41. Aron #2
“Unless I’m on the boat with my girl by nightfall, my men are going to make Daria sing. And trust me, you won’t like the song.”
“It’s just not worth the risk, is it?” Krane croons in his calm, amused voice, showing no surprise.
Fucker’s too good at this. I’m almost wishing I had him as an ally earlier. But my heart stops at what he says next. “Not for one photographer who’s already been announced dead anyway.”
I didn’t know this. My vision goes all fuzzy. An iron fist crushes my chest. I can’t fucking breathe.
It’s not true. It’s not true. Say it’s not true. Fucking say it.
“But she’s not dead. Is she?”
The longer Volker stares at him, the more inscrutable his face gets. All anger fading from his eyes, muscles relaxing, nothing betraying his emotions bar that slight eye twitch. He collects himself, visibly and with terrifying speed.
“She might still be alive down there,” he says at last and picks up the ornate receiver of the ancient-looking phone on his desk, punching numbers in and then barking at whoever picks up, “I need men and tools at the catacombs. Immediately.”
I nearly crash to the ground. I let out a ragged breath. But then, when I process what he said, fresh tremors slice through me like blades.
Men. Tools. Catacombs. Might still be alive.
What the fuck did he do?
Krane and Volker are hashing over the details of the handover, but I don’t hear a word anymore.
I pay no attention to them until Krane yanks me by the arm, jerking me out of my trance.
We follow Volker and his sentry, piling into an oak-panelled lift and gliding down smoothly.
When the door slides open, we’re met by three men in overalls, carrying crowbars and sledgehammers.
What the fuck are these for? Don’t let it be bad. Oh fuck, don’t let it be bad ...
We pass through a narrow metal door and descend a short flight of uneven stairs. The men turn on their headlamps as we enter an underground ossuary, its walls lined with centuries-old skulls and bones of thousands of people.
We walk the underground passage, and my heart bleeds with each step.
Hollow eyeholes gape at us from every corner, emerging from the shadows in the beams of light like ghosts.
There’s a whole column in the broadest section, built of nothing but femurs, ribs and vertebrae.
The taste of dust and something much more sinister lingers in my mouth.
This has to be the creepiest fucking place I’ve ever been in.
We stop. The smell of fresh mortar reaches my nose, and my eyes land on a small section of a brick wall that is clearly centuries newer than the rest. A section that is no older than a few days.
My blood runs cold. My vision blurs. And in my mind, two thoughts of a man torn beyond the edge of sanity collide.
Oh my god.
And.
Thank god I didn’t think of that.
No doubt aware of her claustrophobia, that bastard son of a bitch had her walled in. Leaving her to die slowly in a space not much larger than a grave. Trapping her in her worst nightmare.
I want to tear him apart with my bare hands.
But my heart stops. My lungs close off. I crash to my knees, my ears full of a demented roar that it takes me a minute to realise is my own.
I snap my jaws together, swallowing it up even as more tortured noises try to claw their way up my throat. And that’s when I hear it.
A faint, muffled voice.
Her voice.
Everything fades.
“Here! Riley, I’m here! I’m getting you out!”
I snatch the crowbar from the hands of the man closest to me. I grab him and throw him out of my way like a ragdoll. I join the other two who are already scraping at the wall, working carefully not to push any loose bricks the wrong way.
“Riley, please, hold on.”
I don’t relent even when we create a large enough window for fresh air to get in. Sweat is running down my back, and my hands are red, irritated from the cement dust. A raw ache is carving me from the inside. Worse than panic. Worse than anything.
“I’ve got you, Riley, almost there.”
She goes silent—so silent it scares me more than I have ever been scared in my fucking life. I reach over, and putting all my weight into it, I tear a whole section of the wall down, bricks raining at my feet.
I finally see her.
She’s huddled in the corner of the niche, looking up at me, her pupils blown, tear streaks running down her dust-covered cheeks. Her hands and legs are bound, and her mouth is gagged with a piece of cloth tied around her head. She’s alive. She doesn’t seem hurt. Not physically anyway.
With a broken guttural noise, I reach for her.
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I pull her up over the remnant of the wall like she weighs nothing.
And then we’re both on the ground, and she’s shaking violently in my lap.
She smells like sweat and pee, but I keep her close, breathing her in, savouring the feel of her warm, live body against my own.
“You’re safe now. You’re safe. You’re safe,” I keep repeating, even if I don’t really believe it myself—I won’t feel safe until we’re on the boat and away from this cursed fucking corner of the world, leaving it to burn for all I care.
I take the gag out of her mouth, but she says nothing, gasping for air, eyes darting everywhere without seeing a thing.
She’s still in shock. She hasn’t realised yet that I’m with her now, and a hundred bullets wouldn’t stop me from obliterating anyone who’d dare as much as look at her the wrong way.
I untie her hands and legs. I lift her up, carrying her bride style, so small in my arms, so fragile. I see her glazed gaze stray to Volker. And nothing has ever brought me so much joy as the flicker of recognition in her eyes. A flash of hatred, gone as fast as it appeared, but clear enough.
For a moment there, my girl wants revenge. And revenge she shall have.
“You’d better remember my face, Volker,” I tell him, my voice steadier than it’s been for days. “Remember my eyes. They will be the last to look down on you before you die.”
“Don’t push your luck, Krasnik.”
In all other circumstances, I’d lunge at him and let myself be shot just to wipe that smirk off his face. But there’s no way I’ll rise to his provocation now. My thirst for carnage can’t compete with my love for the woman in my arms, with the need to get her the fuck away from here.
I’ll bide my time. But even if Volker doesn’t believe it, his clock is ticking.
I don’t know where, and I don’t know when. I might have to wait for years. But before I leave this earth, I will soak the ground with this man’s blood. I will let the wind carry his screams. I will tear the heart out of his chest for the pleasure of feeling its last beat.
I will turn him into my final masterpiece tableau.
“Water! Give me some water,” I bark at the others as soon as I slam the car door shut and we jerk forward, followed closely by Volker’s convoy.
A bottle is handed to me. I unscrew the top and offer it to Riley, but she’s staring right past me, not reacting. I gently press the opening to her cracked lips, forcing her to take a few sips.
For the first part of the journey, she stays rigid and motionless on my lap, hardly breathing, her face buried in the crook of my neck. But right around the time we leave Everrise, she stirs, and then she starts wailing, her voice raw and broken.
I have not known true pain until hearing the sound, helpless rage carving my chest out. Words jam in my throat.
She claws at her clothes, the unformed desperation morphing into something more solid.
“What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”
“Clean clothes,” she mouths, face contorted. “I need clean clothes!” she repeats urgently.
She’s in no state to be argued with, already trying to pull her T-shirt off clumsily with shaking hands.
“All of you assholes, keep your eyes for yourselves or I’ll fucking blind you,” I address Krane and the men, letting all my wrath bleed into my tone. Riley flinches and squeezes her eyes shut, recoiling from me.
“Not you, sweetheart. I wasn’t talking to you. You don’t have to be scared of me ever again.”
Hoisting her up lightly, I untie the black robes I’m wearing.
I have trousers on underneath. Turning her to the side, so that if anyone’s stupid enough to look, they’ll only see her back, I help her take her T-shirt and bra off.
I let the robes slip over her head and then peel her trousers and panties from underneath before fastening the belt around her waist. She’s drowning in it, but she settles in the clean fabric, calming down.
I nestle her against my shoulder, offering her more water in intervals. Her eyes stay open but vacant. She’s looking out of the window, not seeing a thing.
Breaking my heart every passing minute.
Like I fucking deserve.