Chapter 31
Roxy
"The good news is the bullet went straight through and missed the liver, but he's lost a lot of blood." The doctor's voice cuts through the fog in my head as I approach him.
"If you'd moved faster, maybe he wouldn't have lost so much." The words come out harsh, my voice unrecognizable even to me.
Sweat beads across his forehead, but my gaze drifts to Damien, bandaged and motionless in bed.
"Leave us," Vasili's command fills the room as he gestures for the doctor to go.
After rattling off instructions, the doctor exits and I feel my temples throb.
"Do we know who did this?" I ask Vasili.
He moves to the window, staring out for several seconds before answering.
"Marzena Kaminski. Damien's mother."
He must read the confusion on my face because he continues.
"She's Damien's competition for control of the organization. I don't know how the hell nobody spotted the shooter, but she's getting too bold. One day, his luck's going to run out."
My chest tightens at the thought of losing him, so I clear my throat.
"Did we get anything from the guy who shot him?"
"No. He hasn't said a word."
"Good. Show me where he is."
Vasili's stare burns into me, so I square my shoulders.
"He's my husband, Vasili. For the next six months, at least. And as infuriating as he is, I care about him. So the bastard who tried to kill him is about to learn what happens when I roll up my sleeves."
I wish I could photograph Vasili's expression right now, pure shock combined with amusement. I know in my bones that if the roles were reversed, Damien would've already torn the guy apart and made ribbons from what remained.
“You know, when he first told me he wanted to marry you, I tried to talk him out of it. But now I get what he saw in you. You’re loyal, Roxy, and that’s something I can respect.
Still, I’m sure this connection with you will bleed him dry.
I just hope he’s got enough left in him to walk away when all this madness it’s over. ”
I stare at the bandaged man hooked up to an IV and twist the ring on my finger. Vasili's right. I'm so selfish that in my desire to get that bastard that ruined my life, I've dragged someone who only brought light into my life into my mess.
What if next time he gets hurt, there isn’t a doctor around? What if that psychopath comes for him? What if I signed his death warrant with that marriage certificate?
One problem at a time, Roxy.
"Take me to the bastard," I tell him, my voice steady with resolve.
"Are you sure? It's not a pretty sight, Roxy."
"If the roles were reversed, do you think Damien would hesitate?"
"No. I think the poor bastard would already have every piece of connective tissue peeled off his body."
He signals me to follow, then texts one of the girls in the house to watch Damien.
"I want guards posted at the bedroom door."
He studies me for a few seconds then nods.
When we reach the basement entrance, I pull in a deep breath.
My wedding dress is stained with my husband's blood, my hair's a mess, and I'm certain my makeup is smeared across my face.
I probably look like I crawled out of a nightmare, and I hope to God that's exactly what the man tied to a chair in the center of the room thinks.
All I can see is the light fading from Damien’s eyes. All I can feel is his warm blood on my palms. All I can taste is the terror of almost losing him. I let that rage seep into every thought as I take a few steps toward the coward who dared to touch him.
"Did your hubby bleed out, or do we need to wait?" he sneers when he sees me.
I can't stop the smile spreading across my face. He doesn't realize that the image of Damien bleeding is exactly the fuel I needed as I pick up a sharp knife from the table.
"No, but we can see how much you can bleed," I say calmly, nodding at Vasili. "I need you to tell me who sent you, preferably before I figure out how these blades work."
"Go to hell."
"Since you're being so charming, let me share a secret." My smile turns glacial. "In high school, I competed in anatomy olympiads. A subject I thought was useless for years, but Dad only seemed to notice me when I told him what I'd learned. Probably because he wanted to be a doctor once."
I lean closer, my tone sharp.
"So I know exactly where your major arteries are. I can calculate precisely how much blood you can lose before needing a transfusion and how long you can last without water before the hallucinations start."
I grip his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes.
"So I'm asking you one last time: WHO THE HELL SENT YOU?"
His silence only steadies my frayed nerves. It's fine, he'll have time to scream. Because I wasn't lying. I'm done watching the people I care about turned into targets and hurt. And the fact that I feel no remorse about making the guilty suffer wraps around me like a shadow.
The next second, I drive the blade into his deltoid muscle, and some of my pent-up anxiety evaporates with his scream.
His howl is the only sound echoing in the room, but I'm acutely aware of Vasili's and the other soldiers' stares.
"Who sent you?"
I see in his eyes he still has the strength to endure. Perfect, I still have demons to exorcise.
"Vasili, do we have something that produces flames?"
His eyes widen instantly, but without questioning me, he brings a welding torch.
"We don't have anything else."
"It's enough." I pass the blade through the flame, metal hissing.
When I turn back to the man who's finally started to sweat, I say, "This blade, which I estimate is easily four hundred degrees, is going through that spot you men value most. Now, I could be nice and let the boys continue having their fun with you like before, or I could use my new toy and see how long it takes you to pass out from the pain. What's it going to be?"
He studies me from head to toe before spitting, "You're crazy, lady. No wonder that lunatic married you."
My expression shifts from a smile to furious.
"Did you just insult my husband?"
Somewhere in my mind, whispers tell me it's enough.
That I've vented my rage. That Vasili and the other soldiers can take over the torture.
But then a voice from deep in my chest whispers that this man deserves to bleed until the last drop.
Because he hurt him. Because, more than that, he dares to insult him in front of me.
I lunge at him, my palm snapping his head violently to the side.
"I dare you to call him that one more time."
His eyes widen when he sees me so unhinged, but I don't care, because the next second I slam the blade into his groin, letting the sound of agony and fear wash over me.
With the reddened blade still in hand, I ask one last time.
"WHO SENT YOU?" My scream makes him instinctively close his eyes.
"Warsaw." It's the only word he manages, and I nod.
I take a step back. I hear him exhale with relief. I walk to Vasili, hand him the blade, and head for the exit.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I turn to Damien's right-hand man.
"I want that blade burning hot, and make sure there isn't a patch of skin on his body that hasn't been pierced by it. THAT'S AN ORDER!"
Something like respect crosses Vasili's face, and all the soldiers nod curtly.
The bound man starts cursing at me, but I'm already at the top of the stairs.
When I emerge from the basement, a veil lifts from my eyes. I've never felt such rage, such desire to hurt someone, and as I wait for the guilt to come over me, I replay every second in that basement. And I wait. One minute. Two. But nothing but pure relief washes over me.
The two soldiers guarding our bedroom door step aside when I reach them.
Inside, Tirana holds a cold compress to my husband's forehead.
"I'll take over from here, Tirana."
She studies me from head to toe, and I know exactly how I look after this hellish day.
I give her a subtle nod to leave, and though I see she wants to protest, she retreats in silence.
I let my dress fall in a corner. I use Damien's bathroom for a quick shower, and though I have my own pajamas, I choose one of his plain white T-shirts. It smells like musk, like him, and I desperately need to feel him close.
After scrubbing every last trace of blood from my skin, I slip into bed beside him and turn the compress on his forehead.
I hear him mumbling something and let my fingers gently caress his cheek.
His eyes open slowly, and though they're still cloudy, I find myself smiling at the sight of them.
"Hey," I whisper.
"Am I dead?"
"How can you say that?" My voice cracks treacherously.
Why am I so affected? He'll be fine, the doctor promised he'll be fine.
"Because I'm convinced you're an angel, baby."
I roll my eyes because somehow, even after everything, he’s still joking.
"Your eyes are sad," he says hoarsely, and I hurry to give him water.
After two sips, I stop him so it's not too much, and I watch him wince.
"You could've died," I whisper, trying to hide my tears by tilting my head back, but I know he's already noticed them.
His hand searches for mine, and I watch, mesmerized, as our fingers intertwine.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Roxanne."
"Maybe I don't want to get rid of you," I murmur self-consciously.
Heavy silence settles between us as I fidget with my fingers anxiously.
"I know, baby. Come here."
I settle gently beside him, but Damien pulls me closer until my head rests on his shoulder, drawing a pained groan from him.
"I'm hurting you, Damien. Let me stay like before."
"When are you going to understand that I'd rather be hurt and in pain than not feel you next to me, stubborn woman?" His voice is slightly strained.
I lift my gaze to him and see his eyes are closed. With a deep sigh, I force my thoughts to quiet until I slip into darkness.