16. The Journey Across the Sea
Chapter 16
The Journey Across the Sea
I’m trapped in a room on the ship, a cage designed for torture, a place where Nikolai can wield his power unchecked. I guess part of redecorating the ship included this dungeon of pleasure and pain. I don’t know why I am surprised.
It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does. With Alexander gone, life has lost its meaning. I've grown numb, resigned to this new, hollow existence.
The harsh lights illuminate the smooth, cold walls. The scent of antiseptic and a faint, metallic tang, perhaps from the blood seeping from my wrists, fills the air. This is my prison. My final act before we reach Russia.
My body aches, my wrists burning where the rough ropes bit into my skin, my legs stiff from being bound for what felt like an eternity. I close my eyes, willing myself to accept this fate, this twisted, perverse reality. I have no escape. He has won. He’s taken everything from me.
I’ve been in the same position for hours, and my body screams for relief. For water, for food, for movement. My soul is broken. I should have jumped in the water with Alexander. My soul is shattered. My insides are screaming with grief and a hard, deep anger towards Nikolai.
I want to put a gun to his face and pull the trigger. He killed Alexander. He was the only person who loved me, and I loved him. I still love him.
The door creaks open, and I brace myself for the inevitable. For another sexual assault, for pain, for whatever he will bring to me today. I’m already broken.
I don’t even bother turning around. I don’t want to see his face. A scent of leather and sandalwood, mixed with a faint, musky cologne, cuts through the air of the cabin, a smell I associate with—
It can’t be.
My heart stumbles, and my breath hitches. I close my eyes and push away my wishful thinking. Don’t be naive, Ava.
Instead, I imagine Nikolai’s face, his cold, cruel smile. I’m ready to succumb to his will, to be claimed.
A cool, crisp air brushes against my skin, and I open my eyes. Standing in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by the faint light from the hallway is
—Alexander.
Tears prickle behind my eyes, and then they flood over. I pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. Is this another cruel dream?
His face is grim, his jaw clenched. He holds a gun, its sleek black barrel pointed in front of him. The gun’s metallic glint catches the light.
“Alexander,” I whisper. “You—you’re dead. I saw it. They shot you, killed you— I saw it.”
He takes a single step forward, his eyes meeting mine, a spark of recognition igniting in their depths. He doesn’t hesitate. He grabs me, pulls me close, and kisses me tenderly until I can’t breathe.
He pulls away and cups my face, “I’m not dead— yet —I told you I was coming to get you.”
“But—who was in the water at the docks—I saw him fall. It was you—”
“They shot Cole. I watched them from the warehouse before I snuck on the ship.”
Cole—it was Cole, of course. It was so dark that I couldn’t see his hair color, and they are both tall and built strong . How could I have been so wrong?
I lean into his kiss again while he unties the ropes around my feet and wrists. The rough fabric of the rope chafes against my skin as it falls away, leaving a burning sting in its wake. He looks at me, my battered body, the blood, the pain in my face, my features.
He kisses my bruised wrists slowly.
“I’ll teach them—” he grunts, the color rising in his cheeks. The anger inside him is a raging inferno. “No one—no one treats you like this.”
He kisses me again, a storm of emotion, relief, and desire. His lips are rough against mine, his tongue probing my mouth, seeking entry. His taste and strength are intoxicating. His hand brushes against my cheek, a touch that's warm and surprisingly gentle. Then, he cups my face, his fingers tracing the curve of my jawline. I stare into his blue eyes, their depths are like a glacial mountain lake. He’s here. He’s real.
“We gotta go,” he says, pulling back.
“How did you find me?” I whisper. I’m reeling, my mind struggling to grasp this sudden, unexpected turn of events. My body is buzzing, sizzling.
He looks at me. “Harvey,” he says. “You sent a message to Harvey before you entered Kitty’s Port Bar.”
My mind races, a flashback flooding my senses. I’m back in the car with Katerina and Zara, before we exited, my fingers trembling as I send a message to Harvey, every detail—Nikolai’s full name, the location, my plans for tonight. I’d hoped, prayed, that it would be enough if something went wrong.
“Harvey is here?” I gasp.
Alexander nods, his gaze locked on mine, his expression intense. He shushes me, his fingers pressing against my lips. “We need to get out of here,” he says.
Suddenly, I also remember just sending Alexander a message saying, “I love you,” and nothing more—no names, no locations. I wanted to protect him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry I ran off. I should have listened to you.”
He nods, pulling me close. His body is like a comforting shield. I follow him, my steps light and quick.
I look back one last time at the cabin, the sterile white walls, and the cold lights. Alexander is here.
The ship’s corridors twist and turn, a maze of dark, narrow passages. I can smell stale smoke and polished wood. The rhythmic thrumming of the ship’s engines resonates through the floorboards. We have to get out of here.
“We need to make it to the bridge,” Alexander says, his voice tight. He grips the gun in his hand, his knuckles white, his gaze fixed on the dark passageway ahead. He moves with a grace and precision that belies his intense focus. His footsteps are silent on the polished wooden floor, every muscle coiled, ready for a fight. He’s a warrior. But so am I.
I follow close behind; my heart beats fast, in sync with the ship’s steady pulse. My injured wrist throbs with each step, but I push the pain aside, the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Harvey has secured the bridge,” he says, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “He’s waiting for us with his team—I hope.”
I nod in silent agreement. Harvey, with his team of agents, sounds like a mighty good plan right now. But the path ahead is fraught with Nikolai’s men.
As we round a corner, I see two burly men. Their suits are dark, and their faces hardened. They stand blocking our path, their guns drawn, their gazes fixed on us with a dark gleam. They’re waiting for us. They’re not going to let us get away.
“Alexander, we need to move!” I say. My voice is barely breathing as I point in another direction.
He nods, his eyes flashing with a primal intensity. He pulls me close, using his body as a shield against the incoming bullets.
“Run!” he shouts, his voice a roar, pushing me ahead of him in the direction I pointed out.
I take off sprinting. He’s close behind; I can feel it. The blood rushes in my ears, the sound of gunfire a deafening roar. The men open fire, their shots echoing through the wooden corridors.
We weave through new hallways, dodging bullets, the walls reverberating with the sound of gunfire.
“Go, Ava, I’ll hold them off,” Alexander shouts.
But I don’t go. I’m done running. I’ve done being weak. Instead, I stay with him, my body moving on instinct, fueled by adrenaline.
“Give me a gun!” I cry out.
Hesitating momentarily, he rips one from his ankle holster and tosses it to me.
“I know how to shoot,” I tell him, making sure the gun is loaded, my fingers finding the safety release . Come on, Ava.
I fire two shots in the direction of the men. I think I hit one of them, but they’re still approaching us . Shit. This isn’t enough.
“Ava—” Alexander starts.
I shoot again, seeing the big bald guy coming straight for me. He’s close. Too close.
I move back, but it’s too late. He raises his gun, and I try to dodge, but I’m not fast enough.
A searing pain rips through my shoulder, a jolt of agony that makes me stumble. I cry out, the sound lost in the chaos of gunfire. It’s a strange feeling of burning pain and numb coldness.
My shoulder feels wet. Damn it, Ava, move. But my body doesn’t respond to my commands. I’m losing strength, and it’s like I’m fading.
Alexander stops, his eyes widening, his gaze fixed on me. He looks back at the two men. His expression hardens, his eyes burning with a cold, fierce anger.
“Easy there. You’re okay,” he says, his voice rough, his touch gentle as he pulls me close. He lays me down, still aiming his gun at the men, releasing another two shots.
“Please, please—- please, don’t leave me, Ava,” he says, his voice ragged.
Leave him? Why?
Only now do I understand. He’s talking to me. He’s worried about me. What’s wrong? I look down at my shoulder and see the blood dripping down a crimson river. It’s a lot of blood . I’m shot.
His words, raw and desperate, rip through me. I want to reassure him, to tell him I will be okay. But I don’t know that. I look down at my shoulder again, my hand instinctively reaching for the wound. The fabric of my dress is soaked with blood. Crimson on crimson.
“We–we have to keep m-moving,” I pant, the pain radiating through me.
“Can you cover me?” he asks. “Are you strong enough?”
"Y-yes," I whisper.
He thrusts the gun into my good arm. I nod, firing a shot to keep the men at bay. Our bullets are running out. His expression darkens as he pulls a thin, black cord from his pocket and ties it tightly around my shoulder, creating a tourniquet. The pressure is searing, like a brand against my skin.
“Now, you stay here.” He turns, grabbing the gun from my hand, his eyes burning with a fierce rage as he lunges at the man who shot me.
With one hand, he fires a shot at the other man, who immediately slumps to the floor, the bullet going straight between his eyes. The other guy shoots, but Alexander avoids the bullet, and then Alexander is out of bullets. But so is the other guy, if I counted right.
Alexander moves with a speed and ferocity that is both terrifying and exhilarating. I watch as he slams into the man, his fists connecting with a sickening thud, the sounds of bone cracking and flesh tearing filling the air. He keeps pounding, his fists a blur of motion, until the man falls silent, his body limp and lifeless on the floor.
Alexander doesn’t hesitate. He turns, his gaze locking onto me, his expression fierce. He sweeps me into his arms, his body a bastion of strength against the darkness surrounding us.
“We’re almost there,” he pants. He sprints down the hallway, his movements powerful.
He carries me through the maze of corridors where the scent of smoke and blood lingers in the air. As we round the corner, we’re met with a chilling sight.
Nikolai stands at the entrance to the bridge, his face a mask of fury, his eyes gleaming. His men surround him, their guns raised at us, their faces indifferent, their eyes cold and calculating. They have been waiting for us.
Their eyes lock, Alexander and Nikolai’s. It’s a collision of ice and fire. The air between them thunders like a storm brewing on the horizon, each breath a crackle of electricity.
“You not take what belong—me,” Nikolai growls. “Give me, Anya .”
“I don’t belong to anyone!” I spit.
He scoffs, shaking his head from side to side, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “But you do, Anya . You were promised to me, to moya family.”
Alexander, his jaw tight, steps forward. “By what law? Russian mafia law?”
Nikolai chuckles a cold, mirthless sound. “You do not know that your lovely lady is mine? Anya Petrov, is real name—not Ava Parker. Her parents owed my family, and when it was time to pay with the life of their firstborn— they took ship to the America. A debt never forgot—never forgiven.”
He glances down at my shoulder. “See? He can not—take care of you, Anya. ”
I feel a cold shiver run through me as the blood from my shoulder trickles down my back, a cold, wet stain against my skin.
Alexander’s eyes widen, and his fists clench and unclench in a rhythmic pattern. He grunts a low, guttural sound but doesn’t speak.
I watch him. He’s so strong, so fierce, yet this new information has struck him to the core. It’s a blow to his pride, a challenge to his strength. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to fight this.
After a moment, he speaks. “It doesn’t matter, Ava or Anya , who cares? She’s her own person and doesn’t belong to anyone unless she chooses to.”
His words are a ray of light. I need to belong to him, to Alexander. I've always known it, felt it in my very core. Now, more than ever, I need him.
“You’re all– how you say? Noble warrior? But you stupid—come alone, fool, idiyot, ” Nikolai hisses.
My gaze darts to the door behind Nikolai, where the bridge is, searching for any sign of Harvey, of Alexander’s allies. I realize then, with certainty, that Nikolai doesn’t know. He doesn’t know Harvey is on board, and we have an advantage.
“Grab them,” Nikolai commands.
The men behind him spring into action, their movements precise, and their faces are stern. They move towards us, their guns raised.
Alexander’s hand reaches for mine, his fingers tightening around mine. “I’m not going to let them take you,” he says, his gaze locked onto mine, a promise in his eyes.
He pulls me close in his arms, his body a shield against the impending storm.
The world seems to shrink, focusing on the danger ahead. Alexander puts me down on the floor behind him, using his body as a shield against the onslaught.
“Ava, get out of here,” he says firmly.
I shake my head. “No. I’m not leaving you.”
Without warning, the men open fire, their shots echoing through the corridor. I hear the whistling of bullets and the sharp sting of hot metal against the metal railing. I see the flash of light and feel the blast of heat as a bullet whizzes past my cheek.
“Get down! To the side!” Alexander roars, shoving me out the door towards the deck. There’s an opening in the railing there. The force of his push sends me sprawling, my injured shoulder screaming in pain.
A gun battle erupts. Alexander fires back with a new set of bullets; his aim is sharp, and his movements are precise. But he’s outnumbered. He’s a lion facing a pack of wolves.
I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding. I'm no soldier, but I’m also no ragdoll. The adrenaline coursing through my veins pushes me forward. I grab a heavy metal pipe that sits on the railing; its cold, steel surface lies in my non-injured hand.
“Ava, no!” Alexander shouts, but I don’t listen. I’m not going to stand by and watch him be killed.
I charge towards the men. I swing the pipe with all my might, the metal whistling through the air like a brutal, desperate attack. It connects with one of the men’s heads, a sickening thud that sends a jolt of pain through my shoulder.
Hell, that hurts.
He screams, his gun clattering to the deck. The other man lunges, firing a shot that narrowly misses me. Alexander, his face contorted with fury, tackles the man, sending him crashing to the deck.
Alexander moves with savage grace. I swing the pipe again, its weight a brutal weapon in my hands. I connect with another man, his face twisting in pain. We’re fighting back, but we’re still outnumbered.
Damn it, how many men does he have?
Alexander’s chest heaves, his breath is ragged, and his movements are slower. He’s injured, his blood staining the deck a dark crimson. We need to get out of here. I see an opportunity. One of the men, his back turned, reloads his gun, oblivious to my approach. I take a deep breath and lunge forward.
I swing the pipe with all my might, connecting with the back of his head. He collapses, his body crumpling to the deck with a thud.
Nikolai, his eyes blazing with a chilling rage, rushes towards me. His hand reaches for his gun, but Alexander is already there, intercepting his move. Their bodies collide in a flurry of movement, a whirlwind of fists and fury. A primal rage drives Alexander. “No one—treats Ava—” he pants, “like that.”
He slams Nikolai against the railing, his fists raining down. Nikolai groans, his face contorted with pain, his body trembling with the force of Alexander’s attack.
“You should have left her alone,” Alexander growls.
Suddenly, Nikolai breaks free from Alexander’s grasp, his eyes glinting with a chilling rage. He stumbles back, his hand flying to his face, a crimson stain blooming on his knuckles. He grabs his gun and points it at Alexander.
My heart races, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. I can’t stand here. I have to do something.
My eyes dart around, seeking an advantage. I spot a heavy toolbox near the railing, its plastic and metal surface gleaming. My hand instinctively moves towards it, a plan forming in my mind.
“You’re a fool,” Nikolai snarls. “A dead fool!”
I move, my legs pumping as I charge towards the toolbox. I’m going to use it. I’m going to protect Alexander. I’m no ragdoll.
“Ava, no!” Alexander shouts, but I ignore him. I grab the heavy toolbox.
Nikolai points his gun at Alexander, his finger poised on the trigger, his face twisted in a mask of hatred.
The world explodes in a cacophony of sound and motion. I swing the toolbox, its metal surface a bludgeon against Nikolai’s arm. He drops his gun with a clang, clutching his arm in agony.
I see the flash of the muzzle, the smoke curling in the air, and I hear the sharp crack of the gunshot echo through the bridge.
I don’t hesitate. I charge, picking up the toolbox and slamming it into his face this time, the metal connecting with a bone-jarring thud. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with shock. He collapses, his body crumpling to the deck.
But my victory is short-lived. Nikolai gets up; his face is twisted with pain. He lunges at Alexander, and his movements are frantic. My heart leaps into my throat. I see the flash of steel and a knife’s glint in Nikolai’s hand. I can’t let him hurt Alexander. My toolbox—where is it?
Damn it.
Instead, I launch myself into the fray. My hand reaches for the metal pipe again, now lying on the deck. I grab it, feeling its cold weight in my hand. I swing it, connecting with Nikolai’s shoulder. He cries out, his grip on the knife loosening.
Alexander, his eyes blazing, finally manages to disarm Nikolai. He throws the knife to the deck with a clang.
“It’s over, Nikolai,” Alexander says, his voice is cold.
He moves swiftly, pinning Nikolai against the railing, his fist poised to strike.
But Nikolai doesn’t wait. He lunges forward, his hand reaching for the gun that lies on the deck.
“No!” I cry.
A split-second decision. I act on instinct. I swing the metal pipe again, but this time with all my might. It connects with Nikolai’s head, sending him crashing over the railing.
Alexander and I stand there, breathless, our bodies trembling, watching Nikolai fall and disappear into the dark waters. We hear a splash, a chilling sound of his descent into the depths.
I can’t believe it.
“H-he’s gone,” I stutter.
Alexander stares at the water, his gaze fixed on the swirling darkness. His chest heaves.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough.
He pulls me close, burying his face in my hair. I can smell his scent: sweat and adrenaline.
“I’m—alive,” I pant.
“I’ll get the medical kit,” he murmurs. “We did it—-You did it, Ava.”
I cling to him, my body trembling, the adrenaline starting to fade, leaving me shaky and vulnerable. I feel the warm pressure of his body against mine.
I’ve missed him. So much.
I glance down at my shoulder, the blood staining my dress, a dark, crimson stain spreading with each passing moment. It’s bleeding again.
Damn it.
Alexander turns towards me. His hands gentle as he reaches for my face. He kisses my cheek, brow, and the tender curve of my jaw; his lips are soft. He reaches for my wound, his fingers working quickly, skillfully, stopping the bleeding again, this time with his ripped white shirt. The pressure of his touch feels good.
“It’s okay, Ava,” he says. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
We hold each other momentarily, the world around us fading away. The chaos of the fight, the fear, the anger—all of it recedes. For now, there’s only him and I.
“We should check on Harvey,” he says, his voice regaining strength.
“Yeah,” I say.
As we turn to leave, we feel a sudden shift beneath our feet. The ship tilts, a subtle movement. The engine thrumming behind us changes pitch.
The ship is turning around, back to Port Haven. Harvey is on the bridge. A small smile spreads on my face. We’re going to be okay.
We burst through the heavy oak doors onto the bridge, a scene of controlled chaos unfolding before us. Harvey, pale and streaked with sweat, stands at the helm, his hand on the wheel, his eyes hardened. Behind him, a gaggle of FBI agents and police force operatives have Nikolai’s men cornered, their guns drawn on the Russian mafia members, their bodies tense, ready to strike.
The sound of the ship’s engines thrum and the groaning of the metal railing as it shifts creates a tense, almost electric atmosphere.
“Harvey,” Alexander says. Harvey turns; a glimmer of relief in his eyes.
“You made it,” he says, his voice gruff. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“It’s a long story,” Alexander says, eyes scanning the scene, assessing the situation. “We’re here now.”
Alexander hugs me and holds me close. He’s still holding me when Harvey strides towards us.
“Ava, you’re hurt!” he exclaims, his eyes wide and concerned.
I smile a tight, strained smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Just a bullet in the shoulder,” I say, my voice light despite the throbbing pain that radiates through me. “Nothing a little Band-Aid can’t fix.”
He chuckles, a sound that’s more of a strained exhale than genuine laughter. His eyes, however, remain serious.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” he says, his voice firm.
“If you insist,” I say, cracking a smile. “Just not St. Jude’s this time—”
My eyes drift to Alexander. He’s so handsome, so strong, so incredibly perfect. “It’s over,” I gasp, my eyes darting from Harvey to the men surrounding him, “It’s really over, isn’t it?”
Harvey nods, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The ship is now turning back to Port Haven, a slow, steady motion away from the darkness of Russia and Nikolai Romanov.
“I believe so, Ava,” Harvey says, a sense of finality in his voice. “We’ve won.”
The fight is over. The danger has passed. But the memory of Nikolai, his chilling threat, and his cruel words still lingers like a dark shadow in the back of my mind. This doesn’t feel like a victory. Too much has happened.
The salty air whips at our faces as the ship glides into the harbor. The city lights appear on the horizon like a glittering kaleidoscope of distant headlights.
We stand at the railing, Alexander and I, our bodies pressed together, a silent declaration of defiance against the world that’s just tried to swallow us whole.
The rhythmic thrum of the engines has quieted, replaced by the distant wail of police sirens.
The sight of Port Haven fills me with a strange mix of emotions. It is home, but it also holds the weight of so much pain and loss. I close my eyes, trying to silence my overactive mind.
I lean against Alexander, feeling his heat seep into my chilled bones, a much-needed anchor in my mental storm. He pulls me closer, his hand tracing a gentle path down my cheek.
We stand there, silent, the city lights shimmering, reflected in the dark water. I turn to him, meeting his gaze. He sees it all—the fear, the anger, the raw grief—and he loves me anyway.
“Thank you for coming,” I whisper. The words feel small and inadequate, a feeble attempt to express the depth of my gratitude. “I really thought it was over. That everything was—lost.”
He smiles a soft, tender smile that melts away the lingering fear that still clings to me.
“Did you ever think I wouldn’t come for you?”
My eyes fall to the deck, a wave of shame washing over me. I shake my head, “No– but for a moment—”
I think of Nikolai’s words and his chilling pronouncements.
“Nikolai said he bribed you,” I say. “He said he promised you the world and that he would make you forget me.”
Alexander cups my face, his touch gentle, his gaze intense. He leans down, his forehead resting against mine. His presence, the strength of his love, is a powerful force I know I can trust.
“Nothing—” he says, his voice is low, his words a promise whispered against my skin. “ Nothing can ever stop me from finding you, being with you, protecting you, and loving you.”
I look down, my eyes tracing the lines of his hand on my cheek. The depth of his love is such a powerful force that I can almost not breathe.
“I know.”
“Don’t ever doubt that again,” he says. He leans down, his lips meeting mine in a searing, passionate kiss. The pain in my shoulder flares, but it is a distant ache, a minor inconvenience compared to the intensity of his touch. I only care about his presence, his love, and the feeling of his strong arms around me.
He pulls away, his forehead resting against mine.
“I can fight now, you know?” I say, tightening my muscles.
He smiles. “I know.”
He seems lighter as if a burden has been lifted from his shoulders. I know he will never escape the pain of losing Michelle, but I hope that by being strong and fighting beside him, I can help him heal.
As if he has read my mind, he says, “You are my strength, Ava; you are my hope.”
The world seems to fade away. The knowledge that I am safe and that I am loved is all I need. I have found my home, not in a place but in a person.