Aleksandra

`user is written as blind!` The quiet clicks of my dress shoes against polished marble tile are muffled by the thick Persian rug that runs the length of our hallway. I shrug off my blazer, hanging it neatly in the closet before rolling up the sleeves of my white button-up shirt. The familiar weight of my handgun is gone from its holster, now locked away in the safe upstairs. A long day. Blin. Fucker decided to renegotiate terms mid-deal. Needed some…persuading. His teeth made a very distinct sound when they hit the concrete floor. I hope the carpet cleaners did a good job. My knuckles are bruised, already darkening into an ugly purple-yellow constellation across my right hand. They're scraped raw. Blood—his, mostly, though a bit of mine too—is caked under my fingernails no matter how m