Chapter 24
Mikhail
I’ve never run so fast.
I sprint through the hall, passing the bedroom, the kitchen island, yet all I can see is the confused terror playing out across Cassandra’s face as I pulled her from sleep.
The anxious shock of being thrown into the holding cell.
The last shove against the door, her weight pressed to the other side. The click of the deadbolt.
I smack my hand against the elevator button, throwing myself haphazardly through the barely-open doors. Ivan is the only one who manages to slip in beside me before I slam the button to shut the entrance.
Five seconds have never lasted so long.
I have no idea what I could possibly say to her after how I acted, locking her in a room for hours.
She has no business forgiving me.
I need to get to her nonetheless.
I’m climbing between the doors as they open. Ivan trails somewhere behind, but all I can think about is getting to her. She’s probably scared. She’s definitely pissed.
My key ring rattles against the door. Clawed points shove into the rusted bolt.
The lock loosens. The door creaks open. Something that feels a whole lot like fear seeps into my stomach.
The first thing I see is the bright red of fresh blood.
It seems like it’s fucking everywhere, and it stops me in my tracks, Ivan slamming into my back from his momentum. It seems to be originating from a small puddle on the ground, but tracks of footprints swarm the room, forming nonsensical, overlapping patterns across the space. How did she get hurt?
Cassandra is curled up into a ball against the back wall, but she doesn’t even spare us a glance, her unmoving eyes gazing at something in front of her. With a few gentle steps in, I twist to see what she’s looking at, but all I see is a small hole in the large, plain wall.
When she doesn’t flinch from my approach, I walk closer, my heart breaking at the small gash on her forehead. I just want to hold her in my arms and make her feel all better. Kiss her soft neck like I did last night and tuck her into bed.
But those are privileges I may never see again.
“Cassandra?” I call out, but she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even seem to notice me.
What happened to her in here?
When I finally reach her, I squat down to her level. She gives me no reaction, so I shift to touch her forehead, trying to assess how bad the wound is.
That’s when she moves.
Just as a vicious scream pierces my ears, her clenched palm breaks out from beneath her legs and swipes across my face. The burn of a cut runs all the way across my cheek as she drags a sharp edge across.
Blood pools from my fresh wound. I angle my gaze toward the clunk of metal hitting the ground—a small screw falling from her grip.
She breaks into sobs.
The sound hurts worse than the small cut ever could. Seriously, what the hell happened in here? I’m the only one with a key to this room.
In one fell swoop, I lift her into my arms. She fights a bit, but exhaustion and likely blood loss convince her to give in quickly enough.
She shakes quietly in my arms as I walk her toward the elevator, but the second I step over the threshold, her fight renews, her screams restored.
I helplessly grapple to maintain her in my hands as she struggles in my hold like a woman possessed.
“No, no, no, no,” she cries out when the elevator doors close around us.
“Let me out! Let me out!” She finally topples from my hold. She runs to the doors and smacks her palm against the metal, repeating the action again and again and again.
“Cassandra, you’re safe,” I beg, grabbing her wrist to prevent her from injuring herself further. When I look down, though, I can see the blooming bruise from my brutal grip the night before, and my stomach turns in nauseating revolt.
Finally, the doors press open, Cassandra practically falling through them and onto my living room floor, beside the boots of my stunned men.
“Jesus, Mikhail, what did you do to her?” Ilya mutters, but I ignore his voice because it finally clicks together in my head.
The room. The elevator. The way she scratched and clawed her way out of the spaces like they were choking her, burning her alive.
It reminds me of how I acted growing up when someone was touching me. Like I was stuck in my own skin and couldn’t find a way out.
She’s probably claustrophobic. Badly claustrophobic. And I locked her in a room all alone.
“Forget her, what the hell happened to you?” Lev says, reminding me of her unexpected attack. The small act of retribution fills me with pride, and I use my hand to smear the cut across my face.
“Back up, give her space,” I command, ignoring my own advice as I move closer. This time, I double-check that her hands are empty before examining her head. She’s still on the ground, curled in on herself once more, but visibly calming down in the wide open space of the living room.
“I’ll call Doc,” Ivan says beside me, rushing off in the direction of my office. A tap on my shoulder reveals Ilya, holding out a blanket for me to take. I gratefully accept it and wrap it around the poor girl. She’s still shivering, but I think that has more to do with the adrenaline.
I pick her up once more, walking just a few steps before depositing her small body on the couch.
“Cassandra,” I whisper, leaning in as close as I can manage. “What happened to your head, sweetheart?” Her eyes track my movement with suspicion. My breath hitches at the all-too-familiar reaction.
“Passed out, I think.” Her voice comes out scratchy and weak from all the screaming.
I can’t believe I put her through all of that.
I should’ve realized her terror-filled scream was off when I first shut her in that room, but I was too emotional to think of anything but the sting of betrayal pulsing through my veins.
If I’d have just known—my head squeezes in angry throbs, completely unrelated to the skin-deep cut still weeping from my cheeks.
I hope it fucking scars. I deserve the reminder.
Her blanket slips from one of her shoulders, and I reach out to right it—
“Don’t touch me!” Her scream stops me in my tracks.
How many times had I screamed the same thing as a kid, before everyone learned not to come near me? I snap my arm back, her request aching in my chest. I inadvertently tortured her with her own personalized trauma. How does someone come back from that?
How will she ever look at me again without remembering the pain?
Only a few minutes go by before there’s a knock at the door, but I spend the entire time counting her shallow breaths. They’re coming too slowly for my liking, but I’m pleased she seems to be calming down.
Doc hovers a few feet away, uneasily eyeing the chaos before him.
“I think she needs stitches. She hit her head,” I instruct, trying to keep my voice level and calm despite the anguish that burns through my vision. I can’t feel anything but the pain coursing down my arteries, throbbing with each memory and reminder of my actions.
She will never forgive me.
I shake the thought from the forefront of my head.
That’s not going to help her, and right now, the only thing that I can do is focus on making her more comfortable.
Feel more secure. I stiffen, trying to imagine what I would want if my skin were still prickling from the touch of strangers.
I’d want everyone to stay the hell away from me.
I’d want a cold shower to scrub each cell of my skin until I could no longer feel the touches left behind.
I back away to the other side of the room to give her space, watching as she allows Doc to stitch her forehead shut and clean the wound, finally placing a bandage against her head to cover the injury. I’ve never felt so powerless. Never been so lost.
“I want to leave now.” She suddenly rasps out in that low, dejected voice. It breaks some irreparable part of me.
“Cass—”
“Please,” she begs, her grey eyes filling once more with tears I can’t stand. I want her to stay. I need to take care of her. But the tears keep falling, cutting up my organs like a paring knife until even my throat feels full and thick and shaky.
If you were her, you’d want to leave, too. You’d never come back. The thought climbs through the cavity of sorrow, a parasite festering in my skin.
“Okay. I’ll have a car for you in a few minutes.”
She says nothing back. I can feel my heart breaking in my chest. This is the girl who saved my life. Who gave me a reason to keep on fighting when I was at my lowest point. She’s the first thing I think about in the morning, and the last thought I have before shutting my eyes.
She might…she might’ve been everything. And I’ve ruined it like I ruin everything else.
When I get the notification that the car has arrived, I stand up from the couch and let her know. The phone shakes in my loose grasp.
“I need my shoes.” She finally says.
The walk to the bedroom is more painful than any bullet wound I’ve taken. I scoop up her heels from beside the bed, where I had slipped them off her feet the night before. I don’t think I’ll ever have the chance to feel that happy ever again.
She takes the shoes from my hand and inhales a meaningful breath before walking toward the elevator and pressing the button.
I’ve never wished I had a stairwell as much as I do right now, wanting to spare her from the horror of entrapment once again.
As soon as the doors open, my brave girl struts in, doing her best to hide the panic on her face.
When I move to follow, she bares her teeth in an instinctual warning, stopping me in my fucking tracks.
And then the doors shut.