Chapter 13 #3
My hands continue to tremble a little as I rummage through the first aid kit and take out little white squares of gauze and the sharp scalpel.
"Not something you see in everybody's first aid kit, now, is it?” Renata says with a tight laugh. “This is the mobster special edition.”
I snort and shake my head.
While I disinfect the scalpel, she rummages through.
“Bandages, gauze, tape, scissors. Pretty standard there.
" Her eyebrows raise when she pulls out a tourniquet and burn dressings.
"Wow. Broad spectrum antibiotics, antiseptic, and a bullet removal kit. Duct tape?” Her eyes meet mine. “Are you guys preparing to go to war?"
“Always.”
I shrug. “I’ve seen a lot. I make sure we’re all well-equipped.”
"Interesting,” she says, reaching her fingers for a small leather pouch. She opens it up. "Do all of the kits have these too?"
She takes out a series of fake IDs, a passport, a portable fingerprint kit, a burner phone, some makeup, and basic prosthetics we could use for a disguise if needed. Colored contact lenses, a lock picking tool, and several massive rolls of $100 bills.
She stifles a little gasp when she finds a small vile of sedatives, cyanide capsules, and even a tranquilizer gun.
"Holy shit, Ollie. What else do you have in here? This is not just a first aid kit. This is a survival kit. We could be bombed, attacked, and still manage to get into every country in the world.”
I shrug. “What can I say? Always be prepared.”
“Indeed," she says, pulling out a few meal replacement bars, more cash in various currencies, and a few prepaid credit cards.
“Are you guys still there? Or are you bonding and shit?" Aleks snaps.
"Sterilized scalpel at the ready, fucker. Let's go.”
Renata braces, her muscles tense.
"You're going to have to make a small incision, just enough to reach the tracker."
She shakes harder and looks away.
“Aleks, hold on a second.”
I rummage through the kit and pull out a nip of vodka. "Drink it."
She pops the top off and gulps, comes up sputtering, and tosses the empty bottle onto the floor. "Fucking do it before I pass out."
"Hold onto me. Squeeze if you have to, as hard as you want.”
She nods.
I lift the scalpel, draw in a breath, and, in one steady move, make a small, straight cut. She hisses as the blade slices through her skin. Blood wells up, and I quickly dab it with a piece of gauze.
I prod the sliced skin aside. “There it is. I see it.”
"I think I'm gonna throw up,” Renata says. I reach for the ice bucket and empty it onto the floor. She holds it up to her mouth and dry heaves.
Aleks is giving me instructions on the other line. "Use the tweezers. Be gentle, it’s probably started clotting to the tissues, you’ll need to be careful not to cause more damage when you remove it.”
I grasp the tracker with tweezers, keeping my hand steady with everything I've got. It's slippery, and I almost drop it, but finally, it's free, the fucking tracker clasped between the bloody tweezers.
“Got it.”
Renata heaves.
"Good job. Now disinfect and bandage the wound, and destroy that damn thing.”
Yeah, I have no intention of destroying it.
I bandage her wound, thankfully small and easy to fix. When I’m done, I can't help but bend and kiss her bandaged arm. I take the bucket from her and place it beside the discarded champagne and ice on the floor.
This all feels strangely symbolic as if taking that tracker out removed something wedged between us.
“Did you take care of that tracker yet?” Aleks asks.
“Yeah about that, I want you to put this thing into a drone and fly it to the most inconvenient places you possibly can, like over huge bodies of water or something.”
Aleks chuckles darkly, and Renata smiles at me.
"I am absolutely on it. Now go get ready; it’s picture time.”
I hang up the phone and take a moment to hold her tighter on my lap. I hug her to me, careful not to touch the tender spot on her bandaged arm or the fading bruises on her abdomen.
I hate that she’s been hurt, that I let it happen. I’ll never harm her again. She’s a victim in this bullshit, and I’m going to burn the fucking world until everyone and anything that will hurt her is annihilated.
She’s mine.
With the tracker gone, we are ready to go. Wordlessly, we get ready, careful to get her back into her dress so we can take our poses for social media. We take pictures at all the iconic landmarks, our defiant smiles daring anyone to come after us.
In the garden, Renata turns to me, grinning.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she taunts and gives me a broad wink. "I'm not afraid."
She is though. I know she is. I see it in the way she bites her lips and twists her hair, the way she looks over her shoulder.
I vowed I will take care of her, and I never say anything I don’t mean.
I watch over her with almost fierce protectiveness, ready to shield her from any threat.
“You’re mine, Renata,” I whisper in her ear when the last photo is taken and we’re finally alone again. “And I’ll do anything and everything to protect you.”
“Anything?” she asks, her gaze holding a world of hurt.
I kiss her forehead. “Anything.”