Chapter 65
GRACE
Grace was led to a small room, empty, with only a filing cabinet, a couple of chairs, and a long table in the center.
Dazed and confused, her body exhausted from fear, she looked around.
A gas lamp sat in the corner, its shine sharp. yet leaving the other corners dark.
“Let’s make it quick,” Uriah said, setting his cane against the cabinet.
Three men were in the room with them. Others had been left outside the door.
Grace looked around in panic. “But… A doctor, a surgeon. I need a surgeon for this.”
Uriah shook his head. He checked his pocket watch which glistened like a giant diamond. “Forty-five minutes past three. We don’t have much time if you indeed want to save Drasko. Men will be waiting at the auction until six. And then?—”
The razor-sharp glint in his eyes made her swallow hard.
“There.” He produced a vial out of his pocket and passed it to her.
She frowned. “What is that?”
“Opium. That shall do.”
“I need proper anesthetic. And a doctor who will fix the wound. And?—”
“I don’t have time!” Uriah barked, making her wince. “You are being difficult. You don’t have a choice. Nor can you make demands. Either you do what I tell you or we wait here until six. And then, well… I suppose, you will be relieved of your wifely duties for good.”
“Don’t—”
The words died on her lips.
She popped the stopper and took a bitter sip from the bottle.
“What do I do now?” she asked.
His eyes slithered along her torso. “Undress.”
One word, like a stab. Her breath hitched in her throat. The men coldly stared at her.
Uriah saw her hesitation. “No one needs your petty modesty. Drasko definitely doesn’t.” His voice acquired cruel sharpness. “We are here for one reason and one reason only.”
With trembling hands, Grace took off her hat, then unbuttoned her bodice and pulled it off.
Hands in his suit pockets, Uriah stared her down with sardonic amusement.
Grace trembled, feeling violated. She undid her corset, slipped it off, left only in her skirt and the camisole, the thin fabric the only thing that covered the top of her body.
Shame washed over her at the men’s eyes on her. She felt assaulted without being touched and tried to hug herself.
“On the table,” Uriah ordered.
“But the anesthetic…” Grace argued as she took a seat on the table.
The stone was inside her, where the scar was. Somewhere deep inside her. If it had been there since her childhood, it was?—
The gruesome image made her sick, bile rising to her throat. She was going to throw up, she was sure. Weakening horror washed over her as she pressed her hand to her stomach.
Uriah shifted, his features suddenly sharp and sinister in the light of the gas lamp. He produced a small case out of his pocket. His eyes met hers. That same crooked smile reappeared as he opened it.
A shiny scalpel lay there, so small yet so dangerous, sending her heartbeat racing.
Tears stung her eyes. It was hard to breathe. Her mind created a sequence of sickening events that would follow—him slicing her skin, digging into her flesh, ripping out— oh, God —something buried inside her for years.
Her chest shook with suppressed gagging. As if hypnotized, Grace watched him take the tiny instrument out of the case.
“We need a professional to do this,” she insisted weakly. “Otherwise, I will?—”
“Yes, you will. That is the plan, dear. Can’t you see?
” His vulture eyes flashed with hate as he took a step toward her.
“It was the plan all along. Do you think I would let Drasko have it all? No great man is made without sacrifice. And you will have pain. Oh, yes. Love is pain. You will bleed. So much—a river of blood.”
“You need a disinfectant. And anesthetic. And?—”
His raspy laughter made her flinch. “This is not a surgery, dear. This is a sacrifice. Was supposed to be one from the start. But your stupid brain still doesn’t see it for what it is.”
His words tore deep, yet Grace tried to shake away the grisly thoughts.
“Are you willing to go through with this?” Uriah teased her, enjoying this sadistic game.
“For him?” Grace blinked away tears. “Anything,” she whispered, terrified at her decision.
Uriah’s gaze darkened. “I have to admit you are not quite like your whorish mother.”
“And you are a monster.”
“No anesthetic, then,” he said crassly. “This shall be quick. And I shall do it myself.”
The gas lamp in the corner hissed. Its light shifted, morphing the shadows on the man’s face into a satanic mask.
He nodded to the men. They walked up, grabbed Grace by the shoulders, and pushed her to lie down on the table.
She tried to fight, tried to get their nasty hands off her, but they held her down, by her bare shoulders, her wrists, and her feet, their touch outrageously brutal and invasive.
“You can’t just cut me open!” she protested.
But Uriah’s scowl appeared above her. “Oh, but I will. And I will enjoy it, too.”
In one, quick movement, he cut open her camisole through the center, exposing her abdomen.
She took in a sharp breath.
“Please,” she begged. For anesthetic. For a proper doctor. For a chance to survive this. For something to quiet her panic or give her strength to go through the inevitable pain, already tangible in the evil shine of the sharp scalpel in Uriah’s hand.
She could do it, she told herself. Yes, she could.
She shut her eyes tightly and thought of her Drasko, praying to see him, and if not, asking for God or whoever ruled this mad world to give him another chance, let him come out of this nightmare unharmed.
A loud bang suddenly rattled the door behind them.
“Are you ready?” Uriah’s voice rasped above her.
His cold hand touched her abdomen, and she sucked in her breath, repulsed by his touch, not wanting to open her eyes so as not to see his gloating leer.
“This shall hurt, I promise,” he said with a sick kind of glee.
Again, she thought of Drasko.
I love you.
Her heart beat madly. Her nerves were on edge. No amount of opium would keep her dread at bay. And she conjured the memories of him. Prayed. Held her breath when the sharp scalpel grazed her skin, the spot she knew so well, the spot that had given her so much pain and promised a lot more of it.
A shout echoed behind the door. The men’s grip on her loosened.
“Hold her!” Uriah snapped.
Another shout came, then a succession of loud gunshots.
A vortex of shouts suddenly followed, the walls trembling at the heavy assault on the building somewhere outside the room.
Then a bang at the door shook the room.
The scalpel’s jerk against her skin pinched her with the pain of a tiny incision.
“What in the hell,” Uriah murmured.
Another loud bang shook the room and the table Grace lay on.
Her eyes snapped open. The three men above her glared at the door. So did Uriah.
At another deafening bang, the door burst open, and the men let go of her.
One gunshot boomed in the silent room, another deafened her, and a third followed in quick succession.
The men above her collapsed, and there came the thuds of their heavy bodies hitting the floor.
Uriah’s face contorted in shock, the scalpel in his hand frozen in midair.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” a familiar voice barked. “Move away! Step the fuck away, I said!”
And suddenly, two dear-to-her faces were above her. Mr. Brodia, his eyes widening in shock on her bare abdomen. And Rivka, her lovely Rivka, who stroked her hair, murmured something, and helped her get up.
More shouts followed from the open door.
“Boss! All clear!”
“Fourteen men outside and inside the building.”
“All apprehended!”
“Three are down!”
Mr. Brodia pointed his gun at Uriah against the wall.
It worked —the brief thought flickered in Grace’s mind as Rivka assisted her from the table, then helped her put her corset on.
Suddenly, Grace stopped short.
“No!” she snapped.
“Grace, it’s over. You are safe,” Rivka reassured her.
“No! No-no-no-no-no,” Grace repeated, caught Rivka’s hands, and squeezed them. “I need a doctor. Rivka, perhaps you can do it.”
Rivka shook her head, a little frown on her face. “Do what?”
Grace started talking fast. “I have… It’s awful, Rivka. Drasko’s life depends on it. I have… Those pains. You were right. Something was inside me. A diamond, Rivka. A diamond is inside me. The pain, the cures, the healings. Remember?”
Tears burned her eyes at the realization that she wasn’t saved, that she had to go through with it, for him , for herself, for both of them.
“That was the cause. This man, this monster… There is a stone in me, Rivka. Please, help,” she whispered, bringing her hands to Rivka’s face and stroking it. “I need to save him. He can’t go. I won’t let him.” A sob escaped her.
“Grace, no. You don’t need to,” Rivka argued.
But tears already streamed down Grace’s face. “You can do it. I know you can. You shall do it properly. Quickly. I trust you. I only trust you, my lovely. I will survive, I know. For him. But you have to. I beg you?—”
“Grace, listen to me.”
But Grace wouldn’t, she couldn’t. This was her chance to show Drasko how much she loved him.
So she cupped Rivka’s face and begged through tears, “Please, my lovely. I need you to do this. You are the only one who can. Please, save him,” she whispered in broken sobs.
With a smile, Rivka wiped Grace’s tears. “You have little faith in me, Gracie.”
She dug into her skirt pocket and pulled something out in her fist. When she opened it, a gem the size of a walnut lay in her palm, reflecting the light with its bloody red shine.