Seven-4
1284 Words
“Being Popov’s number one…hitman.”
This is just another day in the office for Saint. Being around blood, gore, and murder is nothing new for a hitman.
Saint crouches before me, carefully reaching out as if he doesn’t want to spook me. But I remain perfectly still. He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, sweeping his thumb under my lip as if wiping it clean. I realize I’m still coated in blood when his thumb comes away with a smear of red. “Go,” he commands softly, his eyes combing over every inch of my face.
There is so much I want to say, but it will have to wait.
On hands and knees, I feel almost feral, but I suppose what I did to Kazimir can classify as being animalistic. I’ve crossed a line, and I have a feeling it’s just the beginning. Slowly rising, I step over the unmoving bodies, pulling it together.
As I open the door, I almost tumble over from the force of the wind. The weather is punishing, but I persevere and slam the door shut behind me. The heavy rain pelts down around me, making it hard to see and hear. Brushing the hair from my face, I peer around from left to right, squinting to see if I can find a life vest. The boat thrashes to the side, but I hold the railing to keep my balance. The waves crash down around me, and a bolt of lightning illuminates just how rough the waters really are.
My body shivers, though it’s not from the cold or being soaking wet; it’s from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I focus on the small glass window on the door. When I see consecutive booms of light, I shudder, knowing what they are.
Gunshots.
Kazimir has paid the ultimate price for betraying Saint. They all have. Everything suddenly crashes into me, and I feel faint. My legs are as firm as overcooked spaghetti, and I slump to the floor. Tears merge with the rain, and soon, I can’t tell the difference between the two.
Who have I become? Just a few minutes ago, I was intent on gnawing off a man’s p***s. If Saint hadn’t stopped me, I would be sitting here picking the flesh from my teeth. Opening my mouth, I tip my face to the heavens, needing to be baptized and wash away my sins.
I scrub at my face, mouth, and chest, but my immoralities have marred my soul forever.
“It’s okay, ahгел.” It’s Saint. I don’t even know how long he’s been here.
“No, it’s really not,” I cry, shaking my head from side to side. “Are they dead?”
His silence is all the answer I need.
“So what now?” I risk a look at Saint, who is clutching his side. Blood trickles through his fingers, reminding me just how serious his wound is. “Oh my god. Let me look.”
He doesn’t fight me when I hesitantly reach up and gently remove his warm fingers, the hands which saved my life. When I see blood oozing from the deep gash, I gasp at his stab wound. “You need stitches,” I shout to be heard over the roar of the rain.
“I’m fine.”
“Stop being a jackass and let me help you!” I yell, uncaring if he punishes me for my disobedience. At this rate, he’ll bleed out anyway.
A ghost of a smile plays at his lips. “There’s a first-aid kit over there.” He gestures with his chin to a box near the wheel. As he takes a step toward it, he stumbles to the right and pales. I worry he’s about to pass out.
Instantly springing up, I wrap my arm around his middle to support him. It was pure instinct to save him. Timidly peering up at him from under my lashes, I realize my body is pressed quite close to his. It feels good to have him near. I feel safe.
His wet hair flicks forward as he stares down at me, ripping the air from my lungs. A bead of water backflips from a strand of his hair and lands directly on my lips. Again, impulse takes over, and my tongue shoots out to sample the offering. It tastes how he smells—spicy and sweet.
His eyes widen, and his lips part. Most of the blood has washed off him, but he still appears wild. He slouches against me, his heavy breathing warming my dowsed cheeks. My heart begins a pitter-patter, and the uncontrollable urge to…kiss him overwhelms me.
My mouth waters as the small taste I had was just a tease. I want more.
Absolutely horrified at my thoughts, I slowly untangle myself, ensuring he’s steady on his feet. He nods once, indicating he’s fine as he slouches onto the railing so he can sit. Needing to put some distance between us, I make a mad dash for the kit.
I’m silently berating myself, wondering what is wrong with me. Even though Saint saved me, that doesn’t excuse the fact he’s the reason I’m out here in the first place. Nor does it change his occupation. I need to focus on what comes next instead of romanticizing about how his lips would feel against mine.
The rain, if possible, begins to get denser, so much so, I can barely see two feet in front of me. I grab the kit, and when I see two life vests, I have the sense to snare them as well. A thunderclap rumbles, and I scream, my already frayed nerves not needing the extra tension.
Just as I’m about to turn around, I feel it. The crackle of something sinister lurking. I should have known this wasn’t over.
Spinning swiftly, I brush the rain from my face and squint, but what I see—there must be some mistake. But there isn’t. Standing a few feet away is Saint, and he’s surrounded by four filthy men. They are no doubt part of Gringo’s crew.
Where did they come from?
The moon comes out of hiding, showcasing the fishing boat swaying in the distance. They were no doubt awaiting Gringo’s cue, and when they didn’t get one, they knew trouble lingered, and they’ve come armed to the teeth.
There is no way Saint and I will get out of this alive, especially when they see their friends butchered downstairs. I watch as they yank Saint up brutally, shoving him and screaming. Through the rain, I lock eyes with him, desperate to save him just how he did for me.
“I have money. You can have it. Just let her go.”
This isn’t the end. I need answers, and I’ll be damned if I die without them.
Searching frantically for an escape route, I ignore the man charging toward me with his gun raised. When I hear Saint grunt in pain, I look down at the first-aid kit, and then at where it came from. The wheel.
Grabbing the first-aid kit, I frantically throw the life vest over my head. I try my best to toss one Saint’s way before I run to the helm, peer into the heavens, and spin it like it’s a wheel of fortune.
“I didn’t think you’d care if we capsized.”
Saint is right yet again.
The boat tips violently to the left, sending me off balance, but I grip the wheel and continue to turn it. The monster waves aid my ploy as it tips us further over until before long, the boat begins to take on water.
It seems like something out of a movie as torrents of water wrap around us and drag us toward a watery grave. Screams sound around me as our boat begins to submerge, and an enormous wave swallows us whole. I’ve probably killed us all, but it looks like I got what I’ve always wanted—I’ve gotten off this f*****g boat.
- Writer
