by Anita Gray
I knew it. For years I've wondered about her involvement in my freedom from Maksim's house, but now I know for sure.
“I don't know any fine details,” Carl says, “but James said Tatiana was swooned with Blaire's natural loyalty to her and Maksim, and she rewarded her for it, granted her with freedom and protection.”
“So, why's he still whipping her then?”
“I don't know,” Carl says. “Rumo is just as confused—and before you think he's betrayed you, he was trying to delay Maksim from taking Blaire tonight. That's why he brought her here and didn't take her back to the whorehouse.”
Someone butts in and tells Charlie the coast is clear. “We need to leave now if we're to avoid a showdown.”
“Call the Lone MD's,” Charlie says to Andres, his words coming out strained and fast. “Tell them to get to the central hospital now. Tell them what's wrong with Blaire so they're equipped.”
“I'm already on it,” Andres says, pushing back from me. “Give her this, just for if anything happens, and put pressure on that wound. It’s bleeding too much.”
Charlie grabs one of my hands and puts something heavy in my grasp. A gun. He then grabs my other and forces me to hold the wound on my stomach. I whimper because it's agony to touch.
“I’m sorry. I know it hurts, baby,” he says softly, stroking my hair back out of my face, “but you have to press on the wound to stop the bleeding. I'm gonna pick you up now.” He swathes one arm around my shoulders, the other behind my knees, and lifts me into his chest.
“Aargh!” I scream, feeling like my back is being stretched out.
“I'm sorry but I've gotta get you outa here,” he says. “Let's go.”
My mind coils as I feel the steady gait of his movements—he's running. An array of heavy footsteps follow.
With the pain and the tender feeling of being ill, I just want to go to sleep. I want to wake up and feel better. I'll feel better if I get some rest.
“Don't let her sleep,” Andres puffs out. “She'll slip into a coma.”
“You hear that, Blaire? Don't go to sleep,” Charlie warns, though it's almost too late. I'm so tired.
“Look at me,” Charlie snaps, his strides long and powerful, knocking me back and forth in his embrace.
With all the might I have, I open my eyes and lift them to his but I can't really see him.
“Keep your eyes open,” he says in clatters of breath. “Don't. Go. To. Sleep.”
I think I nod at him, but I do shut my eyes. I'm just so, so tired.
Outside, the cold air hits me. My stomach rolls. I'm going to be sick. But then we come to a sharp stop that makes me wince, pulling me back from the sickness and the tiredness.
“Maksim...” Charlie's tone deepens as he says his name. “I fucking warned you not to hurt her. Did you think I was joking?”
He's here. Maksim is here.
Still holding the gun in one hand, I cover my face with both arms, cowering, panic coursing through me.
“Put-put her down,” Maksim says, his voice dripping in fear as he stutters, “Put-put her down and let's talk, Charlie. Let's not start a war ov-over one girl.”
“She's not just one girl, you fucking fool—she's the girl,” Charlie's voice vibrates in his chest with raw, inhumane anger. “Andres,” he says, and then I feel someone else's arms around me. Charlie is passing me to his brother, who huddles me in a hard torso, careful not to hold my back.
Bile rises through me then, burning the back of my throat like acid. I lean over quick enough to spew on the ground and not on Andres, gagging and coughing up. I’m not sure what’s coming out of me but it’s not food. I haven’t eaten in a while.
“Oh, shit,” Andres curses, carefully putting me down on my knees where I let go of the gun. “Blaire, just let it all out. Don't try to stop it.”
“Maksim,” I retch, trying to stop the nausea, “he's-”
“Don't you worry about him.” Andres is on his knees with me. “If you need to be sick, just be sick,” he says.
Holding myself up on all fours, I toss up my guts—I can't seem to stop. Someone gathers my hair at the back of my neck—Andres, I'm guessing. I heave harder and faster, projectile vomiting through my nose and my mouth, my stomach panging in pain.
I think I’m spewing up blood.
I can't hear anything but my own choking, then, “You're dead, as are your lackey’s,” Charlie says in a voice that's strangely unfamiliar to me. A loud commotion trails, which I'm sure are guns going off-
*BANG*
*BANG*
*BANG*
-making my ears ring.
I cup my ears and hunch over, curling up in a small ball.
*BRATATATAT*
Fuck, my head hurts and I can't see. My vision is so woozy.
I suddenly think of Maksim and that he might be a danger to Charlie somehow—if he lives, he could be a danger to James!
My new instincts kick in and I don't know how, but I swipe the gun from the ground and battle to my feet in a state of vertigo. There are soldiers everywhere firing guns, lighting up the night with flashes of burning yellow. More soldiers than I think there really are.
Double vision.
Maksim... I squint but can't see or hear him.
There's a large man standing next to me—one of Charlie’s men. He's firing a powerful machine gun at what’s left of Maksim's security detail, blowing them away. The shots are so close that I can feel my ears pop with each blast.
“Aargh!” I screech as steely arms close around me from behind. I buckle at the knees, the pain excruciating. The gun goes off in my hand with a powerful jolt that sends a shooting pain up my arm but it's nothing compared to having someone flush against my back.
“Blaire, stop fighting, we're here to save you...” Andres says in my ear, using his full strength to hold me down.
“Let me go, please!” I beg, burning up with a fever. I claw to get free but I can't. I think I call out again but I cannot hear my own voice anymore.
In the distance by a stretch of SUV's, I see Charlie kneeling over someone, pounding him in the face with a clenched fist. He's strangling the man with his other hand, ensuring he cannot escape.
Maksim.
He has to pay for what he's done. He has to pay for shooting James.
“Let. Me. Go!” I scream so loud, a burst of energy coming over me. I fling out my arms, forcing Andres to release me, and stagger to my feet once more. Through the firework of gunshots shaking the atmosphere, I stumble over to Charlie and Maksim, barely registering any pain now.
It seems adrenaline has overcome me.
“Blaire...” Maksim's golden eyes, swollen and full of blood, widen at the sight of me. He's gripping Charlie's wrist in an attempt to get free.
Charlie stops his attack and turns his head to look at me, his face covered in specks of blood. The devil is in his eyes, blazing with fury.
“You shot him.” I lift the gun to Maksim and click back the hammer, trembling from head to toe. “You've done some terrible things to James but shooting him? Me?”
“I'm sorry,” Maksim splutters, “I went too far—I realize that now.”
“Sorry isn't enough,” I say, cold of emotion. Finally, I feel nothing but hatred for him.
Releasing Maksim, Charlie pushes away from him and stands at my side, his breathing ragged. He puts one arm around my shoulders to hold me, steadying my stance. I notice the gunshots have stopped. It's so quiet. There's an eerie feel to the night.
Staring right at Maksim as he stares at me, I consider two options for him. Suffering or death.
“He has to die,” I croak out, my lips wobbling with uncontrollable tears.
“I’ll do it, Blaire,” Charlie says, but I tell him no.
I try to crouch down to my master, to put us eye to eye, but I buckle at the knees. Charlie doesn’t let me fall. He controls my equilibrium, gripping my shoulders tightly in his hands and carefully helps me to my knees.
M
aksim is coughing up blood, straining to stop himself.
“Blaire,” he chokes, reaching out for my hand with cold fingers, “you can stop this. You can save me.” Holding my hand, he pleads physically, squeezing me. “Don't let him kill me,” he says under his breath in Russian so only I can hear him.
“Why not?” I search his eyes, blinking a few times to clear the white film in my vision. “There is nothing for you anymore.”
“I won't go to hell yet!” he yells with all the power his body will allow, hunching over on his side in pain to cough up some more. He pulls me with him and I moan at the pain of my back being stretched out, but then Charlie snatches my hand out of Maksim’s.
“I cannot go to hell yet,” Maksim’s voice softens as he says that, and I think he's crying. “I am not ready, my little pet.”
I blink tears of sadness and rage, knowing I've failed to do the only thing I've ever known—keep him safe from anything and everything in the world.
I lean over to say in his ear, wincing in agony, “Hell is ready for you.” And putting the gun to his temple, I squeeze the trigger and blow him away with a thunderous *BANG*.
My body doesn't react to the sound, and I don’t move away from him.
I'm not sure if I shut my eyes, but the world goes black and I feel a strange sense of weight being lifted off my shoulders, like his soul is leaving me.
We're safe now. James and me. Nothing can hurt us anymore.
“I'll see you again someday,” I say under my breath, so only Maksim can hear me, “I’m sure.”
35
I can't recall a time I felt like this, so... neither empty nor fulfilled. Somewhere in the middle.
Must be the drugs that doctor just gave me, keeping me in a hazy state of limbo, but still, I can't deny there is this strange emotion lingering within me, something I've not experienced before. I've just slaughtered my master and all I want to do is get up from the hospital bed I'm lying on and walk out that door right there in front of me, escape the captivity of this tiny room and this horrid clinical scent of the hospital. I'm not sure where I want to go. Perhaps I want to stand under the rain and smile while the moon glows on my face, because it is raining outside, I imagine washing away Maksim's blood from Rumo's driveway.
I can’t leave though because I’m sick with infection, lying on my side with cushions propped against my back, keeping me in this position. My right upper arm is wrapped up in a tight blood pressure reader and there’s a plastic clip attached to my index finger, reading my pulse. A long, droning beeping near my ear.
Beep...Beep...Beep...
“I want a full medical report while she's unconscious,” Charlie says from outside the door open to ajar, dragging my attention, “internal and external examination, swabs and blood tests, the lot. Don't leave an inch of that girl unchecked.”
“Do you suspect she's been attacked sexually, Mr. Decena?”
“Oh, I don't suspect,” Charlie's voice is harsh with rage, carrying over the noise of the waiting room, “I know-”
Of course he knows. Maksim must have confessed what he did to me when Charlie was punching his lights out.
“-And while you're removing that burn from her back, be fucking delicate or we're gonna have a problem. I've seen the way some of you surgeons handle your patient's.”
“We will be extra delicate, Mr. Decena. I've called in the best surgeons to assist your girlfriend so once we get her blood pressure under control, we’ll take her down for surgery. You have my word she will be handled with the best care.”
I sigh, glad it’ll all be over soon, my every sense buzzing with this strange relaxed sensation. The doctor has given me far too much pain relief because I can't really feel anything. There is no pain. I'm not disappointed by my actions and I'm not relieved either. I'm just... hazy.
The door creaks open fully and Charlie wanders in to stand at my side, the force of his presence dominating the small room. The balding doctor follows in, scribbling something down on a pad in his hands. He is dressed in a long white coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Dr. Shyam he said his name was. It's fitting. He's Indian with light chocolate brown skin and matching brown kind eyes.
Weakly lifting my head off the pillow, I look up at Charlie. His arms are crossed over his chest and even though he looks lethally evil in his pose, he smiles at me with a mixture of guilt and pure affection. “You all right, baby?”
The muse of my affections, he is. His tan is darker against the pale green room we're in, and his unruly hair looks death black under the lights. He's still painted in Maksim's blood, specks marrying his skin under those striking blue eyes. It was the first thing the receptionist noticed when he carried me into the hospital not an hour ago, the blood. But then she saw me in his arms, covered in my own blood and on the verge of death by infection and pain.
“I think so,” I say to answer Charlie's question, “though I do feel a bit... unclear.”
“That's the pain relief but s'all right.” Charlie tips his head, gazing down at me like there's nothing else in the world. “I don't want you in pain.”
I smile back at him, feeling safe in his company. I know he won't let anyone hurt me.
“Blaire,” the doctor says my name softly, reaching for my left hand, “I'm going to fit you with a cannula so we don't have to keep poking you with needles.”
Tearing my attention from Charlie, I tug against the doctor's subtle grasp, glaring to warn him off. I don't know him. He's not allowed to touch me.
Or, is he?
“Give it here,” Charlie says, taking the cannula, “I'll do it.”
He'll do it, just like he undressed me from that bloody shirt I was wearing and helped me into the hospital gown I am now wearing. It's an off white color with pallid blue dots, falls to just below my knees. It doesn't cling to my wounds so I feel comfortable in it.
As I look up at Charlie again, he tips his head to the other side and watches me with curious blue eyes. “Baby, hold out your arm and give me your hand.”
I do, staring at his gorgeous face the entire time. He takes a tray of things from the doctor and puts it on the bed by my stomach, pulls up a chair and sits there in front of me. He gently grips my hand and wipes my skin clean of possible germs with an antiseptic wipe. Focused in his pursuit, he wraps a yellow elastic band around my wrist and tightens it so the pale blue veins pop out of my hand. I can feel my blood flow slowing, pressure gathering there.
“This is gonna feel like a sharp scratch.” Charlie glances up from my hand at my eyes, then back down to where he inserts the needle, piercing through my skin.
It doesn't hurt at all. There is a slight scratch that pierces my skin, as he just said there would be, but it's nothing I can't handle. The doctor passes a length of surgical tape and Charlie sticks it across the needle now buried under my skin, and then he hunches down to kiss me there.
“All right?”
I nod against the pillow, satisfied to have him attending to me.
“When are we leaving for Mexico?” I say. It's all he was talking about on the ride over here from Rumo's house, just after I murdered Maksim. I think Charlie was trying to break through my numb barrier, and it worked. While I was curled up on his lap, his brother driving the car, he told me again what Mexico will be like, as he used to tell me when we spent our days talking to each other; how he misses the sun and how much his house will feel like a home once I'm there.
Charlie flashes me his most handsome smile, stroking over my knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “As soon as you've had the operation to fix up the shot wound and clear up the burn on your back, we’ll go to Mexico.”
“Today?”
“Maybe tomorrow morning, baby,” he says softly, reaching out with his other hand to give my chin a gentle, loving squeeze. “You'll still be asleep but by the time you wake up, we'll be home.”
Home... It's so weird to hear him say that.
He winks at me, and a familiar warmth spreads thr
ough my chest.
“I'd like that,” I whisper, lifting my lips in another dazed smile. “And James will come with us?”
Charlie told me in the car that James is waiting at his house for us. He blames himself for what's happened to me and can't find the will to see me at the moment, not while I'm in this state. I understand. Though I don't blame him for anything that's ever happened to me, I understand his guilt.
Charlie nods a couple of times. “If he wants to. I've already told him he's welcome to come live with us as I assumed that's what you'd want.”
“Yes. He's my brother,” I remind myself, unexplainably glad that I still have some family left in the world. “I want him to know that while Maksim is gone, he still has me.”
I feel nothing for Maksim at the moment but I reckon that might have something to do with my medicated state. Neither do I care that Charlie and I are talking freely in front of this doctor who is trying to act invisible, writing god knows what on that pad.
“Us,” Charlie corrects, raising his thick eyebrows at me, and I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Anything James wants or needs, we'll sort it together.”
“Oh...” I nod, my emotions for him all but bursting out of me. “Yes. Us.”
I'm oddly vulnerable right now, saying things I wouldn't usually say, but I want it to be like this with Charlie. I want us to be a team. If I need him, I have to know that he's there and vice versa.
“Mr. Decena-” the doctor interrupts our conversation, and Charlie lets go of my hand; turns around in his chair.
“-She’s ready for the next shot of antibiotics.” He lays out two syringes on the tray, gesturing that one is a strong antibiotic and the other is the anesthetic. “Anesthetic last, once her blood pressure reads one-hundred and thirty over ninety on this screen.” He leans over Charlie and turns the monitor toward us, so Charlie can see it properly. “I'll give you both some time alone. When you're ready for me, I'll be waiting outside, as will my medical team.” He gives me a courteous yet pitiful smile, pivots away and leaves through the only door in the room.
As soon as Charlie and I are alone, my vein rushing with cold because Charlie injects the antibiotics, I can't help thinking about when we lived at his house. How at home and safe I felt there. I'll never forget the first time I fought Charlie in aid of the rights to my body. The first time I felt bad for hurting him when I put him down. The times we shared together eating in the kitchen, talking and holding each other.