We’ve been working together so long that we have a natural rhythm. Yasha sets about dragging the man’s body onto the floor. I turn back to Cora. She’s pressed in the corner of the greasy kitchen, her face a sickly shade of white. It’s a mirror of how we met last night, but the stakes are ten times higher.
I grab her arm, but she flinches away from me. She cowers against the steel appliances. Her knees start to give way, her body sinking toward the floor.
I hold her just above the elbows and pin her against the wall with my hips. She tries to fight, but she isn’t even looking at me. She has no idea what she’s fighting against.
“Cora.” She is blinking past me, watching Yasha do his work. I shift into her line of sight and grab her chin to bring her gaze to me. “Cora.”
The name suits her
