Chapter 108
2472words
"What's that noise?" Mom asks me nervously.
Cocking my head, I listen with my pulse quickening. "Gunfire."
"Someone's shooting at us?" Roman shudders, scrambling towards my mother where she's sitting on the bed. She spreads her arms to welcome him into her lap, the action warm and natural.
I move towards the one window in the room. Parting the thin, yellowed curtains, I peek through the glass. I can't tell what's happening, there's a large tree branch with stubborn frost crusted to it blocking the way.
"What do you see?" Mom asks urgently.
"Nothing. I don't know what's going on." But I have a feeling. One so delicious, so exciting, I try to ignore it because the pain of being wrong would tear me apart.
The door bangs open, hitting the wall, bouncing back into Yannick's grip. His lips are curved in a wretched snarl. "You! What did you do?" he shouts at me.
I let go of the curtain, my heart tap-dancing into my mouth. I don't like the manic expression he's wearing as he shuts himself inside the room.
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
"The police I arranged to guard this place are under attack!"
The gunfire outside seems to grow louder. It isn't, not really, it's just that I'm listening to it with more interest. It's Asher! It has to! The part of me that was afraid to hope grows big enough that it lifts my lips in a helpless smile.
"Scared?"
"Fuck no," he growls. Storming towards me at a rapid pace, he blocks me against the wall with both hands. His breath is humid on my cheeks. "I care more about how he found us!"
I cringe away as much as I can. "I didn't tell him anything."
"Liar!" He snatches my wrist, hauling me onto the tips of my toes. "I'll kill you!"
A crackling sensation spreads up my neck as every hair on my body stands at attention. Yannick is close enough that I can see the red veins webbing in the whites of his eyes. His chest rises and falls; he's worked up.
Afraid.
"Why are you smiling?" he demands, shaking me.
"Because Asher is alive. He's going to save us." I laugh so hard I begin to hiccup. He's here, he really came! We're going to be okay! My hand drifts down to my belly. All of us. 'And he's going to kill you."
Yannick goes still as the surface of a fetid pond in the heat of summer. His fingers burrow into my wrist until the burst of pain breaks through my joy, forcing me to cry out.
'You think you're saved? You really think I'd let him get what he wants after all of this?"
His shoulder bunches up. My eyes bulge in terror, my body racing to react to protect me in time. I'm too slow—he slams me into the wall, my skull bouncing off the solid plaster. Pain explodes behind my eyes from the force of the impact. I can taste blood in my mouth.
"Camila!" Mom shrieks.
I scrape at his arms, and when he doesn't release me, I go for his face, but he simply holds me further away. "There's nothing you can do to stop him," I wheeze.
He slams me into the wall again. It's like my brain is being knocked back and forth. My eyes start blurring, unable to focus on anything but the pain along my spine. I can't see or move, and all I manage to do is bury my nails deeper into his wrist.
"You fucking cunt!" he yells. I can barely hear him from the throbbing headache. I don't hear the gunfire anymore. I don't know what's up or down or if I'm blacking out.
Is this what dying feels like?
"Leave her alone!" Roman jumps onto his father's leg, yanking at him with all his might.
"Roman!" Mom's voice cracks.
All the pressure vanishes from my arms; Yannick has let me go. Unable to stand, I collapse against the wall at his feet. He turns away, looming over Roman with hatred blackening his stare.
"You ungrateful welp!"
My vision is still swaying when Yannick backhands Roman. My mom screams, her fear and my own bringing me to my senses. Everything is in hyper focus. Veins bulge on Yannick's hands, saliva drips from Roman's gawking mouth.
"Get away from him!" I shout.
Ignoring me, he crowds over Roman, holding him flat to the floor with one wide palm on his tiny chest. He hits him again, the sound wet and awful.
"I was too soft on you." His knuckles land on the boy's jaw, splitting his lip. "You want to die to protect that cunt? Fine! I can always start again and make a replacement. And next time, I won't make the same mistake I did with you!"
"Get away from him!" Mom yells, leaping onto Yannick's back.
Hunching like a bull ready to buck, he half-rises, spinning as my mother hangs on desperately. "You too, Katyusha?" In a single easy swing he loops his hands around her and slams her to the floor. The whole room shakes—it resonates in my teeth. He turns back to punching Roman.
Rage courses through my blood. Reaching inside my shirt, I feel for the small object I've kept close to my heart—the rose brooch from my father.
Clutching it like a dagger, I run at Yannick, stabbing the sharp end of the rose brooch into his shoulder. "Leave him alone! You fucking asshole!"
He shouts, surprised by the assault. I wrench my arm back, stabbing him a second time, and then a third. The wounds are small but his grimace and the blood they draw are satisfying. My mother crawls back to us, joining me in trying to force Yannick away from their son.
Together, we're able to maneuver him towards the window.
He's not talking anymore, just making a low grinding noise in his throat. I'm using all my effort to hold him back now, panting until my throat is dry, occasionally losing my grip from my sweaty palms. Mom has her whole body tangled on his waist, her hair hanging in her face. We're doing it—we're protecting Roman.
The solid impact of Yannick's fist into my stomach knocks me back. I stagger, landing on my backside, the rose brooch remaining in his skin. There's such vicious hatred in his eyes that it's like he's still punching me.
Quickly, I cradle my belly, wrapping myself around it like I'm tying myself in a knot.
No... my baby!
"Camila!" Mom yells.
"Camila," Yannick mocks her, twisting with his free arm to pull the pin from his arm. He throws it at me; it skids into my leg. Fisting my mother's hair, he tears pieces of it free, the strands floating away as my mother cries out in pain.
I watch helplessly as he slams her to the floor again. She tucks her knees to her chest, curling into a ball, trying to protect herself from his next assault.
But he doesn't punch her. He doesn't kick. Straddling my mother, Yannick wraps his hands around her skinny throat and starts squeezing. She bats at his powerful forearms as her face starts turning blue.
"No..." I heave as a sharp pain rushes through me. "Stop it... Mom..."
Yannick's breathing becomes labored, his grin widening until it makes his jaw click. This isn't simple revenge—he's enjoying this.
I inch across the floor, not caring that I'm getting rug burn. Please let me move, please! I need to help her! My body won't obey, each small movement is sending another jagged agony in my stomach.
Mom's hands start slowing down. The feral grin on Yannick's face widens.
No! No! No!
I'll never reach her in time.
The door is kicked inward, the hinges breaking off on the bottom, causing it to swing at an angle. Yannick whips around to see who's interrupted us. His eyes protrude, his hands loosening on Mom's throat. She coughs weakly, sucking in oxygen while her skin changes back to normal.
"I expected you would show up eventually," Yannick says flatly.
At first I don't believe what I'm seeing. There's a man in the doorway. He's gripping a rifle as long as his torso. When he turns his silvery blue eyes at me, relief floods through my bones, my muscles, giving me enough strength to rise onto my hands and knees. "Asher," I breathe.
He spares a glance at me before aiming the gun at Yannick.
"Ah-ah-ah," Yannick taunts, wrenching my mother tighter to his chest as he rises to his full height, dragging her along, not caring how she struggles. "You wouldn't want to hit her."
Asher's fingers curl firmly around the butt of the rifle. Every finger except the one on the trigger. He's in a standoff with Yannick, one he plans to win. He could end Yannick's life in a simply flex of his hand. Years of his seething hatred and lust for revenge finally sated in a split second.
But I can see in the depths of his eyes... in the way his brow furrows ever slightly... that he's not going to shoot.
He promised to save my mother and me, he's not going to break his word. The gentle rasp of nervous breathing reaches my ears. Looking over, I spot Roman. His whole face is a swollen mess, his bottom lip cracked and bleeding onto the front of his shirt. His small body quivers from both pain and fear.
He locks his eyes on mine. Be strong, I mouth.
His shaking recedes; he swallows, like he's gathering himself up. Glancing at Asher, then towards Yannick, he stumbles forward. I'm the only one watching when he launches himself onto Yannick's back. He doesn't make a sound, but his father does. "What are you doing?" he demands, craning his neck to see.
Roman clings on tight, even when Yannick backs up into the wall, crushing his own son. Yannick shifts his arms, holding my mother with one around her throat while snatching at Roman. He catches the boy's shirt, ripping the cloth. The black crown shines when it's exposed to the light.
Using both his thumbs, Roman digs into his father's face. His knuckles and nails grind in, deep as possible, the liquid squish turning my stomach.
"Fuck!" Yannick roars, releasing my mother.
She falls forward, hitting the floor and lying limply on her side. Yannick tugs desperately at Roman's arms, trying to dislodge him to no avail. "You little shit! I'll make you pay for this!"
"Roman!" Asher shouts. 'Let go!"
Roman obediently does as Asher commands, rolling on the ground in my direction. I scoop him into my arms, holding his cheek to my chest protectively. He doesn't see the rifle go off, but I do.
Blood sprays from Yannick's chest, running down in rivulets that pool at his crumpling knees.
His lips move soundlessly. Wiping his hands over his ribs, he raises them up, staring in shock at the red on his palms. Asher angles the rifle down. He could keep studding Yannick with bullets, and honestly, it's a wonder he doesn't. This awful man murdered his pregnant wife... he's caused Asher untold levels of pain for years. In his shoes, I'd empty the entire clip.
Instead, he just stares at Yannick, who angles his chin up as if he's going to say something.
But the only sound that emerges from his throat is a wet cough, sending crimson spittle everywhere. And then, just like that, he tumbles forward.
Dead.
Roman whimpers in my arms. "Are you okay?" I ask him.
"Yes," he says into my shirt, before shifting around.
I grab the back of his head. "Don't look."
"Let him," Asher says. "He should see what's become of the monster that was his father."
I start to argue, but Roman wriggles firmly out of my arms. The boy who was trembling and broken a moment ago is gone. This child has a serious, grim face, his mouth a hard line. He looks pointedly at his dead father, quietly judging him where he lies. His hand rubs on his tattoo. I hold my breath, waiting for him to cry, but he only closes his eyes and nods.
Asher shoulders his rifle, then helps my mother to her feet. She gives him a grateful smile.
"I'll be fine," she assures him. Her hand gingerly brushes the bruises already forming on her neck. "Check on Camila. She's hurt."
A new wave of fire lights up in Asher's eyes. If Yannick wasn't already dead, he'd be tearing him apart. Crossing the room in just two long strides, he crouches before me, scooping my cheeks into his warm palms. God, I've missed these hands. "Camila, what?—"
My lips press onto his before he finishes the question. He tenses up, his hands locking on me tighter. There's no hesitance when he kisses me back, his fingers seeking my hair, my jaw, my shoulders. I do the same, because I want to make sure this is real. I need to feel his solid existence, because if I don't, my heart might deflate. This is real. He is real!
"I wished for this," I croak as I end the kiss. "I hoped so badly that you'd show up and save us, and you did it. You actually did it."
"Of course I did." He traces his thumb over my cheek, just under my left eye where the tears are pooling. "I was never going to let him take you away from me."
"I can't believe it," I whisper, "It's over."
The joy leaves his face. "No," Asher says. He guides me to my feet, makes sure I'm steady, then moves to the window, peering out at the world. "There's more left to do." He considers all of us one by one. "We need to get out of here. Can you run?"
He's asking everyone, but really, he's asking me.
I step forward—a searing pain tsunamis through my belly. It forces me to suck in air, catching my breath and bracing for more of the awful sensation. Nothing happens.
"Camila?" Asher asks warily.
"I can," I say confidently, "I have to."
He smiles in relief, but my mother catches my eye.
She knows I'm lying.
Something could be wrong with my baby... the idea haunts me, the cold claws of death playing with my mind. As we leave the room, I run my hand anxiously in circles over my belly, over the spot the pain occurred. Each step tugs at my innards. Never mind running, walking is a challenge. But I have to push the agony aside.
Asher risked his life to save me.
If he needs me to run...
I'll run.
