Chapter 34 Erin #2
Mindlessly, I claw at his wrist, kicking him wherever I can reach, fighting for everything I’ve got and everyone in my life. But nothing touches him. I’m too weak and ineffective—everything Gerard told me I am.
He laughs softly.
“Brave,” he says. “Useless. But brave.”
I stare at him for a moment, both of us still, and a quiet voice in my head whispers.
Now.
With all my might, I ram a knee up into his groin. His hold on me loosens enough that I can twist out of his grip. But in the corner of my eye the knife comes up. I don’t feel a thing because I’m falling against Paige’s door, pushing it open.
A gunshot makes me turn, and freeze. Morozov turns too.
Male voices fill the entrance. Morozov spins around and grabs my arm, yanking me back, fury flashing across his face now.
My ribs are killing me but I don’t remember knocking them.
“Mom—” Paige is awake, and now, thanks to me, the door to her room is wide open and not only can she see Morozov with his hand around my neck, but he can see her.
Footsteps hammer through the lobby and Morozov turns to face the sound, shoving me in front of him. The knife tip presses against my neck.
Fear has made everything turn white but I still see him.
My ghost.
Or is he?
I blink, straining to believe that what I’m seeing is real, that he hasn’t been killed up at the retreat.
My lungs sigh before my head can catch up.
Augusto.
He stands framed in the hallway, draped in shadow, his eyes black with something that looks like annihilation itself.
For a split second, everything stops.
Then Morozov’s voice slides into my ears.
“I will kill her.”
Augusto steps forward into the shard of light. His gaze flashes between Morozov and me.
Then, after everything I’ve learned about this man, what he will and will not tolerate, what he won’t think twice about before obliterating, Augusto says something I do not expect.
“What do you want?”
He’s willing to negotiate.
He’s ready to put everything he’s fought for up to now on the line to keep me safe.
“Ah, he is talking.” I hear the sneer in Morozov’s voice. “I’m surprised, Augusto. You just killed every man involved in the deal, and now you ask me what I want?”
My breath stills in my throat. Augusto killed them all. That means they weren’t going to back down. Despite everything, they still wanted the dirty deal to go ahead.
Augusto’s gaze darts to mine but it isn’t a killer I see. It’s a hero. If that deal had gone ahead, it wouldn’t have meant a handful of lives lost, it would have meant hundreds of lives lost. Possibly thousands.
“I want you to release the fucking goods.” Morozov hisses.
Augusto heaves in a breath. “Fine.”
Fine? I didn’t think my heartrate could tick up any faster but it does.
What is Augusto doing?
Slowly, he takes his phone out of his pocket and opens up the screen. “I’ll put in a call.”
He searches for a contact and holds the phone to his ear as he steps a little to one side.
Then a number of things happen, too fast for me to ascertain order or outcome.
A gun fires. A bullet whistles past my ears. Arrow.
The tip of the blade scratches down my throat. And Augusto is running.
Morozov regains his footing but Augusto keeps coming, relentless and unstoppable, his eyes only on me and the door to Paige’s room.
With one hand he shoves me backward, out of the way, then he collides with Morozov.
Violence explodes in front of my eyes, so fast and brutal that I don’t register Arrow flying into the room with me, Mallorie’s cries following down the hall. All I can hear is the thud, thud, thud of fists against flesh, the grunts of grown men giving it their all.
An image of the man Augusto had beaten up in the outhouse flashes in front of me. He was beaten good. I can only hope and pray that Augusto can do the same to Morozov. I catch a glimpse of his gun in the waistband of his pants. Why isn’t he reaching for it?
Then I see the look in his eyes as he drives a giant into Morozov’s face. He needs to feel his bones break. A gun is too quick, too clean. Augusto doesn’t just want to see this man’s life seep through his fingers, he wants to feel it.
Arrow holds me back as my gaze catches on a flash of steel.
“No!”
Morozov’s knife drives forward. Into Augusto.
A wet, sickening sound fills the hallway and the breath tumbles out of me so fast I almost break in half.
A scream tears out of me before I can stop it, but Augusto doesn’t fall.
He grabs Morozov by the throat and slams him into the wall with a force that rattles the entire house. The knife clatters to the floor.
Now, Augusto reaches for his gun.
Blood pours out of his torso but he doesn’t notice. His fingers dig deep into Morozov’s windpipe, the Russian’s beating fists going unnoticed.
Augusto cocks the gun and presses the barrel into Morozov’s left eye socket.
My mouth falls open.
He issues one command and it’s aimed at us in the room.
“Move.”
Arrow drags me and Paige out of the room and back down the hall. Before he can stop me, I spin around in time to see Augusto pull the trigger. We were right to vacate the room. The bullet smashes right through Morozov’s skull, and drives into the wall.
Paige screams. She’s on her feet but caught somewhere between slumber and nightmare.
I’m pretty confident Morozov is dead, but Augusto holds the man up with one hand. Three hundred pounds of hard Russian—dead—muscle. He shoves the gun into his right eye socket, spits in the Pakhan’s face and fires again.
Morozov’s body jerks once. His legs give out, his knees cracking on the floor, then he falls forward, blood gushing from his eye sockets, and face-plants the ground.
Paige releases a sound that I never want to hear again in my life. Whipping around, I pull her into me, covering her face, her ears—everything I can reach. It’s over, and it’s too late to shield her from it all, but I try anyway.
But then the house sways. My hold on Paige loosens and she looks up at me, her face covered in blood.
I reach for her but my left arm won’t work.
Her eyes stretch wide, roaming me wildly. “Mom—"
Silence hurtles into me and the entire hallway tilts.
“Erin…”
Augusto’s voice warms my ears but he’s too far away. Too far…
My legs buckle but strong hands catch me before I hit the floor.
“She’s bleeding—” Mallorie’s shocked exclamation ricochets off the walls.
“Lay her down,” Augusto orders.
A vision of him swims above me. His shirt is soaked red from the gash in his chest. So much blood.
“You’re bleeding too,” I whisper, my focus blurring.
He ignores it completely.
Completely.
His hands are on my face, my shoulders, my arms, moving deftly, lightly. He’s scanning, assessing me for wounds.
“Look at me,” he orders softly.
I blink, trying to focus on his face.
His jaw trembles, then his forehead presses against mine, his hands cradling my face.
“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice cracking.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
His hands move again with frightening gentleness.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, voice breaking on the edges. “This is why I practice. For this.”
The hallway tilts again, but this time it doesn’t right itself.
A strange warmth spreads down my side, like spilled water seeping into fabric. I frown, confused, and when I instinctively press my hand to my ribs, my palm comes away slick. And red.
“Oh,” I murmur.
Augusto’s head snaps down instantly.
He gently peels back my shirt and swallows. He barks four sharp words.
“Arrow. My bag. Now.”
His eyes lift to mine. They’re not calm anymore—they’re anguished.
“Is she going to be okay?” Paige sounds terrified. I don’t want her to see this. I don’t want her to watch me die.
Another door opens somewhere down the corridor and it’s my mother’s voice I recognize.
“What’s going on? What’s happened?”
Trust my mother to sleep through a series of gunshots.
Wait a minute. My mother? Where am I? Why is my mother here?
I’m sinking into a daze. The sounds around blur into one—the rustle of a bag, the twist of a bottle, the flick of a needle. And then—
Pain flares white-hot up my ribs and I gasp, my fingers clawing weakly at Augusto’s sleeve.
His free hand instantly catches mine, gripping it firmly.
“Good. That means you’re still with me.”
My right side feels numb. I watch as he inspects the wound, his jaw tightening, lashes lowering as he assesses the depth and severity.
“It’s shallow, thank God,” he breathes.
He cleans the knife wound with swift, practiced movements. The smell of peroxide fills the air, then he presses fresh gauze firmly against the wound, before wrapping a compression bandage around my ribs.
“There,” he says, laying a hand over my stomach. Only then does he allow himself to exhale.
“You should sit back,” Arrow says quietly. “You’re bleeding too.”
Augusto doesn’t even turn his head. His thumb strokes the side of my face until I look up into his eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”
“What about you?” I whisper, unable to move but needing him to. “Arrow said—"
Blood drips onto the floor beside me.
“Augusto—"
Finally, something snaps behind his eyes and he sits back on his heels then collapses against the wall. Arrow immediately kneels in front of him and tears off his shirt. There’s a gash the length of a palm through the left side of his chest. Near his heart…
Arrow gets to work quickly, cleaning the wound. Not that it helps. Every time he wipes blood away, more just pours out of him. He’s going to bleed to death.
Arrow rummages around the bag, desperately, then pulls out a small package.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“Hemostatic gauze,” he clips, then rips the package open with his teeth. He pulls out a length, folds it into a square and presses it into the knife wound. Hard. Augusto lets out a cry through gritted teeth. Then he stares at me, his whole jaw trembling.
I dare not look away. Something tells me he needs my gaze right now. He needs me to see him. As long as I see him, he’s still on this earth.
My breaths remain shallow until five minutes have passed and Arrow releases the pressure and lets out a long exhalation.
“That should stop the bleeding,” he says, unraveling a length of bandage which he then wraps around and around Augusto’s trunk.
Sitting back on his heels, he takes a phone from his pocket and places a call. It’s cryptic and coded but I expect we’ll be receiving more men very soon.
Arrow lifts his gaze to me. “I can’t move him alone. I’ll sit here with him. You should rest.”
My jaw stiffens. “I’m not leaving him.”
Arrow nods once then sits back, his spine flat to the wall. Augusto’s eyes drift shut but his chest rises and falls softly.
So I focus on that, and not the conversation I know we need to have eventually.