The Assassin's Wife

by Nikita Slater

  “Noooo,” she moaned, despair a hollow ache where her heart beat too loudly in the silence.

  It seemed so much worse that freedom was so close, but death would hold her in its tight grip. She reached up and grabbed the steering wheel with numb fingers. Holding as tight as she could, she hauled her body upright, blinking water rapidly from her eyes. Standing in the cab of the sideways truck, the water was up to her waist already. Her fingertips were turning blue. Something banged next to her. She shrieked and jumped back against the leather seat, turning to look at the windshield.

  “David!” she yelled hoarsely, her voice almost lost in the violent shivers that consumed her.

  He was right there in front of her, floating in the windshield of the truck, looking like a pale and dark god in the murky water, surrounded by the floating debris kicked up by the sunken truck. He looked tough and strong despite the intense cold of the water. He wasn’t shivering like she was. He knew exactly what he was doing. He pointed at her and then pointed down at the bottom of the truck. She frowned and then shook her head, eyes widening as she understood what he wanted. Instinct forbade her from crawling into the ice cold water before her time was up.

  “No, no, no,” she pleaded through chattering teeth. “Please no, David!”

  He pointed the gun at her, his brows lowered, his expression menacing. She understood. If she didn’t move, he would shoot her. He had no choice. He had to shoot out the windshield to get her out of the truck and she was in his way.

  “Oh god! Blyad!” she shrieked, her exhausted voice barely audible as water continued to gush in through the driver’s side door from above. It was now up to the bottom of her breasts. “I don’t want to do this!”

  She knew the moment he shot out the windshield that water would instantly fill the cab, pushing her in. She would become even more trapped than before. The breath would immediately leave her body and her lungs would fill with water. The instinct to survive, to fight, screamed at her to fight back. She stared at David through the windshield, her hands pressed against the glass, her eyes flashing between him and the gun. She silently begged him to find another way, but they both knew there was nothing. Even now there was no guarantee. And time was quickly running out.

  It was the knowledge that David wouldn’t be able to hold onto his breath for much longer and that he would never leave her to die alone that spurred her to action. She sent him a pleading look that told him everything she should have told him before she’d run, took a deep breath, then let her knees collapse and plunged into the frigid water, giving him the room he needed to break the windshield.

  Water enveloped her head, causing the laceration on her face to sting and reminding her that, for the moment, she was still alive. She clutched at the dashboard and held herself forcibly below the water, bracing her feet against the seat so she wouldn’t float back up. She didn’t hear the bullets hit the glass, maybe the water muffled them or maybe the gun was silenced, but she felt the instant the water pressure changed. It hit her like bricks falling on top of her prone body, crushing her down into the twisted metal of the truck’s damaged frame.

  Tasha opened her mouth instinctively to scream as water swirled above and around her, pinning her down. Water flooded into her mouth and nose, stealing away the precious air she’d been trying to preserve. She tried to push herself up, but she couldn’t move. She was going to die! She shook her head back and forth, trying to see what was happening, but all she could see was dirty lake water rushing all around her. Then she saw it! David’s hand reaching for her, so strong and sure. She grasped it with both hands like a lifeline.

  He hauled her up immediately, pulling her right off the bottom of the truck, using both his strength and his position braced against the hood of the truck to pull her through the shattered windshield. He twisted her and used his own body as a shield so she wouldn’t slide against the glass. The moment she was free he pushed them away from the wreckage of the truck, his arms wrapped protectively around Tasha’s waist.

  Finally, she began to feel warm again. Safe in the arms of her love. She tried to hold onto him, tried to cling to her savior. But her fingers slipped. He adjusted his hold and she began to drift from his arms. He looked down at her questioningly as she fell away from him, her grip loosening. She saw his sharp eyes change from determination to fear once more. She wanted to reassure him, to tell him she was fine now. That they would be okay.

  She lifted her arm and tried to reach for him, to express her love before she drifted away. The last thing she saw was his eyes flash in panic and anger as he gripped her tightly against his body. She thought she felt his lips against hers and prayed he wouldn’t follow her into the warm embrace that pulled her from his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  David stumbled in through the open door of the cabin on feet that had long since turned numb from cold. Refusing to put his frozen burden down, he nearly dropped her as he fell through the door of the washroom and into the tub. Holding her tight, he sat in the tub with her on his lap and turned the taps, gritting his teeth against the agony as water touched his frozen feet and legs. His arms shook and the breath seized in his chest as feeling creeped back into his icy veins. He forced himself to flex and unflex his fingers and toes until the blood flowed and the pain receded. He couldn’t afford to lose a digit to frostbite.

  Though all of his thoughts were for his wife he knew he had to care for himself before he could turn his attention to her. Natasha hadn’t moved once since he’d pulled her from the lake and carried her back up to the cabin. He didn’t know how he’d managed such a feat, except he knew she would die if he gave up. So, he’d called on every ounce of training he possessed, cradled Natasha in his arms and crawled bare foot, bare chested out of the lake and rushed back up the side of the mountain.

  When his fingers were no longer stiff, he reached for the zipper on Natasha’s sodden coat and gently began peeling the clothes from her limp body. When she was naked, he began scooping water in his hands and pouring it over her chest, neck and upper arms. He gently touched any part of her that wasn’t submerged, checking for damage. He carefully maneuvered her swollen, bruised ankle when shifting her. When the bath water began to cool, he emptied the tub and refilled it again.

  He hunched protectively over his wife, watching her face for any flicker of movement that indicated she might wake up. He placed his hand at her throat and felt her pulse, steady under his fingertips. Why was she still unconscious? Her dark eyelashes were fanned against the pale blue indents above her cheekbones, giving her a helpless, fragile look that tugged at his chest. Wet hair was plastered to her small head. A drop splashed against her forehead. He frowned and touched his own face, feeling wetness. Tears? But he didn’t cry. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Perhaps as a child.

  Yet, he felt fear. An unfamiliar emotion until he’d seen Natasha falling down the side of the mountain in the truck. When he dove into the lake after her, he knew that if she didn’t come out alive, neither would he. He would have wrapped himself around her twisted metal coffin and embraced the watery grave as his own. When he’d found her still alive, it was like a miracle being placed back in his hands. A chance to make things right again.

  But what if she… what if she didn’t wake up?

  David had never in his life known such uncertainty. Natasha’s life flashed before his eyes as he cradled her in the warm tub. The life she could have had if he hadn’t taken her. She had been spectacular on stage. She would have risen to stardom the world over. She would have travelled, become rich and famous. She could have married anyone her heart desired. Could have had children.

  This final thought had his hand drifting down her naked body to rest on the low curve of her belly. Once more the tears came unbidden as he finally allowed himself to imagine his child cradled in her womb. He prayed that it was safe, though he didn’t know how it could survive such trauma. Despite the terrible things he’d threatened, David knew now that he c
ouldn’t bring himself to take anything so precious from his wife. He’d been a fool to think it wouldn’t matter. To her. Or to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her head.

  He tilted her head back in his arm, resting it against his bicep so he could see her pale features. A shallow cut traced a bloody line down the edge of her cheek, disappearing into her hairline. Her lips no longer looked quite so blue. He bent over her, resting his mouth against hers and said, “If you just wake, my only love, I will be your slave.”

  David paced the floor, his mood and thoughts vicious as he watched the woman, his obsession, fight for her life. He’d moved her, pale and lifeless, from the bath to a thick cushion of blankets in front of a roaring fire. He checked on her continuously. Checking for signs of life, signs of waking. It was just like his beautiful Natasha to remain stubbornly silent while he raged inside with boiling, black pain. She tore him apart and she was the only one with the key to putting him back together. Yet, she remained still as death in her cocoon on the floor.

  He shoved his hands into his hair and gripped the strands, racking his brain for more information. He already knew how to handle hypothermia from his time spent in the Russian military, but he still looked up everything he could find in case he’d missed anything. He had been careful to bathe them in cool water to start, gradually warming it so as not to damage their skin. Then he’d removed their clothing. He wrapped her in loose blankets, careful not to compress too much. He did not rub her skin, so the cold blood from her extremities would not rush to her heart. He was certain he had warmed her slow enough.

  He did everything correctly. Her breathing was even. Her cheeks were starting to flush with life again. Yet, still she did not open her fucking eyes. He clenched his fists and glared down at her, dropping to his knees at her feet. Blyad, she was breaking him. From the inside out, she was fucking breaking him. He dropped his hands to his knees, his head bowed. He felt like he couldn’t draw enough breath. Like his heart was ready to cease beating the moment hers did, if it came to that.

  With shaking hands, he reached for her. Peeling back the blankets he climbed in next to her. He had left her naked and he wore only a pair of sweatpants. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her head under his chin and pressing her chest tight against his. He tucked the blankets in around them and held her as tight as he dared. Tears burned his chest and throat, but he would not allow them to fall this time.

  He vowed to every entity that might be in existence that he would change if she just woke up. He would give her whatever she wanted; he would give her the world. There was no world without Natasha. She was everything. He was nothing without her. He understood now why he’d chased her for so long. Why he’d built the dance studio. Though he thought his end game would be her death. He knew now that was never a possibility. Natasha was life.

  David loved Natasha. He was nothing without her love.

  He felt the barest brush against his chest, like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. He loosened his arms a fraction, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down, afraid to hope. He could not see her face. He used his chin against the top of her head to nudge her face up. Her head lolled back in his embrace. Her lashes were making the tiniest of movements.

  “Natasha,” he said quietly, his voice breaking, “my love.”

  Finally, her lashes lifted and her blue eyes struck through to the heart of him. A mixture of recognition, fear and pain flashed in her eyes as memory hit. He touched her hair, hoping to sooth her with his presence.

  “David,” she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bogota, Columbia, Two weeks later

  I lost the baby, I lost the baby, I lost the baby.

  That’s all you have to tell him, Tasha. Just look him in the eyes and lie to him. It doesn’t matter that it’ll break your heart to lie to him. It doesn’t matter that it’ll break your heart when you have to find a way to escape. It doesn’t matter that he’s treated you like you’re made of spun glass and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away. And oh, that look in his eyes. She’d waited years to see that look.

  We can’t trust him, she thought, placing her hand over her belly.

  She pulled her knees up against her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned against the headboard. She watched David intently while he prepared for work. He was sitting on the end of the bed, wearing fine black trousers that fit him perfectly. It looked like he was strapping a holster to his ankle. Her breath caught as she watched the powerful muscles in his back ripple when he moved. She wanted to ask him where he was going, but her mouth was too dry. He’d never worn such a thing at home. At the cabin.

  He stood with his back to her and reached for a black shirt, pulling it over his broad, muscular shoulders. She tightened her body in on itself and hid her face on top of her knees, except for her watchful blue eyes, still peeking at him, as he buttoned it. Her dark hair curtained her expression of misery, but she knew he was in tune with her every emotion.

  They had been in Bogota for two days now. He had left her locked in the hotel room each time, bringing food for them and then silently going to work on his laptop and his plans while she read or watched TV. She wasn’t sure how he managed to get them a room that she couldn’t escape from, but she hadn’t been able to get out. Not that she tried very hard. David had very matter-of-fact and calmly explained to her the dangers of wandering out alone in a region experiencing unrest. He told her in graphic detail what his shady connections in the city would do to her if she were to be discovered and captured. She’d listened with mild trepidation. But she wasn’t as naïve as he apparently thought.

  If David had enemies that could find him so easily, wouldn’t they just follow him back to the hotel, discover his hidden wife and kidnap her more easily? No, David was trying to frighten her into staying put.

  The main reason she was okay to stay put was that she wasn’t ready to leave. She supposed she was still stunned by the events of two weeks ago. Of waking up in David’s arms alive. The tender care he’d shown her was more heart-wrenching than anything she could have imagined. How could the cold man before her now, the man strapping guns into holsters under his arms, preparing to mete out death to strangers, have held her in his arms with such tenderness?

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, blocking out David as he pulled on his suit jacket, covering his weapons. She turned her head so when she opened her eyes she was looking out the windows into the clear sunny skies of a bright Columbian afternoon. They were on the twelfth floor of the hotel with a fantastic view of the city. Tasha had spent many hours gazing out the window, watching people and cars going about their business. It helped distract her thoughts. Helped keep her from doing what she knew she must. Formulate an escape plan.

  Tears clogged her throat at the thought. God, the last thing she wanted to do was leave David. The past few weeks had only grown her love for her enigmatic husband. He had catered to her every wish, though she hadn’t voiced a single one. His solicitousness after she’d woken on the floor of the cabin had bordered on smothering. Except as soon as he’d sensed her need for space, he’d backed off. He’d held her in the night when she’d woken with nightmares of being trapped in a drowning coffin. He’d paced the floor outside the washroom door when she’d showered over and over again because she couldn’t warm up.

  He’d stood silently when she’d raged at him and blamed him for putting them in that position and then held her close when she’d collapsed in a sobbing heap, begging his forgiveness and then blaming herself for putting them in that position. He had been her quiet strength when she’d fallen apart from the trauma of not only going into the lake, but of a two-year separation that she thought would inevitably end in her death. But had actually ended in sweet capture.

  He’d sat quietly in the corner of her studio when she’d recovered enough to dance once more. He’d watched silently, like a dark, brooding shadow as she’d queued her music and
spun into dance. She didn’t push herself. Not like the day she’d crashed into the lake. She danced like a wraith. Like a shadow of the star she’d once been. A weak imitation. Not for one more moment would she risk her baby. The baby that clung so strongly to life, no matter how hard it’s mama and papa had tried to kill it with their recklessness.

  Only once had he stopped her. She’d been mid-leap, arms extended, eyes closed, lost in her own world. She landed, opened her eyes… and cried out in surprise. He was no longer in the corner, but standing in front of her. She stopped abruptly before she crashed. Bon Iver’s “Holocene” filled the room with soft music. David closed the space between them. She had fought not to step away from the intense energy buzzing around him. He brought his hand up slowly and pressed it against her stomach, spreading his fingers until he touched her from hipbone to hipbone. She had gasped, the sound drifting in the music. His eyes bored into hers – dark emotions swirling in their depths.

  She’d understood what the moment meant to him. Though he hadn’t said a word. Simply touched her, his gaze speaking for him. He’d been telling her their child was safe with him. That he wouldn’t take it from her as he’d threatened. Tears had filled her eyes and she’d been tempted to throw herself in his arms. To break down and thank him for relenting. But she hadn’t. A new kind of reserve had permeated their relationship since he’d pulled her from the frozen lake. A kind of distance that had never existed between them before. She knew it existed within her own breast, not his. Though she loved him more now than ever, owed him more for saving her life, it was like his threat against their baby had killed something within her. And he knew it.