A Marriage of True Minds: A Sasha McCandless Novella

by Melissa F. Miller

  “Oh, God, she’s going to kill him,” Jordan wailed.

  Sasha could have sworn she heard her mother shush her hysterical daughter-in-law. She couldn’t exactly turn around to check, though.

  She squeezed and watched the teenager’s face grow flushed as the pressure reduced, and then halted, the flow of blood to his brain.

  She counted silently, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two ... He slumped against the wall, unconscious. She caught him under his armpits and lowered him gently to the floor, taking care not to trip herself with her long dress as she eased him down.

  She looked down at his closed eyes, the long, thick lashes brushing his cheeks.

  He really was just a kid.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Naya breathed near her ear.

  “He’ll be fine. He’ll probably wake up with a killer headache.”

  Connelly’s chisled face popped into her mind—his crooked little smile; his eyes, warm and liquid like hot chocolate. She had to find him. Before the armed men did.

  She unsheathed the unconscious man’s machete and turned it slowly in her hand. Contrary to her taunt, the blade was razor sharp. Like a scalpel, she thought and shivered involuntarily.

  She took a hurried step toward the door and stopped short. Trapped by her dress.

  It would take at least ten minutes, maybe longer, for someone to fumble around in the dim moonlight streaming through the window and undo the row of buttons that ran up the back of her dress. That was time she didn’t have.

  She looked down at the exquisite creation that gloved her body and hesitated for a second before giving Marisole an apologetic look.

  “Sorry about this,” she said, carefully slashing the machete along the fabric at the side of her leg between her left knee and her ankle, creating a long slit in the flared skirt.

  Marisole gasped. Behind her, Valentina moaned.

  Sasha sliced a matching gash down the right side. Then she bent over the prone kid to remove his scabbard. She belted the rough leather awkwardly around the smooth silk of her gown’s waist. She sheathed the machete then turned, taking a long, unimpeded stride, and her feet got caught up in the long ribbons that fluttered out behind her.

  “Son of a—” she muttered between gritted teeth, pulling the weapon back out.

  “Wait!” Marisole yelped. She hurried around and snipped the ribbons’ thread carefully with a pair of tiny gold scissors. Maisy rushed over to help her before Sasha could hack them off.

  When they were finished, Sasha turned to Naya. “He won’t be out for long. Find something to tie him up with.”

  “Where are you going?” Naya asked.

  “They’re looking for Connelly. I have to save him.”

  “Sasha—” her mother began, but Sasha held up a hand.

  “Mom, don’t. You want to see your baby girl get married tomorrow, right? That requires a live groom. So, I’m going to find him, and then we’re going to go take care of the men in the ballroom. All of you, stay here until I come back.”

  “No way,” Naya said, pointing at Maisy, who still clutched the lengths of ribbon that had adorned the wedding gown just seconds earlier. “You tie him up. Use those. I’m going with Sasha.”

  “Naya—”

  “Shush. We don’t have time to argue,” Naya said with a toss of her head.

  “Here.” Marisole dug through her bag and pressed the shears into Naya’s hands. “In case.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Aroostine said, giving Sasha a level look that dared Sasha to try to stop her.

  “Fine. Naya’s right. We don’t have time to argue.”

  “You have anything else in that bag?” Aroostine asked Marisole.

  Marisole stared into it, then shook her head sadly. “Only straight pins and thread. Oh, and these little scissors, but they are not very sharp, I’m afraid.”

  “Wait,” Sasha’s mother called. She reached up and removed the ornate gold hairpin anchoring her sleek chignon bun. She handed it to Aroostine.

  “Um, thanks?” Aroostine managed.

  “It’s a vintage kanzashi,” Valentina explained.

  “A what?” Sasha asked.

  “Kanzashi. Geishas wore them in feudal Japan.”

  Sasha leaned closer to inspect the heavy, bejeweled hair ornament.

  “Mom?” she prompted.

  “It was your grandmother’s. Grandfather Alexandrov brought it back to Russia for her when they were dating. According to your Nana, they served two purposes—decorative and defensive.”

  “Defensive?” Aroostine asked, hefting the long stick in her hand.

  “I believe the idea was to use the pointed end and rake it across one’s attacker’s eyeballs,” Sasha’s mother said primly, as if she were discussing a tea ritual, and not a hand-to-hand combat maneuver.

  “Oh, right. Thank you.” Aroostine twisted her thick hair into a loose knot and jabbed the pin through the middle of it.

  Sasha just stared at her mother in silent disbelief, resisting the urge to ask if she had ever used the thing in its non-decorative capacity.

  “You’re quite welcome. Try not to lose it. Someday, it’ll be Sasha’s.”

  “Of course,” Aroostine promised.

  Sasha gave her mother a quick, tight hug and headed for the door, flanked by Naya and Aroostine.

  “You can also dip it in poison, if you happen to come across any,” Valentina called after them.

  “I had no idea your mom was such a badass,” Naya commented, as Sasha eased the door open.

  “Me neither.”

  They crept silently along the long hallway toward the kitchen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The long hallway was dark and silent. The only sound was the rustle of their silk dresses. The only light came from the slivers of moonlight that peeked out from under the closed doors lining the hall. If the layouts were consistent, each room would have its own wall-sized window facing either the ocean or the purple mountains.

  Sasha took two steps then hesitated. Aroostine pulled up short beside her, and Naya bumped up against Aroostine’s back.

  “Why’d we stop?” she hissed.

  “I’m not sure which way to go.”

  The resort’s reception hall formed a long L, with the dressing room nestled in the angle where the two arms met. At one end was the ballroom, which looked out over beach. At the extreme opposite end was the kitchen—an inefficient layout that, according to Chalotte, made sense for its proximity to the gardens and the path the local fishermen took when they hauled up their daily catch to sell to the chef. Whatever the reason, it meant that guessing wrong would place them as far as possible away from Connelly and his captors.

  Aroostine spoke in a voice so low that Sasha barely heard her. “Don’t you think he and Hank would have headed for the ballroom at the first sign of trouble?”

  Sasha considered it. “Hank, yes. But Connelly would have come looking for me.”

  “He obviously didn’t find you. So he could be anywhere,” Naya offered helpfully. She pointed back toward the dressing room and the ballroom beyond it.

  “Including the kitchen,” Sasha said, pointing the other direction.

  They looked at one another for a long moment.

  Finally, Sasha said, “Kitchen.”

  If the leader had found Connelly in the ballroom, surely he’d have sent someone to fetch the women from the dressing room by now.

  But neither Aroostine nor Naya pressed her for her reasoning.

  “One way’s as good as the other,” Naya conceded. “Let’s go.”

  They crept along the wall as quickly as they dared, which wasn’t very fast at all.

  As they drew closer to the kitchen, the sound of angry male voices rose from behind the door. Several men were speaking loudly and in unison. A cacophony of English and Spanish spilled out into the hall.

  Aroostine put a hand on Sasha’s shoulder to stop her from moving forward any farther.

  “What’s wr
ong?” she whispered in Aroostine’s ear.

  “Shh.” Aroostine cocked her head to the side and stood perfectly still. She closed her eyes and listened. “He’s in there.”

  “How can you tell?” All Sasha could hear was a din of yelling voices.

  “I can make out his voice. He’s there; so is that leader guy; and at least one more guy. There may be two.”

  “I don’t hear anything but noise,” Naya said.

  Aroostine shrugged. “I grew up tracking wild animals. I can distinguish the sounds. Leo is in there. But we’re probably outnumbered.”

  Naya bit down on her lower lip, thinking. “Okay, I have an idea. We need a distraction.”

  Sasha nodded.

  “You two hide. I’ll pretend to fall and yell for help. Someone will come running, when they do, you jump them.”

  “That’s a terrible idea,” Aroostine informed her.

  Naya’s nostrils flared.

  “It really is,” Sasha agreed. “But, I don’t have a better one. Do you?”

  “No,” Aroostine admitted.

  “Where are we supposed to hide?” Sasha asked.

  Naya pointed to a door on the opposite wall.

  Sasha gathered her skirts in her hands and raced across the hall.

  She turned the handle, bracing herself to find an armed bandit on the other side. Locked.

  She moved on to the next. The voices in the kitchen grew louder.

  She tried the handle, and the door opened to reveal, not a room, but a closet.

  She peeked inside. In the gloom, she could make out shelves stocked with cleaning rags and bottles of cleansers. A supply closet.

  She turned back and motioned for Aroostine to join her. As Aroostine crossed the hallway in a rapid, fluid motion, Naya crept closer to the kitchen and stopped directly in front of the door to the closet.

  Aroostine wedged herself into the space with Sasha and looked around. Sasha pulled the door most of the way shut, leaving it open just a crack. She pressed her eye to the opening.

  “Cleaning supplies,” Aroostine whispered to herself.

  Naya met Sasha’s eyes. “Show time?”

  “Wait,” Aroostine hissed. She pawed through the shelves.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for poison.”

  Sasha shook her head. “This is an eco-resort, remember? I’m sure everything’s all natural, no chemicals, including the cleaning fluids.”

  Aroostine ignored her and continued to scan the shelves. She squinted at a label. “What about oxygen bleach?”

  “Hydrogen peroxide and baking powder,” Sasha told her. “I don’t even think it would burn someone’s eyes. You’ll have to test drive my mom’s hairpin some other time.”

  Aroostine sighed.

  Sasha wondered about Aroostine’s background. The night had the potential to get ugly and, in all likelihood, violent. Did Aroostine know what she’d gotten herself into? And would she be of any help? She was clearly brave, but Sasha could only hope she was battle tested.

  “Now?” Naya stage-whispered.

  Sasha nodded her head. “Go.”

  Naya threw herself to the ground with a loud yelp. Sasha pulled the door nearly closed, and she and Aroostine squinted through the crack.

  “Somebody help me!” Naya shouted. “¡Ayúdeme!”

  The door from the kitchen banged open, and heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Naya clutched the shears in her right hand and twisted her body to conceal them from the men advancing toward her.

  There were two. One, stocky and out of shape, breathing hard but running fast. The other looked to be in much better shape. They wore the same uniform as the boy who was currently tied up in the dressing room.

  The heavier one reached Naya a moment before his companion.

  “I twisted my ankle. I need a doctor,” Naya said loudly in slow English.

  She stretched out her left hand, and he reached for it. He pulled her to her feet, roughly, and, as he did, she lost her grip on the shears.

  They clattered to the floor.

  His eyes followed them, narrowing in surprise and fury.

  Watching from the closet, Sasha felt her stomach lurch.

  “¡Puta!” he roared.

  At the expletive, Naya’s eyes flitted toward the closet door.

  Sasha didn’t think Naya could see inside, but she tried to convey a look of calm, just in case.

  The man wrenched Naya’s arm behind her back at an awkward angle. His friend drew near, laughing and leering.

  “Oh, crap,” Aroostine whispered.

  “Time for Plan B,” Sasha whispered back. “On three. One, two, three.”

  They burst from the closet.

  Sasha plowed into the back of taller man, aiming for his knees.

  He toppled over and landed on the ground on his stomach.

  She scrambled up and straddled his back. Then she grabbed a fist full of his dark hair with one hand, lifted his head, and drove his forehead into the floor with a bang. With her other hand, she reached around to his hip and relieved him of his machete.

  Aroostine retrieved the scissors and advanced toward the big guy, who had twisted Naya around to serve as a partial shield, although he was much wider than she.

  “Let her go,” Aroostine said.

  He laughed and tightened his grip on Naya.

  As he leaned to the right and fumbled with his sword, Aroostine lunged forward and drove the shears into the left side of his belly in a fast, stabbing motion. She pulled them out and plunged them back in again.

  He bellowed and released Naya. She sank to her knees near the wall. Blood sputtered from his stomach like a fountain.

  Aroostine dropped the scissors and clamped one hand over the man’s mouth. With the other, she pulled him by his shirt into the closet. She stuffed a cleaning rag in his mouth and used another to bind his wrists.

  Sasha followed with the tall man, who moaned wordlessly as she dragged him unceremoniously across the floor by his feet. Aroostine gagged him with rag and then bound his hands as well.

  They shoved both men into the space, arranging them under the shelves and squishing them together so that the door would close. It would be tight quarters until someone found them, but Sasha could muster no sympathy.

  She did, however, have a great deal of concern for Naya, who sat still in the middle of the floor, now clutching the shears and taking fast, shallow breaths. Her eyes were pinned on the kitchen door, unblinking and dilated, waiting for someone else to come through it.

  Sasha squatted beside her.

  “Hey, you did great.”

  Naya didn’t look at her.

  Aroostine joined them, crouching on the other side of Naya.

  “You sure did.”

  “So much blood,” Naya managed, letting her eyes flick down toward the stain that had formed on the floor.

  “There is a lot of blood,” Aroostine agreed. “But, it’s a superficial wound. Those bleed a lot. He’s going to live.”

  “Is that true?” Naya demanded of Sasha.

  Sasha didn’t have the slightest idea if that was always true. She knew that when Wally Stewart severed her artery, she’d gushed gallons of blood and that certainly hadn’t been superficial.

  But she looked at the pain filling Naya’s almond eyes and lied. “Definitely. Just like a nosebleed.”

  Naya exhaled shakily and let the shears fall from her hand as a wave of relief washed over her.

  Sasha helped her to her feet and Aroostine tried to hand her the fallen scissors.

  “You’ll want these,” she said.

  Naya hesitated then reached for them. She turned to Sasha, ashen-faced. “Mac, I can’t. I can’t hurt anyone. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Don’t you dare. Can you get back to the dressing room by yourself or do want us to take you?”

  Naya swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “I’m fine. Go. Just ... do what you need to do to get rid of these monster
s.”

  Sasha and Aroostine watched her make her way back to the dressing room, clutching the shears to her chest. They waited until she tapped lightly on the door. She called softly to the women inside, and the door opened. Naya disappeared inside.

  “Are you still up for this?” Sasha asked Aroostine.

  Aroostine nodded grimly.

  Sasha handed her the tall man’s machete and holster. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Up close and personal violence was messy and stomach-turning. Even for someone as steely as Naya. The sight of the man’s stomach pumping blood all over the sustainable bamboo flooring hadn’t made Sasha upset or uneasy, but she’d had plenty of experience—too much experience, to be honest—with violence, and even death. Apparently, Aroostine had a similar history.

  “Thanks.” Aroostine tightened the belt around her lace-trimmed cocktail dress and secured the weapon.

  “How do you want to do this? If we give it a few more minutes, maybe the leader guy will come out looking for Dumb and Dumber.” She cocked her head toward the supply closet, and the two injured men inside.

  “I think that only works in horror movies.” Aroostine flashed her a smile. “You’re confident that between the two of us, we can take down one guy, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me, too.”

  She sure seemed calm. Sasha decided the younger attorney definitely fell into the grizzled-veteran-of-violence category.

  “What if he’s not alone in there?” Sasha asked.

  “Let’s jump off that bridge if we come to it. Do you want to save your man or not?”

  Sasha nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.” She reached over and touched Aroostine’s arm. “Thank you seems inadequate—”

  “Thank me later. So, I’m thinking we set up on either side of the door and then knock. He’ll be expecting his guys to come back. If he’s stupid enough to stick his head out, we’ll grab him and use him as cover when we go in.”

  “And if he’s smart? Just burst through and start throwing punches?”

  “More or less.”

  “That is a terrible plan.” Sasha smiled. “But I don’t have a better idea, so let’s go.”