I washed my hair…well, more like just got it wet since there was no shampoo or conditioner in the shower. There was a bar of soap; I couldn't remember the last time I had actually seen a bar of soap. The water wasn't even all that hot, but it was better than nothing. What little heat there was felt good, especially after that rather brutal beating I took. Murphy had given me a towel, black tee shirt, and navy colored boxers, then sent me into the bathroom to wash up.

I wandered out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam escaping when I opened the door, with a towel wrapped up around my hair. I saw Murphy in the kitchen, pouring alcohol over the cut from where I stabbed him in the leg. "Sorry about that." I sort of mumbled out to him as I shuffled awkwardly across the hardwood floors with my bare feet, holding all my bloody clothes in my arms.

"Eh, I've had worse than this." He commented simply, looking up at me with a rather odd reassuring smile. I couldn't help but notice as I stood there in the kitchen, my guns and knife had been moved from the table. Murphy must have noticed me searching for my weapons because he then said, "Conner put them away for safe keeping."

"You mean he hid them from me in case I decide to kill you in your sleep?"

"I was trying to be nice about it."

"You know I'm going to need those, for when Vladimir comes. I mean no offense or anything, but I'm even sure the two of you could take him. And once he breaks both your backs, you're going to need a gun in my hand to make sure he doesn't bash your skulls in."

"I'm sure we'll be just fine. Besides, we're gonna' keep you hidden, where he can't see you."

"And why is that?"

"We want him to think you're dead. If he kills us but knows you're alive, he'll take you back. I don't want that to happen."

"Are you trying to imply you're doing this for my protection?"

"That is exactly what I'm trying to imply."

"I don't need protection."

"Well that is just too damn bad." He stood up from where he had been sitting at the kitchen table and sort of stumbled over towards me on his wounded leg to take the handful of clothes from me. "I can ride into town tomorrow and get you some fresh clothes."

"You can't just wash these?"

"Sure, but these blood stains aren't gonna' come out. We wash everything by hand, and no amount of elbow grease is gonna' get that much blood out. And when you leave, do you really want to travel in blood stained clothes?"

"You don't know my sizes."

"I'd assume small." He sort of laughed, as if it was some sort of joke.

"Small or not I can still kick your ass." I snorted at him.

"I didn't say you couldn't, simply that you're so…tiny." He tossed my clothes into a trash bag and sat back at the table, pushing the other chair out with his foot and gesturing for me to sit down. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and sat down with my arms crossed over my chest. "Just how old are you anyway? You barely looked seventeen."

"I'm twenty two."

"Still pretty young." He commented as he leaned back a bit in his seat. "How long have you been-"

"Killing people?" I cut him off and he nodded simply. "I've been training for as long as I can remember. I was eleven the first time I ever killed a man. Sixteen when I started out on missions. I'm no warrior. I can't fight to save my life. I know basics, enough to last in a fight, enough to buy time until I can get my hand on a gun. That's my expertise. Vladimir was never a good shot. He could hardly bring himself to pull a trigger and when he did he could miss even if you were standing right in front of the barrel. He was scared of guns, of knives, never really knew why. He was always a more physical creature, and I've seen him do horrible things with his bare hands. But he won't kill them, never right away. He likes to torment his victims. He's no assassin, father always told him that. In a way, father was ashamed of Vladimir, he said it was pathetic that I was a more efficient killer. Vladimir pretended like he didn't care, but he did. The mental torture had been going on my entire life, but when we were thirteen, that was when he started to hit me. He was jealous, so he'd hit me. My brother never loved me, he never loved anyone. He just loved to watch people suffer. He's a monster. I know maybe you could argue, say I am too…but…I do this because it's all I've ever known. It's what I was birthed into this world to do. I was born a killer, it comes as naturally to me as breathing because that was how I was raised. I'm good at it, damn good at it. Sometimes I think about what kind of life I'd live if I wasn't this, if I wasn't a killer. I've always loved the arts. I imagine if I had been raised with half as much dedication to music or dance I'd either be a world class ballerina or master pianist. But I'm not, and I never will be. I will always be a killer. Even when I leave here, it will always be something that will follow me for as long as I live. Even if I stop, I will always be a killer."

I saw the pain on Murphy's face, the empathy in his eyes and sadness in his expression. It was then I realized I had been crying, because he leaned forward and with his index finger he wiped a tear from my face. He was afraid because I was afraid. He was heartbroken because I was heartbroken. He didn't have to say anything for me to know he understood me. He took my hand in his and looked me in the eyes with such a calming sense of comfort I almost forgot everything, who I was, where I was, and that my brother would be here in a few days.

Murphy didn't want me to die, and I didn't want him to either. Murphy and Conner both. Murphy said they'd protect me when Vladimir came, and I knew then I'd protect them if I needed to. And I knew I would need to.

"You should get some rest." Murphy finally broke the silence, letting go of my hands and standing to his feet. "When you wake up, you're gonna' give Conner and I the full run down about Vladimir. We need to know exactly what we're up against, got it?" I nodded and stood up from my chair. Murphy pointed over to his room, "You can take my bed, I'll sleep on the couch. I promise it's more comfortable than it looks."

"I'm sure I'll manage." I tried to smile, he smiled back, and I walked over to the room.

"Oh and Valentina," Murphy called to me as I reached the door. I looked back over my shoulder at him and he smiled, "Thanks for not killing me."

"Call me Val." I said back, returning his smile, "And thanks for trusting me."