One-1
2040 Words
Alek“YOU STUBBORN SON of a b***h, you need to go to the hospital!” exclaims Saint for the tenth time, flinching as he looks at my thigh, which resembles ground beef.
“What…I need,” I pant, attempting to adjust myself into a comfortable position in the back of the van, “is for Pavel to stop hitting every bump in the road.”
“If you don’t like my driving, you can walk,” he replies with a shrug, peering at me in the visor mirror.
That isn’t an option, seeing as I was beaten within an inch of my life. Actually, no, that’s incorrect. I was beaten to death, only to be resurrected by the devil.
“She belongs to the Macrillo family now.”
Clenching my fist, I hear Santo’s words play over and over, which only flames my anger to biblical proportions. Ella is with him right now, being subjected to God knows what, and it’s my fault. If only I hadn’t lied to her. If only I’d told her the truth.
I just didn’t think she’d sacrifice herself this way, sacrifice herself…for me. But that’s what she did. Regardless of believing she meant nothing to me, she did this so we could all be free.
“Drive faster,” I order, hissing when Pavel hits a pothole.
He responds with a smirk.
Saint sits by me, his T-shirt pressed over the bleeding wound in my chest, thanks to Raul imbedding a hoe into my lungs.
Raul was so close to gaining his revenge, but now that it was stolen from him, he’ll stop at nothing to find me and finish the job.
I left Santo and his men at Raul’s, clueless to what I was planning. Santo believes I saw our deal through, delivering Ella into his clutches, which is why he saved me. He was watching my every move. That is how he must have known where I was. But if I didn’t need him alive, he’d be nailed to the lattice wall next to my half-brother with his c**k shoved down his throat too.
“You need to calm down. You’re bleeding like a motherfucker,” Saint warns, shaking his head as I scoff at his fussing.
“Would you calm down if that vile asshole had Willow?”
When Saint’s jaw clenches, that’s enough of an answer.
I need to get out of this van and find Ella. Nothing else matters but getting her away from the Macrillo family. I have no idea what Santo has planned for her, which scares me beyond words. If he hurts her…
Thankfully, we’re pulling into the driveway of Larisa’s home. The moment the van stops, I attempt to open the door with bloodied fingers, but I fail terribly because Raul broke three fingers on my right hand.
The door slides open, and when I see Willow, I’m instantly ashamed. I have failed everyone and should be dead. Ella should be on her way home, and Willow and Saint should be free of me.
“Oh, Alek,” she cries when she takes in my injuries.
“Help me, ангел,” Saint frantically orders, gently looping his arm around me to help me out of the van.
“No, you’ll get blood on your dress,” I wheeze, recoiling when she does as Saint asked.
Of course she ignores me, and on the count of three, she and Saint lug my useless ass out of the van and support me so I can stand. Saint holds tight, and I lean into him, not wanting to crush Willow.
As they lead me toward the house, I dig in my heels. “No, I don’t want Irina to see me like this.”
Saint changes direction, and we begin a stagger toward the barn.
“Спасибо, мой друг,” I express my gratitude to Saint, who merely grunts. He doesn’t want my thanks. “дорогая, I’m so sorry…for everything.”
“Shh, Alek, save your strength.”
I have no idea why Willow thinks I’m weak when I’m feeling just fine. Currently, it feels as though I’m floating on air, and when I peer at my feet, I see that I am.
Saint and Willow are carrying me because I’ve lost the use of my legs. I can see my left femur bone as the skin and muscle have been flayed away. It doesn’t hurt, however. I’m way past feeling any pain.
“Stay awake!” Pavel orders, slapping my cheeks as he takes over for Willow.
My chin lolls to my chest, and suddenly, I’m so tired. I want to return to the place I was before I awoke to this…this nightmare. It was quiet there. I felt at peace…something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Larisa’s voice fades in and out, but her frantic Russian alerts me to my dire circumstance. If she doesn’t tend to my wounds, she fears I’ll lose my leg. Or worse still…my life. That’s what I wanted, though. But not like this, not when Ella is unsafe. And not when I need to uncover what happened to Irina.
I fall backward onto something hard. It smells wretched in here. I then remember I defiled Ella in this very barn like a savage. She deserved so much better. She deserved silk and satins, but I merely took her like an ungrateful beast.
“Saint,” I pant into nothingness because I’m swathed in darkness, and I’m so cold.
“Yes, I’m here.” He sounds so far away.
“Promise me you’ll save her.” I lift my head off the workbench to search for him, but strong hands pin me down.
“No, I will not promise you that,” he stubbornly rebukes, “’cause we’re going to do it together.”
“No, my friend, I cannot,” I argue, shivering so hard, my teeth rattle. “I am…so c-cold.”
“Oh, g-god, help h-him. Please.” Willow’s sweet prayers and tears are wasted on a monster like me.
“Do not cry, дорогая,” I say, searching for her hand. Her warm fingers clench mine a moment later. “As I once said, don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
“Fight!” Saint demands, angered I would give up this way. But I’m not strong like him. “If you die now, all of this would have been for nothing! Don’t you dare dishonor those who sacrificed everything for you to live. Do this for Zoey! Do this for Ella. And do this for me.”
“Aleksei, if you don’t fight, you will die,” Larisa states firmly. I didn’t think she’d be opposed to the idea, but it seems as though I may be wrong.
She orders Pavel to go inside and grab a laundry list of supplies.
“Where is Irina?” I ask, desperately trying to fight off what feels like tens of thousands of hands touching me. They are suffocating.
“She’s inside, sleeping. Max is watching over her.” Willow’s voice calms me somewhat.
Saint speaks to Larisa in Russian, but his words are a jumbled mess as his voice floats further and further away. “Aнгел, go inside. This isn’t going to be pleasant.”
Yes, please listen to Saint. I don’t want to subject Willow to atrocities that will scar her forever.
“I’ll see you when you wake, Alek,” she says as something wet and warm caresses my cheek. I soon realize it’s a tear-laden kiss.
“I’ll see you when I see you,” I reply with what feels like a smile, but my face grows numb.
“This is going to hurt. A lot,” Saint says while I hear the distinct sound of scissors cutting through material. “But you’re Aleksei motherfucking Popov, and I’ve seen you handle worse. So stop being a little p***y and fight.”
His pep talk has me wheezing. I was trying to laugh. But that soon turns to a winded gasp as I feel immense pressure and hear a brutal crack…then the pain follows. Pain I’ve never felt before. Gripping the bench beneath me, I try to stay still, but this feels like my bones are being ripped out of my skin.
“Eбать!” I scream, unable to breathe. But I can do this. I must.
“Sorry,” Saint pants, and before I have a chance to ask what he’s apologizing for, my world is no more because the son of a b***h has knocked me out cold.
I’ll thank him when I wake. Or rather, if…
Every part of me is screaming. My mind. Body. Soul.
I will myself to slip back into the darkness because here, there’s no pain. Only weightlessness. But if I stay a moment longer, I’m afraid I’ll never resurface again.
So I force my eyes open, and little by little, I take in my surroundings, struggling to remember my last solid memory.
Ella…
I jar upright, causing a nauseating pain to follow the jolted movements. With a groan, I barely hold down my vomit. My vision is blurred, but I would recognize Saint, even if I were blind.
From the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room where he sits, he peers up from writing in his leather journal, pen pressed to the page. When he sees I’m awake, he places the pen behind his ear and closes the journal. “About f*****g time.”
I attempt to speak, but nothing comes out.
Saint gestures with his head to the nightstand, where I find a glass of water. I attempt to reach for it with my right hand, but it’s bandaged.
A slow perusal of my body indicates that most of it is bandaged. Using my left hand, I pull back the sheet and sigh in relief. Both legs are still there.
“You have Larisa to thank for that,” Saint says, reading my thoughts. “She saved your life.”
“No doubt,” I hoarsely reply as I reach for the glass of water. Once I drain it, I wipe my dry lips with the back of my hand. “How many days have I been out?”
“Three.”
Cursing under my breath, I attempt to swing my legs off the bed as I cannot lie here like a vegetable for a second longer. But they refuse to cooperate.
“You’re on some hard-core painkillers. Give it some time.”
“That is something I do not have,” I counter angrily. “Each moment spent here is time when Ella is in harm’s way.”
“Don’t underestimate her,” Saint states. “She saved your ass.”
“I know what she did,” I bite back, frustrated that I’m nothing but an invalid, unable to do anything while confined to this bed. “Have we got eyes on her?”
Pavel enters the room, looking at me with what might be called astonishment. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”
“Thanks to your mother,” I reply, shifting awkwardly to rest against the headboard. “What of Ella?”
Pavel pulls up a chair. “Nothing yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it means. Santo won’t let her breathe without him close by.”
Well, that’s unsatisfactory. “We need inside his house. We were able to do so with Saint under the ruse of being gardeners.”
Soon realizing what I said, I give Saint an apologetic nod as that memory is one I’m sure he doesn’t wish to relive.
He remains stone-faced.
“Santo isn’t Oscar,” Pavel replies frankly. “He’s paranoid. He won’t allow anyone he doesn’t know within a mile of his residence.”
“So what do you propose?”
“You need to be invited. That’s the only way you’ll get to her.”
However, when he looks at Saint, I know there’s a catch.
“And you’ll get your chance. In six weeks’ time.”
“What’s happening in six weeks?” I ask, preparing myself for anything. But his response reveals I haven’t prepared for this.
“Frank and Ella’s wedding.”
Clearly, I’ve had a lapse in hearing because there is no way Pavel has just shared this abominable news with me. But when he doesn’t say a word, I realize I heard him just fine.
There’s nothing further to say because words mean nothing. In this circumstance, actions speak, and we need to act fast.
Refusing to accept that my legs are on hiatus, I stubbornly cup the back of my thigh and swing it over the mattress, placing my foot on the cold floor. I repeat the same with my injured leg. With both feet planted on the floorboards, I attempt to stand but topple sideways.
Flailing, I punch the mattress in frustration.
“Get back into bed,” Pavel orders, unimpressed with my efforts to stand.
“I will not,” I angrily refute, slowly pushing myself back into a sitting position. “Ella is being held prisoner. I need to get her out of there.”
Saint sighs, running a hand through his snarled hair. “She’s okay.”
“Okay? Define okay? And how would you know this?” I fire questions at him as though he knows a lot more than he’s letting on.
After digging into his pocket for his phone, he unlocks it before tossing it onto the bed. “See for yourself.”
- Writer
