47. A Hummingbirds Heart
Chapter forty-seven
A Hummingbird's Heart
Julian
Present
Sebastian thinks he’s safe because I left the gun on the table. He thinks I’m going back to the stove to grab the branding iron but what I’m grabbing is my blade knife from the kitchen drawer behind him after hearing her cries, screams, and vomiting. She begs him to stop, just like she’d done with me so many times. No one else is supposed to do that to her, only me.
By the time his body drops, Astoria is unconscious again. I take in the state of her. A spray of Sebastian's blood covers her tied up, beautiful limp body.It looks amazing on her, but I’m too worried about her.
Despite all the things I’ve put her through, she’s never reacted like this, unable to keep conscious for long. I should’ve asked the piece of shit what he drugged her with, but his constant jabbering and watching him touch her blinded me with rage.
Even in her unconscious state, she’s breathing too heavily and fast, almost puffing like some hummingbird. Fuck! I take her pulse and it’s sky high, then untie her, lay her on her back, but she doesn’t rouse.
God dammit.
“Astoria. Astoria, wake up.” I fear she’s having an adverse reaction to whatever drug he pumped her with. I take her pulse again, and instead of slowing, it’s speeding. If there’s something Astoria taught me, it's to have all the equipment possible at hand to keep her healthy and alive. I run to the room with all the equipment, place defibrillator pads on her chest and shock her, then connect her to a heart monitor. The current calms her heart but it’s nowhere near normal. It takes a few more tries before I get it under control.
“Astoria.”
She moans.
“I need you to wake up.”
“Asher…” She cries with her eyes still closed. “Let me die. Please.”
“Like hell I will.” I smile at the ridiculousness of her pleading and push her hair back.
“Asher, it’s not… right.”
She retches, so I turn her on her side, but nothing comes out. It’s good if she vomits everything so that the drug can get out of her system. I stick my finger into her throat and hold her down until she’s only vomiting air. She doesn’t wake up, but her heart rate slowly comes back down.
When I return from filling my tub with warm water, I carry her to clean her up. The water helps her stop shaking. Her own whisperings wake her. “I’m sorry," she says with tear full eyes when she sees me.
“For what?”
“For everything. I’m sorry.”
I nod, sigh, and push her hair back. “You really messed up this time, pretty bird.”
“You killed him?” she asks, looking like a sad little girl, pushing her bottom lip out with tears trailing her face.
“He lied, betrayed, and hurt you. Most importantly, he touched what's mine. Those are not things anyone gets outlive. I’ve made that quite clear to you.”
I can see the pain that fills every cell on her face at the confirmation of his death, and I want to wring her neck for it, but resist.
“Did he ever do this to you? Share you with someone?”
“No. You’re the one that made him–”
The rage emanating from my eyes and the smile spreading on my lips lets her know it’s time to shut the fuck up. She’s not clear of mind yet and doesn’t know the truth. She’ll soon learn who she “married.” Instead of drowning her, I decide to change the subject.
“I brought you a big wedding gift.” My smile is in my tone as I speak words I know terrify her, and I enjoy seeing the horror on her face. I forgot how beautiful she looks when she’s scared, how addicting it is to see it paralyzing her.
A large part of me is raging inside at the fact that she was this na?ve and got herself into so much trouble, all in the name of betraying me. I’m only calm because I’ve been working on my temper for the last three years, for her. But, despite the improvement, every man has a limit, and she’s definitely surpassed mine by several miles. I’ll punish her some more.
Punishment number one was allowing that loser to fuck her when she didn’t want it and was sick. Punishment numbers two and three will come up in a few days when she’s stable enough to not worry me anymore and conscious enough to feel all the pain.
She’s in and out as I bathe her, lay her on my bed to sleep, and lock the neck brace onto her. Just when I’m about to leave the room, to clean up the mess, with her eyes closed, she whines, “Asher, don’t leave me.”
My heart flutters. The little bitch still has that much power over me. Her palm searches the other side of the bed. “Asher,” she cries again.
I sigh and walk away. Now I have to get rid of the chauffeur and the limousine. We’ll be lucky to make it out of this country alive.