Chapter 53Green Devil Eyes Meet Brown Angel Eyes Again #2
In a blur, Aslanov’s hand lashes out. It’s too fast for anyone to react.
His fingers curl into a fistful of Sawyer’s jacket, yanking him forward with brutal efficiency.
Sawyer barely has time to process the attack before he’s slammed against Aslanov’s chest. The air between them vanishes, and for a moment, the world goes still.
Sawyer stiffens, his breath catching in his throat, the tension thick enough to slice. He tries to pull back, but Aslanov’s grip is iron. He doesn’t even have to try.
His blood is now draping on Sawyer’s jacket.
Aslanov’s voice comes out raw, raspy from exhaustion. But it’s full of authority. “Touch me, and I will break your fucking neck.”
There’s a beat. A long one, where no one breathes. No one dares to move. The only sound is the distant hum of machines and the soft rustling of wind outside. The tension is unbearable, crackling in the air like static before a storm.
I can’t stand it any longer.
“Aslanov,” I say, my voice shaking, but firm. It’s more of a plea than an order. “Let him go.”
For a moment, his grip tightens, and I fear he won’t listen. I fear he won’t hear me. But then, slowly, ever so slowly, Aslanov exhales, his shoulders dropping just a little. His fingers loosen, and Sawyer stumbles backward, gasping for air.
Sawyer, his face has changed. Less anger. More respect. More fear.
Because now, he sees what I’ve known all along. Even at his weakest, even dying, Aslanov is still the most dangerous man in the room.
But I’m not scared.
Before anyone can speak, I feel it; the sudden presence of Dominik, moving with quiet purpose behind me.
Without warning, he shifts past me, and within seconds, he’s behind Aslanov.
Sawyer, almost mechanically, follows his lead.
Together, they move. One hand each grabbing a limp arm, their steps sharp and unyielding.
I don’t know if they’re moving him out of fear or because they’re genuinely worried about his health. His body is failing, and the blood is pooling around him. But there’s a cold urgency in their movements. A sense that they’re treating him like a threat, something to be controlled.
Sawyer’s grip tightens on Aslanov’s arm as they drag him down the hallway, his face set in a grim line. It’s going to unleash; the raw, unrelenting PTSD that rips through him.
“No,” he whispers, his voice barely a breath, as if the word itself is being torn from him. “Not again…”
His body jerks, involuntarily. The terror is palpable.
‘‘Don’t fucking touch me!’’ Aslanov’s voice erupts, raw, filled with a pain that cuts deep. His body lurches away from them, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and for a moment, it’s as if he’s slipping into a different time.
But they don’t stop. They drag him, with cold efficiency, to his room. The door swings open, and Sawyer wastes no time. He moves to grab the hospital restraints, straps meant to bind patients to the bed, to ensure they don’t harm themselves or others.
Without even realizing what I’m doing, I rush after them, my heart pounding, my feet moving before my mind can catch up.
“No!” I scream, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Don’t touch him! Don’t restrain him!”
I’m standing in the middle of the trashed room, between them and Aslanov. My hands are raised, pleading, shaking with the intensity of the moment. Aslanov is behind me now, in the corner of the room. Sawyer wants to move closer again.
“ Stop! ” I shout, the word breaking from my chest with a force I don’t even recognize. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Sawyer stops, his eyes flicking between me and Aslanov, uncertain.
For a second, the room goes deathly quiet, and I see it.
The conflict in his gaze. He’s worried about Aslanov.
But he’s also afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t restrain him.
He’s afraid of what Aslanov could do, what he might do.
“Get the fuck out,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous, a command more than a plea. My entire body is trembling, not just from the adrenaline, but from the raw emotion burning in my chest. The panic, the love, the fear.
For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them moves. Sawyer glances at Dominik, and I see it—the hesitation. The fear. They’re both scared. Scared to leave me alone with Aslanov. Scared to leave me alone with him after everything that’s happened. After everything they think they know.
Eventually, they back away, slowly, reluctantly. The door clicks shut behind them, but they don’t leave. I know they’re waiting just outside, ready to intervene if things go wrong.
I turn around, and the room feels even more suffocating, even more charged than before.
Aslanov is still in the corner, slumped against the wall, his breathing shallow, his body tense with the aftershocks of the panic attack that’s still gripping him.
His eyes are wide, his face drawn with the strain of too many emotions. Too much time.
And then I see it, the tears, glistening at the corners of his eyes.
I swallow hard, my own tears welling up in my eyes, blurring my vision. Too much pain, too much heartache.
“What have they done to you…” I whisper, my voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. It’s a question I don’t know if I can bear the answers to.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
Then, in a voice so hoarse, so broken, that it barely reaches my ears, he whispers, “Please… don’t be scared of me.”