14. Alek #3
“I’m going to get you home, okay?” I tell her softly. “These people are dangerous. You don’t want to mess with them. I have to make it look like I’ve hurt you and I’m taking you out of here to…dispose of you.”
She gasps. “Dispose of me?” she asks. “They expect you t-to kill me? Oh my God, what is happening, what the fuck is happening?” She starts hyper-ventilating.
“It’s okay, shhh.” I say as I pull my knife out of my side holster. She yelps at the sight of it.
“I know, okay, it’s going to…be rough, but we’re going to get through this. You got it?” I look her right in the eyes. “I need to cut you. I need some of your blood. But I’ll only cut you where you tell me to… Jules, Jules. Hey. Breathe in and out.”
Jules takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, and then a second time, a third time. She’s not trembling as violently anymore.
“Okay,” she mumbles. “If you promise you’ll get me out of here.”
“I promise. I’m going to take you somewhere safe, and they’ll help you get home.” I point my knife toward her. “Now, tell me where.”
She looks down at her arms and hands, seeming uncertain. “Here,” she says and points toward the back of her forearms. I slowly slice into her skin, just enough to make the blood ooze out of the wound.
Jules cries softly, squeezing her eyes shut and biting down so hard on her lip as I make a second cut that she nearly goes red from the pain.
“You’re going great,” I tell her. “Now, give me another spot.”
She points to her thigh and I make two short but deeper cuts along the top of her thigh, and watch as the blood drips out of the wounds. Something in me ignites as I do this. I feel a rush of pleasure through my body that makes me sick to my stomach.
Jules doesn’t want this; I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I swallow hard and remind myself that I’m doing this to get her out of here. The blood on my knife isn’t for me to consume; the cuts I’m making aren’t for me to get off on. Not like with Tommy.
Still, a dark part of me is enjoying the process. Enjoying cutting into this woman’s flesh and listening to her whine and hiss in pain.
I shove that part down and when I’m done, I dart over and grab the sheet off my bed. I start wiping her blood off on the sheet.
“I see what you’re doing,” she says quietly. “That’s smart…but damn it hurts.” She squirms when I squeeze her to try to get more blood out of her wounds onto the thin fabric.
“In a couple hours, everyone will be drunk and they won’t have as many questions. They’ll see me carrying you out, but they won’t remember much in the morning,” I explain. “So, you’re going to have to stay up here with me until then.”
“Do you need to cut me anymore?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, that’s it.” I toss the bloodied sheet on the floor and then rummage through my dresser for a moment.
“Here, put this on. It’s something to cover you at least,” I tell her as I toss her one of my dress shirts.
I can’t help but think of Tommy wearing one of my shirts when I do this. It absolutely wouldn’t work because he’s bigger than me. I smirk at the thought. Him trying to squeeze into a shirt too small for him…
Once Jules is seated on the edge of my bed, I lean against the wall nearby, and wait.
Getting Jules out of the Bianchi estate is easier than I even expected.
She’s wrapped up in the sheet and slung over my shoulder, told not to make a sound or move a muscle.
I don’t even meet anyone’s eyes as I slip out the front door to my car with her.
They’ll see on the security cameras what happened when they look at them the next day, so I remind her not to move until I tell her to.
I sling her in the backseat of my car instead of the trunk and pull out of the driveway like a bat out of hell.
Once we’re about a mile down the road, I glance in the rearview mirror.
“You’re good now,” I tell her.
“I can move?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She sits up slowly, pulling the sheet off.
“Why did you do this?” she asks.
I turn down another road. “Because I’m not a rapist,” I tell her.
“What are you?” she asks.
“A killer,” I reply. “But not without reason, and I don’t kidnap and mutilate virgins for birthday fun.”
She laughs breathlessly, but her face is white with fear. “I’m glad for that,” she whispers.
The remainder of the drive is quiet, until we pull up to the Dresvanni estate, and I help her out of the car. I hoist her into my arms so she doesn’t have to walk across the cold wet ground.
I pound on the door until it finally opens with a tired looking Carmine dressed in silk pajamas there.
“Aleksandr?” he asks, and his eyes shift down to the woman in my arms. “What are you doing here?”
I shove past him and inside, setting her down in the entryway. She wobbles on her feet.
“The Bianchi were going to rape and kill this woman for a birthday party,” I tell him, my words coming out in a rough growl. “I thought they were bad, but I had no idea just how fucking disgusting they are.”
Carmine blinks at me, and then looks at the woman, trying to piece things together. “And you…rescued her and brought her here?” he asks me.
He steps closer to her but she flinches.
“Yes. You’re the only contact I have that I feel I can trust,” I explain. My accent switching to my natural one.
“Why are you talking like that?” Jules asks. “I thought you were American.”
“It’s a long story,” I say and look back to Carmine.
“You want me to take care of her?” he asks.
I sigh. “Yes, please,” I ask of him. “She needs to get home to America. I don’t think she has anyone else here to keep her safe. I can’t take her with me, the Bianchis will find out and who knows what they’ll do to her then.”
Carmine hums low and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I knew they were related to some of the disappearances of tourists, but I had no idea it was this,” he says quietly, and looks toward the woman. “I’ll keep you safe and get you home.”
She sighs. “Thank you. I don’t even really understand what’s going on right now or who you people are, I just want to get home.”
Carmine nods his head. “I understand. Come on, let’s get you some clean clothing.” He motions her toward the stairs.
“Wait,” I say. “Where’s Tommy? I need to talk to him.”
Carmine eyes me. “He said he was meeting you,” he explains. “Though…we’d just argued about him wanting to take the Carvels out instead of trying to talk to them, so I figured it might have been an excuse.”
“He hasn’t been with me,” I say.
Carmine’s jaw tightens. “He’s been gone all day.”
I huff. “Son of a bitch.”
I drive through town in the darkness of the night searching for Tommaso like I’m looking for hidden treasure.
No, more like I’m looking for a missing dog.
A dog that could very well be dead by now.
Not that I don’t trust his instinct or strength...
but I get the feeling when he flies off the handle he’s not exactly thinking with his head.