"Oh, that, I, uh, took that off so I could clean and fix your wounds. What the hell happened to you?" I stayed silent. She blew her hair out of her eyes and got back up with a brown paper bag. She started to put away her groceries when I noticed something.

"Why are you wearing my jacket? Did you find anything in the-"

"I'm wearing your jacket because it looked warm, and yes I found your gun in the left jacket pocket. I took out the clip before I left. You know in case anyone gave me trouble I could use it as a bluff. I'm not a stranger to firearms. And I kept your pants on, a boy gotta have his secrets right? " She smirked.

"Who do you work for?" I blurted out. She had to work for somebody.

"I don't work for anybody, I just moved here." I looked around the room again, noting the exits and taking in my surroundings. The room and kitchen was pretty bare so that matched her story of just moving here.

"You took in your surroundings and exits in under five minutes." She said nonchalantly putting away a jug of milk. My head snapped towards her again.

"Did you help me?" she nodded. "Why?" was all I said. She bit her lip and shrugged.

"I don't know. Well, I couldn't just leave you in the street now could I?" she said.

"Give me my gun." I hissed trying to stand up. She tsked.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I ignored her and got up shakily to my feet. I plopped back down on the couch when the pain was too great. I huffed. I reached out my hand.

"Give me my gun and the clip as well." The girl frowned and set the gun down on the counter and resumed putting the groceries away. She shook her head. I stared at her hard, still demanding she give me my gun.

"My name is Cory, by the way," she said. "Cory Taylors. What's your name?"

I glanced up at her from unfolding my clothes in my lap, "Kirill." I muttered before looking back down.

"No last name?" she asked, you could hear the smile in her voice.

I remained silent as I tried to pull on the shirt, but I was struggling, grunting and groaning at the pain in my side. Cory sat next to me and tried to help me but I yanked out of her reach, making myself groan in pain again at the sudden movement.

"That's what you get for being stubborn," she smirked and I glared at her as she tried again to help me.

This time I didn't move as she pulled the shirt over my head and helped get my right arm through the sleeve with as little pain as possible while I still glared at her though a pained shadow crossed over my face.

"Your eyes are boring a hole in my skull," she muttered, pulling my shirt down over my stomach, her fingertips accidentally brushing over my stomach and making me straighten. She caught the movement and frowned at me, asking, "You ok?"

I looked down at her, suddenly noticing the delicate freckles sprinkled across her cheeks below her chocolate orbs, but I instantly glared at her again as I muttered, "Fine."

"Fine," Cory mocked a low, Russian tone before asking through a smile, "Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

"No," I muttered, and winced when I tried to pull on my sweater as she stood.

"Let me rephrase," she began, sauntering toward the kitchen. "How about I make you a sandwich and give you a pain killer with water?"

"I said no," I shot back through gritted teeth as I slowly, painfully, pulled on the right sleeve of my sweater as Cory gave a sigh and an eye-roll from the kitchen. I gave a sigh of my own after pulling on my sweater and leaned back on the couch, closing my eyes and letting my head lull back as I tried to will away his migraine.

"Hey."

I opened my eyes and lifted my head to see Cory in front of me, two pills in the palm of one hand as she held them out for me to see, a bottle of water in the other. I looked at her for a moment, evaluating her. Why was this girl helping me? Could she be trusted? What if those pills were some sort of drug that would knock me out or even kill me? The question that came to mind next, I voiced.

"Who do you work for?"

"I told you I don't work for anybody." She said a little defensive. I looked into her eyes, she was telling the truth, or she was an extremely good liar. I narrowed my eyes as she pushed the pills toward me with the water.

I sighed. Well then.