Chapter 34 Burn In Hell
Burn In Hell
Roman
Isla quite literally slipped out of my hands, but not before she did some damage to my face. I deserved every bit of it, and so much more. She didn’t just escape me; she beat me up.
She kicked me in the balls—twice in one night. Then she slashed my cheek, almost scratching my eye out. And finally, she broke my fucking nose.
I wasn’t angry. I wanted the pain. Craved to be physically hurt by her. But I wouldn’t be able to survive the way she was shattering my heart. Isla wasn’t just my girlfriend. She was my reason for breathing. For existing.
Without her, I was nothing.
She was smart—leaving in the middle of the night when I was most vulnerable. But of course, I heard her tiptoe out of bed, as quiet as a mouse. I felt her every movement, every night.
The fear in her eyes made my stomach twist. She was terrified that I wouldn’t let her leave. But I never wanted to trap her. I just wanted a chance to fix it, to work through it. She couldn’t just leave; she couldn’t!
My head was spinning, my nose gushed blood, the metallic taste thick in my mouth, but I followed her immediately. Before I even reached my car, I was already on the phone giving out instructions.
Fifty men were working on trying to locate her. Every single point of departure from the city was checked. Every train station, bus terminal, and airport had someone there within ten minutes. No Uber was ordered under her name, and we had no leads, but I was going to find her, tonight.
I headed to LAX, hoping that she made the obvious choice, but the call came right before I arrived at the airport—she was on her way to San Diego, located by one of my junior guys.
My Angel.
I was impressed by her efforts and quick thinking—she knew I would follow her to the end of the earth and did her best to conceal her trail, but she was no match for me. No match for the love I had for her. As soon as she bought her ticket, I knew what flight she was on.
And there she was, stepping through the sliding doors of the arrivals hall like a vision from heaven. Still in her little white dress with tiny red flowers, just an over-the-shoulder purse with her, wearing her tan sandals with my blood on them.
Her chestnut-colored hair fell in delicate waves past her shoulders. Her tantalizing body was mine. Her captivating and pure soul lit up my dark heart.
Her beauty was unparalleled, and I loved her…more than I loved life.
And I knew she loved me. I’d never been more sure of anything in my life than of the love we shared. I saw it in her eyes, felt it every second that we were together.
But now she looked at me like I was dirt beneath her feet. Rage radiated off her in waves, threatening to claw my heart out.
I wasted no time. With quick strides, I was beside her in a few seconds, grabbing her upper arm, but she ripped it out of my grasp immediately.
"You want to cause a scene here, Isla?” I growled in her ear. “Let's fucking do it, but you're not leaving me like this."
Gently, but firmly, I steered her away from the crowd and backed her up against a wall. Travelers moved behind me, oblivious to the tragedy unfolding between us.
"Leave me alone!" she hissed, her eyes blazing.
"I don't want to see you! Don't you get it? Don't you understand why?!” I tried to catch her hand, but she swatted me away. “What the fuck do you think is going to happen, Roman? That I’ll just go home with you like none of this ever happened? That I’ll crawl back into bed with the man who killed my parents?” Her words were like bullets flying through my chest. “Didn't you burn the guy who killed your sister? How is this any different?!"
This was completely different!
"Isla, please!” The desperation seeped through my voice again.
“I swear to you—I never meant to hurt you.
I'm so sorry for what happened. I didn't know your father had kids, I didn't know I was breaking apart a family!
It was business, Isla. Strictly business, and the rules were clear.
Do you think he didn't use the same tactics?
" I posed the question, knowing exactly what kind of man her father was.
"What?!" she retorted, both angry and shocked.
"What the fuck are you suggesting?! That my father killed people?! Like you?!” Her face contorted in disgust. “My father was an honest and hardworking man!
He cared and loved his family, he was involved in his community, he built his company from the ground u—"
"No, he didn't," I interrupted strongly, and her face began to burn at the silence between us, her beautiful gray eyes looking up at me.
I knew how her father came into ownership of Anders Concrete it doesn't define us. You and me, we-we can’t be apart, baby! We can’t!” I implored her, my voice shaking.
“This is just a hiccup, Angel. We will work through this, we will get past it, I know it. You’re mine forever, baby. "
Fuck. Tears poured down my cheeks, and my knees buckled. I dropped to the floor in the middle of the airport, clinging to her waist like I was a drowning man. My gaze found hers, both of us crying. Broken.
She was the love of my life.
"You’re everything to me, and I refuse to let this end,” I whispered, my heart threatening to burst out of me.
“I love you so much. You’re my oxygen. I can't live without you, Isla!
I know you feel the same, don't lie to yourself!
Our past is behind us; only right now and only our future matter.
Can you really see your life without this?
Us not being together?" My fingertips dug into her hips as I begged her on my knees, all my vision blurred.
Isla covered her face and sobbed. "Stop…," she pleaded weakly. "Please s-stop. This is t-too h-hard! Don't say any of t-that!" she gasped out, her words fighting with her sorrow. "Don't say any of that!"
This felt unreal—like we were trapped in a tragedy where everyone lives unhappily ever after. In the airport, on my knees, crying and holding the love of my life—I had no idea how to continue living.
I didn’t know how to love until she came into my life. And now, I didn’t know how to live without her.
“Hit me, Isla. Hurt me. Punch me—do anything you want to me, but don’t leave me! I deserve all the pain, Isla, but not this! Not this heartbreak! Not a life without you!”
I pleaded. I implored. I begged.
With tears running down my face and my knees at her feet, my hands trembled as I held onto her hips, praying with all my heart that she wouldn’t break this.
Slowly, Isla crouched down in front of me, her beautiful face flushed and tear-streaked. She leaned in and locked her gaze with mine, and for the thousandth time, I remarked how much I loved the way she looked at me—with care and love, that attention I had become addicted to.
"I hate you." She suddenly became calm and collected, my mind not catching up with her message. "I hate you with all my heart. Burn in hell...where you belong. Don't ever contact me, Roman. Understand this. I don't want to see you again. I am dead to you."
My heart stopped.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hear. I stopped living. Her words were pure poison, injected right into the vein. I stayed frozen on my knees, staring at her as she stood, brushed her dress smooth, and turned away.
She didn’t look back. She walked into the crowd and out of my life. Forever.
She made her choice.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t stop her. My heart shattered right there at the airport, rendering me physically paralyzed. My men followed her at a distance, but she never paused her strides away from me.
I had lost her. In all senses of that word.
How long did I stay on my knees? How did I make it back to the car? I had no memory of anything. I was lost, aimlessly wandering through time that stretched into oblivion without her.
I had come to New York certain that Isla would be flying back to L.A. in my lap. But everything was wrecked. Ruined. Broken into a million pieces.
The next twenty-four hours were a blur. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat, I just sat in my hotel room, staring blankly at the wall, completely disconnected from reality. My phone stayed in my hand, and I lived in delusion that she would text or call me any minute. But there was only silence.
Sometime in the middle of the night I blacked out on the bed; having ingested so much alcohol, I was sure I wasn't going to wake up the next day.
But sunlight streaked in through the closed blinds and pierced me right in the eyes. I didn’t move. Didn’t get out of bed. I reached for the half-empty bottle beside me and took another swig of the white liquid.
I wanted to erase everything. My thoughts, my feelings, the pain. My whole existence. But a few thoughts forced their way into my mind
How could she do this? How could all of this have happened? What were the chances that, out of all the women in the world, I’d fall in love with the one whose life I destroyed?
She changed my life.
I tried to make sense of it all, to find meaning and symbolism in how our meeting came about. It couldn’t have been accidental. I met her because I killed. She moved to my city because I killed. If I wasn't the monster I was, I never would have found her.
She was destined for me.
My vision floated, and my mind blabbered something on, never letting me fully disconnect. My head lay on something wet, and I realized I’d been crying nonstop.
And as that truth sank in, another, much darker one followed—this grief felt worse than Natasha's death. That thought broke me in ways I didn’t know were possible. I loved Isla more than I loved my own sister.
I’d known her for such a short time, but the heart has no clock. It only knows who…and my heart had chosen her above everyone else.
Her voice had taken over my mind. I kept hearing her, telling me she loved me, whispering that she was mine.
I love you. I’m yours.
The words looped endlessly, fraying every other sensation. I lifted a hand to push my hair out of my eyes, and that’s when I saw it. Isla. Her sweet name, freshly inked on my finger. I got it yesterday, the day that would forever be left in my memory as the worst day to ever exist.
The phone rang, bursting through the silence, and my whole body jolted, expecting it to be her, but no, it was Sergei. The cockroach I still had to get rid of and who was proving to be way more manipulative and self-serving than I had ever recognized.
It was her; it was my Angel who pointed me in the right direction. She was the one who connected the fucking dots and helped me see that Sergei had been betraying me for years. Without her…without her, I was nothing.
How would I ever protect her now?
There was only one man who I could turn to for help, and it was great luck that he was now in New York.
I sent Sergei to voicemail and, instead, dialed another number. I needed help, desperately, and I was not above asking for it.
"Slushayu." He picked up after the first ring.
He and I had a good relationship, and we trusted each other. We had nothing to divide, nothing to fight over. He had his sphere, and I had mine, and I was always honest about who he was—he was The Tsar, no matter my influence.
"Zdravstvui, Kirill. I need help."