Shattered: Running with the Devil Book 7

by Jasmin Quinn

  All three sets of eyes swept her, all older, more jaded, but Astrid, young, sweet, pretty fucking bright, was right. Esma could be impetuous, but she always stood her ground with him. It’s one of the reasons he loved her.

  “Okay. Let’s agree she didn’t leave on her own volition. Let’s agree that Eduard persuaded her to leave with him. Either by force or through lies.”

  Anto nodded. “It seems the best explanation.”

  Rusya’s mouth dried up, his heart withered. Esma out there, almost eight months pregnant. With Eduard, alone. The panic rushed at him, drowning him. He tried to force it down so he could think, but then he caught a glimpse of Janice, pale, shaking. She was scared to death.

  Astrid though, standing with her hands together, working them, thinking. “Where would he take her?”

  Anto nodded. “Yes. The right question.”

  Astrid headed out of the office and they all followed her to Eduard’s office. By the time they caught up to her, she was on the phone, to the front gate guards. “Find which of you guys knows Eduard the best. Mr. Savisin wants to know his whereabouts. Would like to see him as soon as possible. Tell Eduard that Mrs. Savisin is missing and that Mr. Savisin needs his help to locate her. Anyone with information on Mrs. Savisin or Eduard, call the security office.”

  Astrid dropped down into Eduard’s chair, pulled the keyboard towards her and fingers flying, pointed at a monitor. “That one there,” she said. “Camera on the driveway.”

  And they all watched while she punched the recording back several hours, to 1pm, then moved it forward until it picked up Eduard driving his SUV, parking it in the drive by the door and getting out. Then waiting for a few minutes.

  Rusya was glued to the screen as Esma entered the camera view with a bag in her hand and her purse. His heart leapt into his throat as Eduard took the bag from Esma. They looked like lovers having a simple exchange and Rusya felt the rage, but then Eduard guided her over to the back seat and opened the door. She climbed in. He closed the door. Too formal.

  Rusya dropped into the chair in front of Eduard’s desk. Elbow on the desk, hand rubbing across his mouth. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

  No one in the office thought it was a bad idea.

  Anto pulled out his cell, pressed a number. “Katerina,” he said when the call was picked up. “I need everything on Eduard Osipovich. Where he lives, anything, everything. Call me in 10.”

  Ten minutes later, Rusya, Anto and three of their best men were headed to Whistler.

  Chapter 77

  Esma’s water broke. She felt the trickle, thought the pains in her belly had pressed on her bladder and caused her to pee, but then as the water kept trickling, she realized it was more than that. Then a small gush and another. She’d already known she was in trouble but thought maybe she could stop the labour on her own through breathing. Even as the pain got more intense, the cramps in her legs, the heat banding her belly, the soreness at the small of her back. Even as all that was happening, she kept talking to the baby, her baby boy, telling him to settle, telling him it was too soon. He needed to hang on for a few more weeks. Seven more weeks. He could do that, couldn’t he?

  And then another pain would come.

  She was so scared. The dark, the mustiness, the little rustles in the corners. And she alone, having this baby. They would die together. There was never a plan for her to birth naturally. She was small and after four months, her obstetrician told her that she would be having a c-section. The baby was too big for her to have naturally. But the baby didn’t know that. He didn’t know he was early by seven weeks, didn’t know that they were locked in a cellar far from home. The baby didn’t know that his mother had no help, that his father didn’t know where they were or even that they were missing. The baby knew that momma was stressed, blood pressure through the roof. The baby knew it was time to come out.

  She was so fucking scared. The dark, the concrete. At one point, she clawed her way up the ladder, banging on the hatch, trying to get it to move. Shouting for help. Screaming. She knew Eduard had dragged something onto it, knew that he’d bolted it shut. But she had to try. It didn’t work, nothing moved, no one came, and she crawled back down the ladder as another pain wound its way around her back. She sank to her knees, trying to breathe through it. How long before it got so bad she couldn’t function? In the dark. Then her mind veered away from the thought.

  She needed to take her pants off, her underwear, use them to sit on. She didn’t know how dirty it was down here. Didn’t know how to have a baby, wouldn’t have a fucking clue how to help someone else have a baby. Then the pain and she cried out this time, holding her breath as it seared through her, forgetting to breathe. And as it relented, she tried to count the minutes between the contractions. There was no point to doing this, she told herself. But still she did it. She thought maybe 10 minutes between, which was good. She wished she’d a paid a little more attention to the stages of birth but at the time, she thought it didn’t matter. Someone else would look after that. She was having a c-section.

  She was tired, thirsty now. Fell asleep for a couple of minutes and then a contraction hit her, waking her up. She groaned this time. Tried to suppress it in case Eduard was here. But she didn’t hear his car on the gravel. She didn’t think he came back, but how many times had she fallen asleep? She didn’t want to take her pants off, didn’t want to be undressed down here in the dark. But she thought she should because the baby was coming.

  And the rats, there were rats. She could hear their little rustles in the dark. And the smell of blood would attract them. They’d come at her and the baby. She sobbed, started sobbing, then the pain hit again, and she lost her breath, screamed through the contraction. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. She was cold, clammy and sweating all at the same time. Tried to count the contractions, no… the time between the contractions. Maybe three now. What happened to 10 minutes?

  She dropped her head to her knees. She needed to take her clothes off. But the rats. And then she heard the crunch of tires on the gravel. Eduard was back but it was too late to hold back the contraction. Too late to breathe through it. It caught in her throat, gripped her pelvis, ripped down her legs and she screamed again. And again. Screamed through it until it ebbed and then she panted, gripped her stomach. Closed her eyes to the footsteps overhead.

  He was going to kill them. He wouldn’t let her have this baby. He wouldn’t let her go. But another contraction now, so fucking close. Why couldn’t she get a break? She tried to swallow the scream this time. But couldn’t, too much pain, too much fear. Foggy, she heard Rusya’s voice in her head. Yes, I’m coming Rusya. Then the contraction. The baby was coming. She had to take her pants off.

  Chapter 78

  The cabin was dark when they rolled up. Rusya’s heart was pounding out of his chest. If they were wrong, then what? He’d sent men to Eduard’s apartment to storm the place, sent more to every place Eduard might be. Anto called his father-in-law, Andrew Doherty, who used his connections with the Vancouver police to put an APB out on the SUV’s licence plate. And one of Marisol’s brothers, Neil Doherty, an on-duty Vancouver city cop, met them at the cabin in a squad car.

  Doherty appeared neither flustered nor intimidated by Rusya and his entourage. “I don’t have cause to go in, but I got here too late to stop you from kicking in the door.” And then as he started to say something else, Rusya held his hand up and the words died on Doherty’s lips. It was faint, but it was there. Clearly, someone screaming.

  “It’s Esma.” Anto splintered the door like it was matchsticks and they spread out. Calling it a cabin was a misnomer. Eduard’s Whistler home was like all the houses in the area. Big, two stories and a basement. They searched quickly, slamming open doors, looking into closets. One of Rusya’s men standing by the front door while Doherty called it in.

  Anto had told him no, that they’d handle this themselves, but Doherty’s common sense won out. They needed an ambulance. A woman
was screaming in pain for whatever reason, then stopping. They needed people with medical training. And Rusya agreed. Esma was more important than retribution.

  But it was quiet in the house, thoroughly searched inside and now the men were outside with flashlights, checking the premises. So quiet, Rusya almost thought maybe he misheard the scream. He was alone in the house, standing in the centre of the living room. Listening, trying to hear past the drumming of his heart.

  “Esma,” he shouted.

  He heard her voice, faint, somewhere. I’m coming, Rusya. Then her scream in the house. Fuck! He twisted around, trying to place it. Under the floor. Not the basement. It had been thoroughly searched, but under the floor. Keep screaming, Esma, Rusya thought as tears jumped into his eyes. Louder, more clearly in a back room. A small den. He stood in the centre, but it was quiet again. “Esma!”

  But nothing.

  He surveyed the room, the angles, the incongruencies. Then he saw it, the trunk, out from the wall by a foot. Why? “Esma!”

  Then another scream, yes. And he was moving, yelling, “She’s in here.” He pushed the trunk off to the side, pulled the carpet away and saw the hatch. Bolted, but not locked. He threw it open, peered down. Esma was there, crumpled against the bottom of the ladder, holding her belly, bending over on herself, crying and moaning. The baby, he thought as he scrambled down beside her, his panic knocking his breath from him.

  “Esma!” He dropped to his knees, tried to raise her head, take her in his arms, but she screamed at him, clawed at him.

  “No! Don’t hurt us!”

  “Esma, it’s me, baby. It’s Rusya.” He was keenly aware he was crying. His wife, the love of his life, his everything. Wet under his knees and he thought it was blood at first, then realized it was water. Anto’s head and Rusya looked up, could barely speak. “I need a blanket, some towels. Light.”

  “Baby’s coming.” Esma gritted her teeth, her eyes open, staring up into his face. “Rusya?”

  His heart thudded. “Yeah, Esma. It’s me. I’m here. It’s okay.”

  “Baby’s coming,” she groaned.

  “Where the fuck’s the ambulance?” he shouted, then Anto was back at the top of the hatch, a flashlight shining down on him. Blankets and towels in hand.

  “Motherfucking sonofabitch!” Rusya heard Doherty say as he dropped to his knees next to Rusya and shone a flashlight around the cellar. Rusya followed his line of sight. Barely a hole in the ground, dirty, dusty, musty. Esma in the dark, alone, in labour. Doherty was right.

  Esma scrabbled at Rusya as another contraction hit. “He’s going to come, Rusya. I’m sorry.” Her eyes fluttered up into her head, then back. “It hurts.” Rusya grabbed her hand, looked to Doherty, who shoved a blanket under her, then removed her pants and underwear.

  “Hold her against you, Rusya. Her back to your chest. In between your legs. Lean on the ladder for support.” Doherty was pulling on rubber gloves and his calm voice filtered to Rusya as another contraction hit Esma.

  Rusya dropped down behind her, pulled her into his arms, upright against him, her hands in his as the cop knelt between her legs, massaging her stomach. Talking to her calmly as she screamed, walking her through the contraction.

  He looked into Rusya’s face as the contraction faded. “How early?”

  “Seven weeks.”

  Doherty nodded. “Okay. That’s good.” He reached up and touched Esma’s forehead with the palm of his hand, pushing her hair out of her face. “Esma, your baby’s coming. The head’s crowning.” He looked up to Rusya. “She’s gotta push. Get her to push. The baby can’t stay in the birth canal.”

  “Him,” Rusya said, his voice cracking. He was dimly aware of sirens in the distance.

  Neil nodded and Esma started moaning as another contraction hit her. Rusya leaned over and said into her ear. “Push the little fucker out, Esma. You’re not going to let a little shit like this get the best of you.”

  Esma opened her eyes, looked up into Rusya’s eyes as her lips curled into a grin before the pain razed through her. “You’re a fucking prick,” she groaned as she pushed. “God, oh god.”

  The head was out, Doherty supported it in his hand. “Stop now, Esma.” So calm, so reasonable and Esma stopped. “Wait until the next contraction. That’s all. One more big push when the next contraction comes and it’ll be over.”

  Esma gave some small nods, tightened her fingers on Rusya’s hands as she looked up into his face. The contraction came, she pushed. And it was over. Doherty was holding the baby, clearing his airway, rubbing his back. The baby let out a wail and Doherty grinned at Rusya. “Think he’s okay.”

  Rusya nodded, not finding words through his emotions. He watched as the cop wrapped a towel around the newborn and laid him on Esma’s stomach.

  He reached out and touched his son, brought Esma’s hand up and laid it on the baby’s back. “Our baby, Esma.”

  Esma gave a small grin and then her eyelids fluttered and she drifted into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 79

  Esma thought she’d died. She was floating, no pain, no terror. It wasn’t even dark. So quiet, but peace. And then she remembered. The baby. Where was the baby? She tried to open her eyes, couldn’t, but tears sliding down her face and someone’s warm hand holding hers, squeezing. His voice next to her ear. “Esma.”

  Rusya. He was here, that’s good. Where’s the baby, Rusya? She couldn’t say the words out loud, but he knew somehow, he knew.

  “Baby’s perfect, Esma. Baby’s okay. Big enough.”

  Good, that’s good.

  “Wake up Esma, come back to me. To us. We need you.”

  Tired though. So tired. I don’t know if I can.

  “Esma, please.” Pleading, and his tears too, on her face.

  Maybe. I’ll try. Need more time.

  Chapter 80

  Two days since the birth of the baby and Esma was still in bed, drifting in and out. Having trouble staying awake for any length of time. The doctor caring for her told Rusya that she was okay. A trauma like the one she’d been through would have some lingering effects. She needed to rest, that’s all. At first, Rusya wanted the baby separate, away from Esma so she wouldn’t be disturbed, but Janice convinced him that the baby needed his parents. The boy needed to be held by his dad.

  Rusya hadn’t known love, hadn’t really understood the depth love could take until Esma. So deep that he found forgiveness in a heart he thought dead. And then this child. Perfect in every way and as he held him, his worldview shifted. He was still a mob boss, still a fucking prick, but this child and his mother gave him back his humanity. Gave him a life worth living. This was what he was thinking, sitting in the armchair, next to Esma’s bed, holding their baby wrapped up in a blue blanket. Rocking him slightly, gazing into his sleeping face.

  He glanced over as he heard the blankets rustle and caught Esma watching him, awake now, her beautiful brown eyes, clear, knowing, stroking him and the little package in his arms. Tears at the corners, sliding down into her hair. “Esma.” He stood, leaned over her and kissed her lips gently.

  She smiled a little. “Can I see?”

  “Of course.”

  He brought the little face up to hers and she stared. “He’s small.”

  “He’ll grow.”

  “Can I go home?”

  “You are home.”

  She glanced around, eyes settling on the familiarity of their bedroom. Back to Rusya. “Can I hold him?”

  Rusya chuckled. “He wants his momma.” He set the baby down next to Esma, then helped her sit up. Pillows behind her back, blankets tucked around her. Then as she settled, he laid the baby in her arms. Her eyes teared up again as she held the child and looked up at Rusya. “He’s so beautiful.”

  Rusya stroked her hair as he slid onto the bed next to her, pulled an arm around her shoulders and gave her a small hug. “Like his mom.”

  All the things he wanted to say to her. How sorry he was that he left her her
e alone, ask her forgiveness for ignoring what was under his nose. But he could only find a few words. The one’s that really mattered. “I love you, Esma.”

  She smiled widely as she hugged the baby to her. “I love you too, Rusya.”

  Epilogue

  The house of Savisin was almost back in order as it prepared for the holiday season. It had a new master, Konstantin Ruslanovich Savisin, Kostya to his parents, grandparents, friends and household staff.

  Kostya ruled like a boss. Demanding, unforgiving, ungrateful, untidy and had the cutest fucking smile anyone had ever seen. So even at three in the morning when he was berating one or both of his parents for neglecting him for the full half-minute it took for him to get their attention, once they’d bowed down to his lordship, fed him, burped him and changed his pants, he was benevolent, rewarding them with his version of an Esma smile. And it was all okay again. Unless his parents tried to get some sleep, tried to talk to each other, tried to eat, tried to kiss or tried to make another baby.

  But everything was getting better after the first few dark weeks of Esma’s recovery. Richard Mclean spent a lot of time with her. Resilient as she was, Esma still struggled with the dark, felt suffocated, kept having nightmares about losing Kostya. They were fading though and Rusya gave a little more of his power to Anto so he could spend his time with his wife and new son.

  Yuri and Olga were coming for the holidays and Esma was excited to see Olga, told Kostya about his grandmother, her kindness. Made him promise to help Olga with her English. It was to be the first Christmas for both Kostya and Esma. The first Christmas as a family and Rusya wanted it to be perfect. He remembered the year before, shopping for a gift for Esma. So much had happened since then, but the one thing that hadn’t changed through it all was his love for her. He wanted to buy her something beautiful. Something perfect. He didn’t know what yet, but he knew it was out there. He just had to keep looking.