by Loren, Celia
“Shhh,” I rasp over the gunfire, “It’s alright, Keto, it’s alright!”
Our hands clasp together, trembling, and the tears in our eyes are from both fear and wonder. It’s amazing, all of a sudden, to have her in front of me. The gunshots only make it more surreal, more difficult to believe. The child, a little girl, is crushed between us wide-eyed and crying. Keto doesn’t have to tell me it’s her daughter. The resemblance is uncanny.
“You said others inside—your friends, are they alright?”
“Yes, yes, the family inside will be alright. They rang the bell and help will come from the neighbors. The Amish do not fight, but they are strong, they will keep the bad men in the basement until someone can get the police.”
“So they won’t shoot these bastards for us.”
“No, they are non-violent.”
“Then we’re on our own.”
My mind revolts against the situation. This can’t be right; this can’t be the end. I can’t find Keto again, after all this time, only to lose her to senseless violence at the hands of the very man I thought I had defeated.
No. This cannot happen.
“If we can get in the car,” I begin, but before I can even finish the sentence a barrage of bullets shatters the windshield and sinks the tires. Shots ping into the metal body of the car and I hear a burst of fluid gushing, something ticking. My hair stands on end and I have a flash of foresight.
“Move,” I shout, shoving Keto and the child forward towards the trees. “Away from the car as far as you can go! Now!”
We sprint, ignoring the volley of shots around us, as the ticking culminates into a sonic boom. A burst of heat radiates behind us and I am lifted off my feet, circling in the air until I crash in a heap on the ground.
My ears are ringing. My vision is spotted. My body doesn’t want to move, throbbing with heat and pain and confusion from where I’ve fallen. For a terrifying minute I can’t hear or see anything but blackness, nothing but the hammering of my own heart, and I worry that I’ve gone blind or died.
But that is silly, because now I am coughing as if I’m about to hack up my lungs. The smoke—it’s so thick and greasy, clogging my throat, tasting like moldy rubber.
“Keto,” I choke. “Are you here?”
She doesn’t answer but I hear her and the child coughing too, close by. I grope with my hands, looking for her. Over the ringing in my ears I hear a thin crunching approach.
Footsteps.
Blinking away the nausea and spots in my vision, I squint and stare at the ground near my face until it begins to come into focus. I see feet.
“Keto?”
Well they are not feet, they are shoes—men’s shoes. My vision is blurry; it looks like six pairs of shoes but I must be confused. No, wait, that’s right: six pairs of shoes. Three men. It’s painful but I force myself to lift my head, staring upwards to identify who it is that has come to tower over me.
“You,” I groan.
I almost laugh because my world has come full circle for me in this moment. There are three men but one of them stands out beyond the rest. And it is not who I had expected.
Jasper Breslin is there of course, staring down at me with triumph and hate. But he is not the one I spit at defiantly. He is not the one whose presence confirms my worst fears, my deepest paranoia. He is not the one that makes every ounce of my being throb in recognition and in pain. He is not the one my eyes and my soul latch onto.
At Breslin’s side is Knox Cole.
“You bastard,” I hiss. “You betrayed me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Knox Cole
“You bastard,” Rusiko spits, her eyes blazing at me with the defiance and courage of a wildcat. “You betrayed me.”
This winds me.
Ok, I can totally see how in this moment she could think that I was a spineless turncoat, what with my abandoning her and showing up unannounced with Breslin like a dog on a leash, and her not knowing the exact circumstances leading up to the car explosion and Breslin confrontation. I could understand how in her own distress she wouldn’t notice the bruises and cuts all over my face, the blood seeped through my shirt, the ropes around my hands. Sure, it probably does look like a trap to her. It probably does look like I was playing her the whole time: but the hurt of that accusation from her lips sears me to the core. It hurts so much I can’t even speak.
God this is a hell of a time to be tongue-tied, Knox. Tell her. Tell her it’s not true. Tell her you’re not her enemy.
“I’d never,” I say, lamely. “I’d never hurt you.”
Even I want to roll my eyes at myself.
You big dope, you hurt her this morning when you purposefully abandoned her. Remember that genius plan of yours? Say something true. Say something real.
How does she have such an effect on me, even in such extreme moments?
She makes me crazy.
She makes me self-conscious and raw.
She makes me stupid.
She makes me…feel.
But damn I don’t want her to think I am capable of hurting her. I don’t want her to think I have anything to do with the fact that Jasper Breslin is looming over her, her sister, and the kid with a loaded gun.
But she’s ignoring Breslin. Instead she is staring at me as if I am the only one that matters, the only part of the equation she cares about, her face an open question mingling with longing, disgust, and something worse - heartache.
“So everything between us was a lie,” she rasps, a tear escaping her eyes.
Somewhere in my ribcage, something shatters.
“Rusiko,” I start.
But this isn’t exactly an opportune moment to explain.
“Not everything,” Breslin cuts in. “This address, for example. You led us right to the jackpot, didn’t you Cole? Better late than never I guess, even if you did help me against your will. Too bad for you. Double-crossers get no second chances with me, and you fuckers are going to die together.”
Momentary confusion flickers over Rusiko’s face, processing this.
“Rusiko, believe me, I wasn’t—”
“Enough,” Breslin roars. “My turn. You meaningless, stupid, small, insignificant, suicidal cocksuckers fucked me over. Now I’m gonna return the favor. Now you’re going to feel the swift loss of everything you hold dear.”
At Breslin’s nod, Ox kicks me in the side of my knee and sends me wincing to the ground. I throw myself all the way forward onto my belly beside Rusiko, letting her see that my hands are bound behind my back. Her eyes widen, and I trust that the dots are connecting. Hopefully she’ll give me the benefit of the doubt and understand that I am as much an enemy of Breslin’s as she.
After all, I am lying beside her about to die.
On the other side of Rusiko, the sister is wailing in another language. Even though I don’t know the words, it’s clear to me she’s begging for her life. It’s not the most useful tactic with Breslin, since he has no human faculty for pity. He kicks her outstretched hands away in disgust and hands his gun to Ox.
“Long time no see, Sunny,” he snickers. He grabs a fistful of her hair and jerks her up to kneel before him.
The sister whimpers, terrified, and I feel the spasm of loathing and resentment run through Rusiko’s body as if it were my own. She jerks up to help her sister and receives a kick in the face as her reward, collapsing back to the ground with a gasp.
I hate him for it. I hate him enough to kill him.
I’m going to kill him.
I just have to figure out how.
Breslin is leering at the sister. “How about a little reunion for old time’s sake Sunny?” He whispers. “I had no idea you’d be this important to me after all this time, costing me my business. Your pussy was definitely not worth it, you cheap bitch, but guess it’s too late to price-check the merchandise. Don’t cry sweetie, I won’t forget about your family. I’ve always been into sisters.”
Shit.
&nbs
p; He’s actually starting to unzip his pants. This wacko really is sick.
It’s now or never, Knox Cole. Time to err on the side of right. Time to protect the innocent, save Rusiko, and pay your dues. Time to be that better man you kept telling yourself you’d become.
Time to be a fucking hero.
After all, no matter how long it’s been, an Army Ranger is an Army Ranger. A fighter is a fighter. I’ve got a few tricks left up my sleeve, a few weapons in my arsenal. If I’m gonna go out today, I’m gonna go out in a blaze of fucking glory. And if I die, I die. I’ll do it if that’s what it takes to defeat Breslin.
And I know I can do it because I am doing it for her. This time it’s so true, I don’t even have to convince myself.
I am doing it for her.
Ox doesn’t see it coming. How could he? One minute I’m laying on my belly in front of him, the next I’ve launched, twisting, and kicking. I send one leg into his groin and one leg into the gun hand, sending the weapon flying. Then I’m on my knees head-butting his balls.
Shooting to my feet, I reach my arms from behind my back to around his neck, drawing his face down toward mine. With a swift one-two—I’ve executed the classic self-defense move of ramming my skull up into his nose, splintering the bone, and shoving it up into his brain.
Just as the blood starts to drop out of his nostrils he drops like a sack of potatoes, dead.
One down, one to go.
Thank god for Rusiko. Thank god for her! By the time Ox falls to the ground his gun is in her hands. The sun glints off the metal, making me squint. She’s got it poised for use, her grip on the trigger as light as air, her face stoic and lethal like I remember her from the very first night we met.
She’s a mystery, a vision, an avenging angel, and she looks fucking dangerous with that gun. She looks like she knows what she’s doing, and she means business. The air around her goes calm and crisp with the aura of power. She has the gun carefully aimed—and not at me, I am relieved and overjoyed to see.
She’s aiming at Breslin.
“Let Sunny go,” Rusiko orders. Her voice is calm, devoid of hate or emotion. She is beyond hate now.
She is justice.
Breslin growls in fury but releases her sister’s hair, slowly raising his hands above his shoulders in a gesture of supplication.
“As you command,” he hisses.
Inwardly I shake my head. I know he’s not surrendering. Hell, he’s not even sorry. He’s only biding his time, searching for a weakness to exploit. He smiles at Rusiko coldly, reassessing her.
Rusiko’s sister crawls away. While Rusiko keeps a bead on Breslin, I help the sister and kid to their feet, and pull them safely to Rusiko’s side behind the gun and out of any potential crossfire. Breslin watches his human shields and bargaining chips slip away with ever-widening, wild eyes.
Rusiko faces him squarely, giving nothing away.
“Listen to me,” Breslin says, oozing sleaze and charm. “Shooting me will profit you nothing. I’ve got men surrounding—”
The first shot Rusiko fires into his chest silences him, and his eyes bulge in disbelief, probably shock.
“Wait,” he chokes.
Her second shot, this one to his head, drops him.
“No,” he burbles, slumping to the ground.
The third and fourth shots are to his balls and clearly meant to humiliate him. But the irony is lost on Jasper Breslin, because he is dead.
Rusiko exhales and takes a step closer to her fallen enemy, surveying him without blinking. She stares so long I begin to wonder what she is looking for in his still face. Repentance? Not going to find it. The bastard went out with a sneer.
Rusiko stares down at him, her face registering neither satisfaction nor sorrow. With a tentative step, her sister joins her, lacing an arm around Rusiko’s waist. The touch seems to bring Rusiko back to life. With a sharp intake of breath she raises the gun one last time and fires the remaining rounds into Breslin’s head. Then she sobs and tosses the gun to the ground, flinging her arms around her sister, weeping.
“You’re alive,” she cries, almost laughing. “He is dead and you’re alive!”
“Oh Rusiko,” the sister says. “Rusiko, Rusiko. You had to. You had to kill him, Rusiko. You are not guilty. You are a hero.”
The sister extends her arms to the kid. “Natalia,” she calls. “Come here darling, it’s over now. We are safe forever, we are going to be safe and happy. Come, hug your Aunt Rusiko with me. This is your Aunt. Rusiko, this is my daughter Natalia.”
And just like that they’re a family.
The girl collapses into the women’s arms, the three of them stand there clinging to each other, crying and laughing, whispering to each other in their language that I don’t understand. Georgian, I guess. Their voices are rapid and rapturous, relieved and ravaged. They hug for what might be a few seconds or an hour.
It’s hard to tell how long they stand there like that, but I can feel the depth and importance of their reunion, the broken pieces of Rusiko’s heart starting to mend. Awkward as I feel just standing here watching, there’s no way I’m about to interrupt. Something sacred is going down.
Breslin is dead. Her sister is alive. There’s a niece.
They’re together at last.
A strange warm feeling floods me. Not pride—I can’t take all the credit for Rusiko’s happy ending—but maybe something close to pride. Maybe it’s the soft glow of complicity—of feeling connected, clean, and beautiful—just by proximity to Rusiko, and the fulfillment of her wildest dreams. There’s definitely a sense of satisfaction and possibly even joy, knowing that I was somehow a part of doing something so good, of bringing these people back together.
Sure I am an outsider and sure Rusiko thinks I have no integrity: but when push came to shove, I did the right thing, and I did it for her. And I will always have that.
That’s huge.
That’s life changing.
That’s redemption.
I’ve never felt this before, this…glory. Glory is the word. I feel like I’ve touched glory—and not even my own glory, but Rusiko’s glory, and her family’s glory. The glory of their love.
I’m just standing here stupidly watching them hug, feeling better than I have ever felt in my life.
What the fuck is up with that?
Maybe I’m just happy for Rusiko. Maybe I’m just glad that she’s gotten what she wanted, that her time of suspense, self-denial, and loneliness is finally over. Maybe I’m just glad things have worked out the way they have.
Because the thing is I don’t want her to be lonely.
That might sound crazy coming from the guy that abandoned her in a hotel room earlier this morning, but I really don’t want her to ever be hurt the way she has been hurt in the past. I really want her to be happy. Seeing her with her arms around her sister and niece, gives me something stronger and more valuable than any other experience in my life. It’s amazing. It makes me feel amazing to see her happy, and I don’t want it to end. This level of amazing drives away whatever fear I felt before, whatever reservations I had about my own goodness.
I want to go on making her happy, finding ways to make her whole. I want her entire life to be amazing, her redemption and healing to be complete. Maybe that’s the thing that I’m feeling, this burgeoning hunger to make her life as fucking amazing as possible. It makes me feel incredible, to realize that I am actually capable and willing to do whatever it takes to do right by her.
Maybe that’s love.
Oh hell. I’ve been pussyfooting around it for hours. I’ve been avoiding love, building my life around denying it all my life. But now, in the face of it, I am too exhausted to pretend.
An odd thing happens now. Rusiko finally lets go of her sister, finally stops kissing her niece’s head, and locks eyes with me. The second our eyes meet, I feel a strange sensation through my whole body, and I know it just as clearly as I know my own name. I probably knew it before. I probably
knew it last night when I panicked and ran, but now I realize that I can never un-know it.
I love her.
She smiles at me, tears streaking down her face. Wait, no, that’s my face. I am the one crying. Actually we both are. But now she’s hurtled herself into my arms, her scent and her touch overwhelming me with their sweetness.
“You saved us,” she says. “Thank you.”
“No,” I whisper. “You saved me. Thank you.”
That simple thank you fills me with more pleasure than any orgasm I’ve ever had. Even when she slides out of my arms, I feel the afterglow.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says, once again the practical tactical Mystery Girl. “Before the police arrive. We should go home.”
“Home?” Asks the sister, scoffing. “To what home?”
“Georgia,” Rusiko announces, as if it were obvious. “Keto, our father is finally dead. It’s safe for us to go back. We have inherited the estate. Sandro—you remember our cousin Sandro—he wrote to tell me. All the ancestral lands pass to us. We have a beautiful home there waiting for us, and we can start a new life without the shadow of the past. We just have to go and claim it, and be who we are.”
“How can we go to claim our inheritance in Georgia, are you crazy?” The sister asks. “We can’t even leave this farm, they blew up the car.”
Now I feel myself grinning as I realize I hold the final ace in the hole.
“Well, ladies,” I announce, “I happen to know there’s a limo hiding out back in the bushes. How about that? We run from the law in style.”
“That will do.” Rusiko’s face is inscrutable when she looks at me, but softens when she turns to her sister. “We should go right away Keto, before your Amish friends show up to help and make everything more complicated. Is there anything you and Natalia need to take with you from here? Any goodbyes you need to say?”
The sister shakes her head, smiling. “No. No goodbyes. They have been good to us here, but they will understand. They will know that Natalia and I belong in a different world. I don’t need to say goodbye. From now on I only want to say hello. Besides, I have everything I need right here with me. I have you. You are all I need.”