RESILIENCE (Resilient Saga Book 1)

by Marcia DM

  “See you around, cuz.” The door closes behind him.

  I get back in the car and head home.

  Once we’re in the kitchen, I get some ice from the freezer for the left side of my face and some painkillers for Sarah, who looks at me suspiciously.

  “Here. This will help you feel a lot less like shit in the morning.”

  “How do I know those aren’t roofies?” She mocks me.

  “Oh, believe me when I tell you, if I wanted to get into your pants, I wouldn’t need the help of a few pills.” I get a glass of water and put it on the table with the pills.

  “Are you calling me easy!?” She pushes the glass of water away from her; mockingly offended.

  I walk towards her and kiss her deeply for a long time. “See? I didn’t have to drug you…” I whisper over her mouth. She punches me in the shoulder. “Ow!” The cuts in my shoulder say ‘hi’ right after adrenaline made them vanish.

  We’re both all bruised up, tired as fuck, and yet we laugh. It feels weirdly great and I like that— a lot. It’s easy picturing myself with her in the future; it’s not hard in situations like this.

  “This needs stitches. Have you ever sutured before?” Sarah looks at me in panic.

  “Are you crazy? I just gave you those! What, it made you think I really wanted to stitch you up!? No, I don’t, and I definitely won’t do it!”

  CHAPTER 37

  BRUNO

  Sarah cuts the thread with her teeth after finishing my stitches. She also brought me a clean change of clothes and something to eat. The guilt is still eating her alive, which is interesting if you consider what I did to her for three long years. This should have felt like some sort of payback or a step forward to getting even, and yet she feels guilty for hurting me. Her humanity surprises me once more.

  “Who was that man?” Sarah asks. She looks more relaxed now.

  “Like I said before— the less you know, the better. He helped us; let’s leave it at that.” I regain composure, my body stiffs a little when she brings up Rage. He’s not someone I want near Sarah, ever. I know my hostility towards the subject pushes her away by making her uncomfortable, but at the same time she grows adamant about it and she won’t stop prying. I have to find a way to distract her from it. “I don’t want you to worry about anything right now. Asad is weak and pissed. That works to our advantage. It’s only a matter of hours before he exposes himself trying to flush us out, and that’s when he’s going to make a mistake.”

  Sarah keeps quiet; I can see the cogs spinning in her head.

  “I don’t think I can do it…”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill Leon.”

  “What changed?”

  “I did.”

  “How so?”

  “You were right all along. Something inside me changed the night I shot that biker at the motel… But… how could I not do it? He was about to kill you, and I… I had to kill him, a stranger. Someone unknown to me was going to kill you, and it happened so fast… I… I…”

  I walk up to her and hug her. “Hey… hey... it’s okay.”

  “I keep playing the scene in my head like a movie, over and over. I did something that affected a person’s life directly. The more I think about it, the more pain I feel.”

  I hear her speak and recognize the sorrow. I know that feeling. I felt the same the first time I took a man’s life. I thought I was going crazy. The same moment I pulled the trigger, I felt something inside me dying. It doesn’t matter how much booze you chug down, the first confirmed kill brands you and the feeling never goes away.

  “That’s why I was trying to talk you out of it. It’s not easy for anyone; unfortunately, you were in a dire situation and reacted accordingly to save another human’s life. In this case, mine, and for that I thank you. Now that I think about it, you saved me twice. You have a gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “Yes, a gift. You have the ability to see an opportunity and the courage to take it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You cut me loose…”

  “Yes, but there was a lot going on at the time.”

  “There was a diversion, yes. But not many people would have seen that as an opportunity and you acted upon it. Sarah, you are a brave, confident, kind, funny woman. You always were. I hope you see that now as clearly as I do. Stop fighting yourself and start embracing your new you.”

  She looks at me a little puzzled. A part of her understands what I’m saying; the other part shyly looks away and smiles. That smile bewitches me for a few seconds every time.

  “Back there, before going into the warehouse… you said that… you need me…”

  “I did…” I say firmly on the outside, but in the inside I’m scared shitless.

  “What did you mean by that?” She asks naively. But make no mistake— that’s a razor-sharp question.

  “You know what I meant.”

  “I wanna hear you say it.”

  I grab her hand and put it on my chest. When I’m sure she feels my heart pounding, I say, “This thing that I feel is not what matters now. Don’t think for a second that I don’t see how uncomfortable I make you feel, that you can’t look into my eyes for more than five straight seconds without triggering a bad memory… about what happened… about what I did… I totally get that this is fucked up, but I’m not gonna lie to you. You were the only one in my mind for years. All I wanted was to keep you safe, from them and all that shit. But having you here, with me, makes me realize that I want to give you what you need, want and desire. I’m also aware that I’m not the best option for your life, that our story’s filled with blood and tears. I guess what I’m saying is you have the last word. The decision is yours and yours alone. The power is in your hands. From now on you write your own history.”

  Sarah looks jumpy for most of my confession, as if she’s about to interrupt me after every word, up until the very end. That makes her lips seal, and I can see she’s digesting my words. I don’t regret saying what I said. I want her to feel empowered and to realize she’s free to choose. She’s no longer the victim here, and if in her freedom she ends up leaving me, that’s something I’m ready to accept. In the off-chance she sticks around, I know I’ll do everything to win her love.

  She stands up slowly, mildly groaning in pain, and says, “The only thing I know for sure is that I need to go to bed. The rest can wait.” She reaches out her hand to me.

  I gotta be honest. For a second there I freeze. I don’t know what she’s going to do or say; until she wants me to take her hand.

  I grab it. Her skin feels incredible. I don’t stop there; no, I pick her up in my arms carefully and take her to the bedroom. Nothing else matters, not the past or the future, just the present. This might very well be our last time together.

  I put her on my bed.

  I look into her eyes and notice they are full of desire. But not just that— they are lustful. I always wanted to tear her panties off, and this is the fucking moment I was waiting for. The second I do that, she jumps up and rips my shirt off. I thought I was the only one feeling wild. She desperately kisses me and tries to undress me at the same time. I know that urge, the need to feel the other person’s skin. It takes over you and asks for more at every second.

  We kiss, long and hard, our lips are swollen, and the intensity is peaking. The more we kiss, the more lust we feel. Touching her imperfect skin becomes an addiction that is both merciless and selfish. I hunger for her. I lick her whole body; she moans loudly at my ferocity. The guards probably hear that.

  Listen to what’s mine, motherfuckers.

  Her arms twist over her head, desperately trying to hold onto something. But it’s impossible, right now I have total control over her body, it’s mine. She arches her back, lifting her breasts and giving me full access to them. I lunge forward, seizing the moment.

  “I won’t fuck you until you beg me to do it.”

  “Yes!” She moans.

  “
’Yes,’ what, babe?” I tease her.

  “Yes! I want you to fuck me, Bruno! NOW!”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.” I say, and without further ado I ram my dick deep inside her. We both moan at the same time. We move frantically, desperately trying to fuck each other harder. Her tight pussy welcomes my cock like it’s a fucking god, and I’m happy to be able to give it to her. I just want to be her humble servant.

  I move my hips back and forth slowly, savoring every sensation, inch by inch. And just when she gets used to the rhythm, I let loose a barrage of hard, fast thrusts.

  Our bodies collide violently.

  We’re covered in sweat.

  We needed this… I needed this. When I heard Asad say he was going to rape her, I simply lost it.

  She’s mine.

  Anyone who dares try and take what’s mine will fucking perish by my hand.

  Sarah’s about to climax. That makes me even harder. Is that even possible? She grabs my face with both hands and looks at me profoundly. Is it love? Pure lust?

  I let out a grunt and clinch her close. She buries her nails on my back. Not gonna lie— it hurts, my wounds are still fresh. But who gives a fuck? I can feel she’s about to come and that brings me closer as well. A few more thrusts, that’s all it’s going to take.

  We both come at the same time. She moans loudly and squeezes me like a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean. I grab her ass and push myself deeper while I shoot my load inside her. It feels amazing. I’ve never been in a moment like this. I don’t want to let her go, ever. I need her.

  Don’t go away.

  I pull out and crumble on the bed. Sarah sneaks between my arms and lets out a big, satisfied sigh. To be honest, she fills up my ego.

  “Your eyes are incredible, Bruno. I’ve always thought that, and I wanted to tell you,” she says.

  “Have you looked into a mirror?” I ask mockingly offended. She knows what I mean and chuckles.

  “Green and blue…” She says while running her hand through my forearm. “Bruno… I’ve made my decision.” Her tone changed. I keep quiet, waiting for her to finish that sentence. But she doesn’t.

  “What is it, babe?” I ask anxiously, only to be surprised by the faintest of snores.

  She fell asleep.

  Fucking great.

  Sarah’s sound asleep, loudly breathing through her teeth. This is the cutest image I have of her to date. I observe her for hours, like the psycho I am. But no matter what I do, I can’t sleep. There’s simply too much shit in my head right now, there’s no chance I’ll get any sleep tonight.

  I get up slowly to avoid waking her up, and start floating around the house…

  I open the fridge, just like anyone would in my situation. I’m looking for something, but I don’t know what the fuck that is. I stare at the contents and I decide I’m thirsty. I grab a beer and go towards the table.

  Beer, my partner in moments like these— any moment, really. I sit down and take a few sips. I relax my sight for a second and notice that the laptop Sarah took from the warehouse is sitting a few inches away from me. So, since I can’t sleep, this will help me kill some time. I grab it and start to mess with it. Of course, it’s password-protected and the drive is encrypted. I expected this much. I hook the hard drive to my computer and start to run some programs in an attempt to break the password. After 45 minutes of waiting around, one of them manages to find the password.

  RAZZAG.

  What the fuck is RAZZAG?

  Once in, I start to comb through its files, trying to find something of substance. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find his entire plan in here, or at least his initial plan. The more I comb through, the nastier the information gets. It will take me days to classify all the files in this drive by myself; I should give it up to the authorities. Lots of possible locations for attacks, active safehouses, fake names, attack plan codenames— too much shit is about to hit the fan, and soon…

  So much hatred…

  I come across a list of names, possibly a hit/victim list, with headshots and everything. These fuckers are very thorough with their intelligence gathering;. Then again, so are we. I keep reading the list and I can’t believe it— women, young women; children even, for fuck sake.

  This people are fucking crazy… But we already knew that. And then I see it. At first, I can’t believe my eyes. I read it again, glance at the picture attached to the name. It IS him…

  Dante D’Amico.

  What the fuck does this mean?

  A waterfall of feelings comes down on top of me. Why is my brother’s name on this fucker’s laptop? I double-click his file, fearing the worst. My gut was right: the file is the video of his execution.

  Fuck…

  I grab my beer and drink it up in one gulp. I wish I had something stronger in my hand.

  I press the ‘Play’ button.

  Just as I remember— my brother had blond hair with matching eyebrows. He was always the better-looking one of us; hell, of the whole family. He had it easy with the ladies. He had this peculiar and exotic beauty that drove them crazy. He was a good son, smart, selfless.

  In the video file playing in front of me, the beauty I remember is almost gone. He’s beat up and bound to a wooden chair, in a dark and secluded place that looks like a remote cave. He looks spent. Behind him a thick black flag tries to conceal the rock of said cave. The flag sports a strange symbol, a geometrical figure consisting in two perpendicular lines or bars. It looks like a cross or a crosshair with arrows on its ends pointing North, East, South, and West. There’s a third line that runs diagonally, from the bottom left to the upper right side, passing right through the axis of the cross and splitting it in half. It has a circle on each end. I’ve seen this symbol before, but I couldn’t tie it to anything.

  My brother looks at the camera; a mixture of fear and regret fills his eyes. Then, he looks at whomever is behind the camera, waiting for death to come. A tear runs down his dusty face, leaving a perfect trail for the next one. He’s wearing the shirt our father gave him for his last birthday. The sweat on his forehead drips down to his eyebrows and finally reaches his eyes. He constantly closes them hard, trying to avoid the sweat from getting in. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to see what’s coming. He’s minutes away from dying, and he knows it. Fear is a feeling one can quickly learn to identify in another human being. Too much fear will turn into terror, which is harder to detect. And too much terror will trigger a panic attack, making the victim either pass out or difficult to control. Dante looks like he’s at terror level in this video.

  A man wearing a balaclava and a military-style camo outfit steps into frame and stands in front of Dante. He’s holding an AK-47 with a weapon sling; it’s properly fastened to him. This might seem like a stupid detail, but it isn’t. That bit of info pretty much sets this guy apart from your regular terrorist, meaning he has military training and all the stuff that comes with it. Then, he goes on to complete the regular terrorist cliché— jabbering a message of hate in Arabic from the top of his lungs, trying to justify his group’s actions. Knowing Arabic was key to my training. It gave me the edge in so many situations. Sadly, more often than not, I had to listen to speeches or statements like this one in order to gain some valuable intel for an operation. His words ooze hatred.

  Once he finishes his message, the fucker turns around and proceeds to kick Dante in the chest, with such force that he actually knocks over the chair. I can’t see him anymore, and as soon as I hear Dante’s grunt when he hits the ground, a shower of lead coming from the AK rains down on him.

  I click the ‘Pause’ button.

  It’s a reflex.

  I don’t have to keep playing it.

  I look away from the screen, but the tears are already there. I stop the footage, but my brain keeps playing it by heart. I can still hear Dante groaning and the AK being fired in full-auto mode. Ten years went by and I remember the sequence like it was yesterday. He didn’t deserve to die, not l
ike that. Terrorism must be stopped at all cost.

  But how do you stop a force like terrorism when they don’t fear death?

  I’m raging inside; it makes me shake. The kind of fury mixed with frustration I feel right now would drive any man mad. It feels as if something is gnawing at your bones and won’t let you breathe at the same time. This kind of feelings will push you towards bad decisions.

  My thumb jerks and presses the spacebar on the keyboard, resuming the video and making this horrible scene come to life again. The magazine empties; the terrorist turns to face the camera again, adds more to his statement and finishes with “Allah 'akbar.” I hit the spacebar once more, pausing it. I know the video ends a few seconds later, and I need to calm down. I stand up and get another beer. I sip through it as I walk back to the laptop.

  Stop it, Bruno…

  Yeah, I should; otherwise, I won’t be able to rest.

  I grab the lid to shut the computer and I see that the video file still has almost sixty seconds of footage. It’s probably them congratulating each other— or worse, showing Dante’s torn body.

  The sadist in me wants to keep playing the video; plus, I’ve watched up to here, it’s only natural that we finish what we start.

  I sit down, take a deep breath and click the ‘Play’ button for the last time.

  I hear a second man speak from behind the camera— I was right, they are congratulating each other. The man holding the gun asks him for help. It takes two to move a body, after all. Both of them are dressed identically and are similar in shape, height and probably weight. Both of them crouch near the chair and pick it up.

  As soon as the chair is held up, I see Dante, still bound to the chair. They put a bag over his head and the video stops.

  What the fuck… Why would they put a bag over a dead body?

  I rewind a few seconds and hit ‘Play.’ Dante’s there.

  Did his arm just flinch?

  I rewind again.

  It did! Maybe it’s a reflex.

  I rewind again. His chest moves. I’m speechless.

  He’s breathing… How can this be? My brother… Alive, all this time?