Chapter 13 Melody
Melody
Fury rushes through my veins as I stomp away from Roman and his stupid fucking face. I hate him. I don't understand him. He's supposed to be loyal; he's supposed to help us. But all he wants to do is snipe at me.
If I didn't know better, I'd say he liked me. Like an elementary school boy teasing his crush on the playground. But that's a very dangerous predicament for him—and I will not stand idly by. Whirling around to my husband, I grunt and jerk my head toward the bedroom. "C'mon."
He silently follows me, and the instant the door is closed behind us, I round on him with white-hot rage. "We need to fucking kill Ella, now."
"I know, my love. Let me speak with him, alright? Let me speak with him and Melnyk, and I swear to you, we'll have a plan within the hour." He grabs my hands and kisses my fingertips. "I promise. Why don't you take a quick shower, hmm? Try to melt away all that tension?"
I want to be mad. He essentially told me to calm down.
I want to lash out at him, at Roman, at anyone.
But I need to fucking murder Ella. I need her dead and buried, preferably in lots of teeny tiny pieces.
Stiffly, I nod and turn to the bathroom.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I need to calm down before I massacre everyone.
The water knobs creak as I turn them, waiting for the hot water to turn the bathroom steamy and relaxing.
As it stands, though, the cold water looks more like icy rain.
I strip anyway and stand beneath the frigid water.
I can't even shiver. I can't wince away from the bone-chilling cold.
I just stand there, feeling more like a mannequin than a woman.
Fuck, maybe I really do need therapy.
As the water warms, I grab the shampoo bottle and get to work on my hair.
Gnarls and knots fight me every step of the way.
Mounting frustration pours out of me with undignified grunts and yelps as I yank at the tangles in my hair.
A massive piece rips mid-way through, and I suddenly cannot stop crying.
I didn't even know I was crying, but here I am. Sobbing in the fucking shower again.
Quickly rinsing the shampoo from my knotted hair, I stomp out and wrap a towel around myself. I furiously stalk back up the stairs and rifle through the kitchen's drawers, looking for a pair of scissors.
"Love? What are you doing?" Dante asks, but I shake my head.
Shoving aside electrical cords and pens, I find a pair of scissors in the junk drawer and hack at my hair.
Wet clumps fall to the floor around me. I still feel the hot trails of tears down my cheeks, but at least I'm not shaking with disgusting sobs anymore.
I feel… lighter. Freer. The damp ends of my hair dust my shoulders, and dark curls litter the floor, but I feel good.
"My love?" Dante whispers.
I turn to my husband, who stares at me with shock. Roman stands beside him, jaw agape. Drawing myself up to my full height, I simply nod.
"I needed that." I bare my teeth in a vicious smile at Roman. "Where are we with the plan?"
After Dante convinces me to get dressed, we sit at the table with the men. Roman sets his jaw and glares at everyone before clicking on his tablet.
"We have a rendezvous point. One of Ella's men is considering defecting, and we can feed her information on his whereabouts. Then, instead of meeting with him, we'll be there waiting for her. And you—" Roman points to me. "—can go fucking nuts."
"Good. Good." I lace my fingers together and stare at the screen. "How far away?"
"A few hours at most. That's enough time to get you kitted out, as you said." He points to a structure deep in some forest land. "That's the meetup point. Technically neutral ground—we don't own it and neither does she."
"Who does?" I ask and reach for the tablet. Roman hands it over with a huff.
"As best as I can tell, no one. It's abandoned.
Maybe a bank, if we get technical with it.
" He reaches over and points to a cluster of trees.
"This is the most obvious hiding spot for your backup.
However, I think we need to be more strategic.
Ella may think she's meeting with a possible defector, but as we all know, she's smarter than she looks. "
"True," I mumble. "Will we be inside the building?"
"Most likely." Roman nods. "I'd much prefer if Dante were outside, but I can't imagine he'll let you go in there alone."
"Damn right," my husband grunts. "I'll be inside with you. Roman, too. Melnyk and the crew will be outside from higher vantage points with sniper rifles. Just in case."
"Are we anticipating a firefight?" I wonder.
"We're anticipating everything." Roman grabs the tablet back. "We don't know what the hell we're walking into, Melody. That's the fucking problem."
"Give me some fucking guns, and you'll have fewer problems, Ro." I scowl at him. "When are we going?"
"Shortly, love." Dante looks at me with those big green puppy dog eyes. "I want it to be known that I do not like this one little bit. However, if it gives you some form of comfort? Anything. I will give you anything."
"Ugh," Roman scoffs under his breath. He is really getting on my nerves. If I were in a more forgiving mood, I'd chalk it up to the fact that we've been cloistered in this underground bunker for weeks.
But I am not in a forgiving mood, and I don't give a singular shit what he's got going on. I fix him with a glare. "So, what are we waiting on, then?"
"Not a damn thing," Roman says with an oddly cocky smirk. That was a quick turnaround, but I'll take it. "Let's get you suited up."
The men all stand with a clattering of chairs, and I follow along happily. Exhilaration buzzes through my veins as Melnyk straps gun holsters to every possible appendage. Dante dons a bulletproof vest and slides handguns into the holster around his waist and the one strapped across his chest.
Roman gives me another ghost of a smile as he hands me a massive rifle.
helena's laughter echoes through my mind as I run my fingers along the barrel.
Our time at the range together was short, but I'm about to put it to the test. A pang of guilt and sorrow stings in my chest. I miss her so much—her suggestions and commentary were always perfect.
She didn't coddle me, but she wasn't an asshole about it, either. She taught me everything I know.
And I'm about to put that knowledge to the best use. I'm going to fucking kill Ella for her—and for my son.
Dante's piercing green eyes follow me under his furrowed brow as we silently load up in the black van.
He slides into the back seat next to me and lays a possessive hand on my thigh.
The heat from his touch calms my nerves—somewhat.
My other leg still bounces a frantic rhythm as we rumble out of the hidden clearing, creeping past the towering old-growth trees.
I always thought that the forests of Appalachia would be serene.
Calming. Silent and lush, a place for peaceful meditation.
But all I can feel is a sense of foreboding.
I expect the feeling to fade as we turn off the old dirt roads and onto the highway, but it doesn't. Anxious dread coils around my bones and settles into the back of my mind.
For as much time as I spent underground, I feel like I should be enjoying the last rays of sunlight as we race along the deserted highway.
I should be soaking up the light, the warmth, the purity of a warm day—but I'm not.
The only thoughts racing around my mind are decidedly brutal.
I can practically taste the blood spilling from Ella.
I can almost smell the coppery tang flooding the abandoned building.
My hands twitch as I envision ripping into her.
Tearing.
Stabbing.
Destroying.
Just like she destroyed me. I have half a mind to ask Dante and Melnyk to help me bind and gag her, bring her back to the bunker, keep her locked away in a room without any light.
Force her to experience what she put me through, but oh, so much worse.
Yet, I know myself. I know that I don't have the self-control to keep her alive for very long.
If I had the chance to keep her bound to a metal chair, so far away from her stupid Seraph network, I wouldn't be able to walk away.
I need to spill her entrails on the floor. I need her to see me take back my power.
I need her fucking dead.
Roman pulls the van from a poorly maintained country road to a gravel driveway.
Unkempt grasses and weeds intermingle with the trees.
Fireflies blink in the distance, and I hear a chorus of tree frogs singing into the muggy nighttime air.
It's genuinely beautiful, and I feel a tiny touch of remorse for what's going to transpire here.
But not enough to turn back. Never enough to turn back.
We pile out of the van, and I check my various weapons.
Roman and Melnyk strapped me up with a shocking amount of firepower.
I flick the safety off of the rifle and exhale a sigh of relief.
Looking at Dante, I expect him to be staring at me with that same puppy dog expression.
I'm a little surprised to see that he isn't.
My husband glowers toward the dilapidated structure.
He's focused, calm, collected. I watch his steady hand close around the grip of his favorite handgun, decorated with his silver symbol.
A muscle in his jaw twitches as he grits his teeth before finally looking over at me. He shakes his head, and I freeze.
Roman rounds the van and leans in close. "Let me sweep the building first. I'll give a signal if it's safe."
Dante nods, and I stare with widened eyes.
Roman silently stalks off into the night, hand on his own gun.
We watch him gently push open the front door—it's barely hanging on, only one of the hinges still attached to the frame.
The paint chipped and faded long ago. Spiderwebs glint in the moonlight around the eaves.
It's a wonder the building is still standing.
Roman's flashlight beam illuminates the windows one by one.
His sweep seems to be very thorough. I suppose I should be pleased, but I'm practically vibrating out of my bones to take up our positions.
We had a rudimentary blueprint for the house—or it used to be a house, I guess—back in the bunker.
My place should be behind a load-bearing wall, back in the kitchen.
Roman will lure Ella around the corner, and I'll spray her full of more lead than a 1950s mobster.
Dante will be right behind me, and Melnyk will be positioned in the copse of trees surrounding the rotting back porch.
He'll have an excellent vantage point with his rifle.
Nihil is following suit. Moore has another spot in the trees on the other side, just in case anything goes awry.
Forge will stay behind in the van. He's already slipped behind the steering wheel and has one hand on his radio.
This is perfection. We're more prepared than I've ever seen. We're ready to put up a fight and end this, once and for all.
Roman pops out of the front door and gives us the signal: a thumbs-up. Not very "super secret military" of him, but even I can understand it. Dante takes my hand and leads me toward the building, giving a grim nod to Melnyk and his men.
Adrenaline floods my system, and every single one of my senses heightens. It's go time.