Chapter 14 #5
My eyes open wide, adrenaline kicking in.
I wasn’t there, but I’m here now. Lying on the ground, my dress stretches around me like an ocean of silk and bloodied pearls.
Tristan is standing a few feet away, held back by Nate and another officer.
Around us, nearly a dozen men lie in various ruined positions, bleeding heavily, some moving, some not moving at all.
To my left, Cole is barely breathing, one hand near his chest, blood pooling beneath him with every weak attempt his lungs make to work.
Medical teams hurry through the staff entrance while officers strip away their disguises and check bodies, calling for ambulances. Brenton and Garron stand over Cole, guns aimed at him.
And to my right, emerging from the mansion in a pristine Italian gown, royal and monstrous, Mara comes straight for me.
An officer holds her back with one arm, but she is fighting him well enough that his grip keeps slipping.
She towers over me while two paramedics kneel by my sides, checking me, pressing bandages somewhere near the side of my throat.
I still do not understand where the pain begins.
Everywhere, I want to tell them.
It hurts everywhere.
Inside and out.
“She’s my daughter,” Mara repeats. Our eyes lock.
Pawn against queen. That is all I can think of.
Pawn against queen. She lunges toward me and I am not even surprised.
If Mara cares about anything, it is appearances.
Her loyalties change as quickly as the wind, and I know exactly how she thinks, if I make a scene, no one will connect me to the Vodianovs. My hands will stay clean.
“Back the fuck away,” Tristan shouts. His body blocks mine before she can come any closer.
“I’m her stepmother,” Mara barks, sounding offended. “I have a right to be there.” The paramedic on my left leans closer, a stethoscope hanging around his neck.
“Ms Brooks, we cleaned away enough blood to see the wound. The bullet only grazed the side of your neck. It clipped a superficial vein, which is why there’s so much bleeding, but there’s no major arterial damage. Can you hear me?”
I blink once.
“Yes, good. Stay with us, we’re getting you to the hospital.”
“Brenton!” Tristan calls. Brenton moves toward Mara while another officer presses a firm hand to her back, ordering her to wait.
Tristan drops beside me again, next to one of the paramedics.
“Ella, I’m here. I’m right here. I thought…
” His voice breaks. “I thought I had shot you, sweetheart. I never meant–he was about to hurt you, and I couldn’t stand there and do nothing and-” My hand twitches, fingers curling weakly into a fist.
“Sign,” I sign.
Weakly, but still. Something dark and eclipsed passes through his eyes, and his jaw flexes as if he is finally waking from a nightmare he thought would never end.
“I love you,” he signs, folding his middle and ring fingers into his palm, leaving his thumb, index finger, and pinky raised.
“I love you too,” I sign back, mirroring the gesture.
Voices and commands fill the background, but for a moment, none of them matter. We are speaking in the only language that could sew us back together.
“Do you want me to make her go away?” he signs.
“Yes,” I answer silently. “But stay with me,” I add.
“Always.” His left hand stays at my back as he beckons Mara closer with a cold look.
“Ella,” Mara stumbles out, breathless. “I was so scared.” I lift my hand, palm facing her. Do not even try. Pain has a way of sharpening the mind. I sign clearly, without fear.
“Tristan, tell her…” It’s all I manage before the dark night starts spinning, dizziness stealing what little clarity I have left. Tristan’s face hardens.
“We have proof of what you did to Ella’s father.
Blood work. Medical reports. A deposition from the nurse who cared for him while Ella was gone.
Deputy Garron has everything now.” Mara’s face loses a fraction of its performance.
“I would highly recommend you put your affairs in order sooner rather than later, because you’ll be on every front page by tomorrow morning. ” She gasps, covering her mouth.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Tristan adds, his voice dropping. “I wanted to cut your throat, but Ella was merciful, so we opted for social downfall instead.”
“What?” Her voice pitches higher. “That is outrageous. I would never hurt my husband.” Tristan holds her stare as I lie back down, watching my man stand up for me.
“Mara Brooks,” Garron calls, “you are being detained on suspicion of poisoning Grant Brooks, as well as parental neglect and conspiracy charges. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you.” Mara’s mouth parts in disbelief as the officer pulls her arms behind her back.
“After everything I gave you,” she sneers while the cuffs close around her wrists. “I gave you a roof. A family to take care of. A place in this world.” Her eyes turn vicious. “I lost everything because of you. I never loved you, Ella. Never.”
I know.
And I never loved you either.
Tristan does not interrupt us. He simply stays beside me, holding my hand, as I watch Mara leave in handcuffs, screaming, thrashing, still dressed like royalty while the truth drags her down from her throne.
A paramedic helps me sit higher. Another offers to lift me onto the stretcher, but I shake my head and look toward Cole’s body.
Tristan understands before I sign. After checking with the medical crew, they let him carry me in his arms as he steps closer to Cole. He lies on the gravel, no longer smirking, barely moving, his red mask cracked beside his head. His chest rises once, then hesitates before rising again.
“We did everything we could,” a paramedic says, assuming we were on Cole’s side.
Tristan shot the man who tried to kill me.
I look at him for a long moment as death does its work, and together, we watch Cole fade.
There’s no dramatic punchline or final threat.
It’s slow and hard to watch, as he fights for air, living his last seconds on this earth. We stand above him, watching him go.
“He’s gone, Ella,” Tristan murmurs. “You’ll never have to fear him again.” I take a deep breath, resting the side of my face against his shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re okay now.”
Pawn takes queen.
Knight takes king.
I sob silently against him, relief washing over me.
“I love you,” I keep saying, even though he cannot hear me.
“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing my hair. “I’ve got you.” His arms tighten around me.
“I’ve got you.”