Chapter 7 - Aleksei
“What?” I spit out, not able to mask the incredulous scoff. Though looking back in hindsight, the description of Lorenzo’s daughter Grigor gave me as red-haired and incredibly beautiful weren’t the most useful of terms. But she stood out. Both with her long, flowing red locks, and with her beauty. There is no way in hell it isn’t her.
“That’s not her. I don’t know what to tell you, Aleksei.” Grigor starts. My eyes shift from her to him, then back again. “Lorenzo’s daughter is… a skinny one who likes to flaunt her luxury.”
I frown at him. What the fuck does that matter, and who the hell dishes out vague criteria like that expecting anything other than a shitshow. The familiar pang of anger and annoyance resurfaces in my chest. I hold in a groan directed at myself—he always manages to find a way to sabotage even the clearest of tasks. Putting my trust in him this time was… well, stupid.
“And you couldn’t have been more fucking precise?” I growl out, though my expression softens when I look back at her face, which is now a picture of fear and confusion. I soften more when I remember just how self-conscious she was back at the club. What the fuck does that even matter now? We got the wrong woman. But there is no going back now—I know that. Kidnapping is not something one can just simply walk away from. I wish I could go back in time with her and enjoy it a bit more. I’m sure neither of us will enjoy what’s coming next.
The air seems to hang in a thick cloud over the living room —admittedly, not the best spot for a rendezvous, but one we all headed to automatically after arriving home. I peel my gaze from both of them and cast a quick questioning stare at Akim. He doesn’t look good. His skin is pale, and from the looks of it, he’s also losing a lot of blood. I could call our doctor, though I doubt that at this time of the early morning he’d be able to get here on time. Fuck.
The sense of chaos and general annoyance I feel at this entire situation only increases when I hear the bickering erupt behind me in full force.
“We need to get him to a doctor,” Dmitri states.
“Yeah, no shit. But we need to stitch him up now. Otherwise, he won’t make it.” Grigor counters.
“No, we need to get it done properly once we’ve got him to a doctor .” Dmitri enunciates the last part. Last time one of us got stitched up at home, Dmitri ended up in hospital for a good week with an infection. I can see their points, but Akim is looking too grim to settle for the luxury of waiting. He’s losing too much blood too quickly.
I then look back to the girl, who is now anxiously looking from Grigor to Dmitri, and craning her head to look at Akim, who is passed out on the couch.
“I can help.” She croaks, almost inaudibly.
I turn to her now, and Dmitri questions her with suspicion clear in his voice. “What?”
“I can help.” She repeats, this time louder, more self-assured. “I’m a doctor.”
“Funny how everyone turns into a medic when they’re tied up.” Dmitri scoffs at her, completely dismissing her. It may be bullshit. But if not, she may be able to save Akim. From the looks of it, he really needs the bleeding to stop. It brings me back to that cursed day, filled with images of a navy sweater soaked in blood.
“I can’t lose a family member again, and if she can help it, then I’ll take the chance.” Stating decisively, I look at Dmitri, who knows better than to question me, though he makes no effort to hide the displeasure clearly displayed on his features.
“He’s losing a lot of blood. Let me help him.” She states now, calm eyes focused squarely on Dmitri. Whether she is a doctor or not, she’s obviously a smart girl, playing her cards just right—working Dmitri to convince him to trust her. But I see through her. Tit for tat. She’s going to want something in return.
“And?” I ask, walking towards her while I grab a box cutter from the table next to me.
“And I want you to let me go. After I help him.” She gulps, voice still steady, but her lowering gaze betraying that she’s playing her strongest cards. Not strong enough, darling, not with us. “Swear it to me, and I’ll do what I can.”
I smile at her, somewhat warmed at her naivete.
“I swear to you. After you help him, I’ll let you go.”
Her confused glance is schooled back into a defiant frown. The picture of honor and trust.
The box cutter is sharp, though not sharp enough to cut the binding around her wrists and ankles in one go. It takes a few purposeful swipes to get them off. She hisses when the rope falls off her wrists, revealing raw red marks.
“If you’re playing us,” Grigor starts, getting closer to her and pinning her down with his stare. “I’ll make you regret it.”
“Lose the threats and get me what I need. Your brother doesn’t have much time before he goes into shock.” She walks straight past Grigor and towards Akim’s pale body on the couch. “I’ll need a few things. Sterile thread and needle, if you have those, if not we’ll have to make do with a needle steeped in boiling water and nylon thread. Gauze, too.” She looks around to scan his weak form, probably trying to locate the source of the bleeding. Turning to me, she points to the box cutter still in my hands. “And give me that box cutter.” When I pin her down with a suspicious stare of my own, she rolls her eyes. “It’s to dispose of the shirt. Don’t think I could do much against three grown men with a box cutter.”
I obey, jaw clenching with nervousness. Dmitri is busy bringing back the sterile needle and thread while Grigor looks through another bag of first aid for gauze. He has to search hard since we usually use a lot of it whenever we get into fights, which isn’t too rare of an occurrence.
“Oh, and gloves, preferably.” She adds, already ripping apart the clothing and observing the wound. It looks bad —a shot wound to the chest.
“It went clean through.” The gloves Grigor hands to her are put on in a hurry, though she continues. “Didn’t hit anything too major, though he did lose a ton of blood while you guys were deciding what to do.” It isn’t an accusation but rather an observation. She was a damn good actor if she wasn’t a doctor.
Silence follows while she takes the thread and needle and gets to stitching skin. Akim is in such bad shape he barely flinches when she starts at his shoulder, working fast and with measured precision. She‘s good with blood —I have to give her that —though I’m also glad the suspicions are proving to be false. She is too smooth and professional at this to be bluffing. She must really be a doctor. I smile to myself. Smart girl.
She looks up to Dmitri, who is now staring at her, working from the side. His face softens too, probably also impressed by her proficiency at working around so much blood.
“Lift him up.” She motions towards his torso. “I need to stitch the back too.”
He complies with a grunt as Akim’s heavyweight settles onto him, and she completes her task with ease. The moment the last stitch is done, she breathes a heavy sigh—one that leaves her lips parted, I imagine, since her back is facing me—and turns to look at me and Grigor. The couch is now seeped in blood, her gloved hands are covered in it, too—it’s a sight to see, almost resembling a murder scene.
“Done,” she states coldly. “Now, fulfil your end of the deal.”
I laugh at that, a genuine hearty belly laugh. “I appreciate what you’ve done for us, I really do, and I’ll make sure to keep it in mind going forward.” She gulps in understanding, realizing just how na?ve she was. “But you must understand, I can’t just let you go now. We’ve kind of crossed a boundary here.” I motion to the space around me. You know too much. I want to say, but I don’t have the heart to scare her.
“So? What now?” Demanding, she looks me straight in the eyes, though I see the pinprick tears forming at her waterline. “Will you kill me?” The last part is a mere whisper. Dmitri retreats out of the room to clean himself off, while Grigor watches our conversation with amusement.
“I’m not a monster , princess.” I start, slowly walking up towards her and offering her a hand to stand up. Ordering her in a polite way. This isn’t the club, so she has to learn to be good. “I’ll take you to a place we’ll keep you in the meantime, so be a good girl. I don’t want to have to bend you over my shoulder.” Meantime is a loaded word here, and she seems to know it too. Defeated, she stands up, ignoring my outstretched palm.
Fear. What she is experiencing right now is probably fear. That and uncertainty. I find her adorable, the little furrow of her brows and glossy eyes. It’s fucked up, I am aware, and despite trying my best to hold it back out of respect for her, I can’t help it internally. It’s one of the things I have an issue with—understanding fear. It’s something I have only experienced a handful of times, one being when my younger sister died. It is hard for me to sympathize in that sense, but in a more twisted way, I want the woman here to fight. I like a fighter. And a smart girl.
We descend steep concrete stairs to a vast corridor that stretches beneath our compound—an impromptu quarter to hold our very special guests. There are four doors, corresponding to the number of rooms we have, though we have never used this space to its full capacity previously. Unfortunately for our newest visitor, I’m not yet aware of her identity and potential threat level, all thanks to misplaced trust on my end , so she has to spend the night here until a background check on her is complete. The night is going worse than I expected, with Akim heavily wounded and a woman whose name I don’t yet know.
I lead her to the door closest to the stairs, the doors unlocking after I thumb in the passcode. It’s simple, with a bed and a lamp as the bulk of the decoration. She walks in, a bit too compliant. It makes me suspicious but also excited. She is planning something, for sure. I want to know her a bit better. I hope to see her fight back a bit more.
When she’s fully inside, she plops down on the bed, shoulders slouching. The flares and corset she danced in are still on her body, making her look too beautiful for such a drab room. Soon , I think, you’d be in a place befitting your beauty. Regardless of who she is, I decide then that I want her.
“Name?” I ask, expecting her to be happy to keep at least that one detail from my grasp.
“Fuck off.” A resounding response. It makes me laugh. I close the door and turn to walk. I'll find out more about you, little bird, just you wait.