by Laura Acton
“You sure you want more?”
Knowing he must eat to keep up his strength, such as it was, though it came with the possibility of puking, Dan nodded. Desiring not to appear weak and to alleviate Mason’s concern, he asked, “Can I drink it from a cup?”
“Absolutely!” Mason stood, took the bowl to the table, and poured some into one of the clean coffee mugs. He understood Blondie better than the kid realized. This was a display of strength … Blondie hated appearing weak. He would facilitate him in this way.
Returning to the bed, he placed the ceramic mug in Blondie’s hand and remained ready to catch the vessel should Blondie’s grip loosen.
Before raising his shaking hand to his lips, needing a moment to will his aching muscles to obey, he asked, “Where did you get the book?”
“Only book Sister Maria had in English.” Mason ascertained Blondie’s difficulty and put one hand under the shaking cup as he murmured, “You are safe with me when you’re at your weakest. My strength will be your strength. My hands will be your hands. I’ll never view you as less than strong and capable, little brother. My word is my bond.”
Dan swallowed his pride. Holding the mug took all his effort. He nodded and released his grip, allowing his arm to fall limply to the mattress.
Mason lifted the broth for Blondie to sip. A sizable chunk of guilt sloughed off his shoulders as the kid displayed his faith in him. His other hand absently rubbed the scar on his chest.
“You aren’t at fault for what happened in the Humvee,” Dan said.
“What?” Mason stared at Blondie. “Wait. How did you know I was thinking about that?”
“You have a tell. You rub your chest where the shrapnel embedded.”
Glancing at his right hand, Mason chuckled. “Didn’t realize I did that.”
“I never blamed you, and you need to release any guilt you still hold. I’m happy you are alive. I feared you would bleed out and not be able to do a damned thing to stop you from dying.”
“But I nearly choked you to death and beat the shit out of you. I fractured your orbital socket.” Images Mason would never forget entered his mind. Blondie’s arm in a sling, his face covered in bruises, right eye swollen shut, the white of his left one blood-red, and dark purple finger-shaped bruising around the kid’s throat … his fingers.
“Not your fault. And if we’re counting, we’re even … I dropped you on your head if you recall.”
Mason chuckled. “If you are referring to the plane crash, that one goes to your score too. You saved all our lives that day. Besides, according to Patch, you made me a cushy bed to fall on when you released the straps. Not to mention you attempted to rig things to lower me.” He gave Blondie another sip of broth.
The room quieted as Ripsaw and Dan both consumed their soup, and Brody, Patch, and Mason ate the sandwiches Brody brought. When Ripsaw finished his portion, Patch allowed him to have half a turkey sandwich and a banana. Eating wiped out Dan and Ripsaw, both were snoozing by the time Blaze and the others returned.
A short time later, Anastasia entered with Natia. “Gentlemen, may I introduce you to the real Natia Janashia.”
Shyly Natia gazed around the room, noting all the men stood and smiled at her. Well, not all. She wished Ripsaw was awake. She wanted to thank him again. In Georgian, she said, “Thank you for my life. I promise to do something worthy with it now that it is my own again.”
Anastasia translated Natia’s words. Blaze stepped forward and grasped Natia’s hand, lifting it to kiss the back, in a courtly manner. “A pleasure to meet you, Natia. Though the thanks are ours to give. Without your knowledge, we would not have been able to save all the children.” He waited for Anastasia to translate for him.
Natia blushed as she received kisses in the same manner from each man and the giant engulfed her in a hug. When released, Natia turned to Anastasia and asked, “Will Ripsaw be alright?”
“Yes, he will. You can talk with him tomorrow on the plane.”
Giving the men a little wave, Natia started toward the exit but stopped as she glimpsed the two little girls asleep on the bed. Her emotions conflicted. Saddened they endured trauma, but also thankful they ended up at the Cherry Club. If they had not, these men wouldn’t have come to rescue them and saved her too. Taking a deep breath, she moved on. Natia realized she had a lot of moving on to do, both mentally and physically to distance herself from what she endured.
Once Natia left, Anastasia glanced at Mike. “Time to dye your hair.”
Mike groaned. “Why can’t I just use the temporary stuff again?”
“Because it doesn’t come in the shade we wanted. It wouldn’t be wise to go brown again, and you need a color close to your passport photo … only a bit darker red,” she replied.
A retching sound drew everyone’s attention. “Ah, shit!” Brody exclaimed as he, Mason, Patch, and Blaze rushed to Danny’s bunk.
Mason swiftly turned Blondie to the side so he wouldn’t aspirate. Patch grabbed the basin. Brody gripped Danny’s hand. Blaze dipped a rag in the water and wrung it out.
Dan’s insides wanted out. As he heaved, molten liquid forcefully erupted, burning his esophagus. Tendrils of barbed wired coiled around his midsection and squeezed. He gripped an anchor with what little strength he possessed. His body began to shake with the effort it took to expel the contents of his stomach.
Quietly Blaze said, “We will get you through this.” He pressed the damp cloth to Blondie’s forehead wiping off the beads of perspiration.
“Hurts so much,” Dan groaned out between heaves. His halfway open eyes peered at Blaze. As the razor wire ripped through him, Dan curled up and his eyes closed tightly. His moans came out as whimpers. Through the blistering haze, a hand gently brushed through his hair, and he clung to the comfort Brody provided him.
Blaze reached out and stroked Blondie’s head giving the only comfort he could, wishing the kid’s agony would stop. He glanced at Patch. “Can you give him more pain meds?”
“Not yet, too soon and he can’t be sedated while vomiting. I don’t want him aspirating and causing additional problems. Once he stops throwing up, his pain should reduce.” Patch wished he could take the pain away.
Several minutes later, after a final heave, Dan’s body went limp. His eyelids cracked open and found Blaze, not Brody, providing the comforting touch. Blaze’s face loomed close, and a sense of security took hold as he gazed into fatherly, hazel orbs. Catching his breath, he moaned, “This sucks.”
“Yes, it does. Rest now, son.” Blaze remained close, carding his fingers through Blondie’s hair until Patch intervened.
“Let’s rinse your mouth.” Patch held a glass for Blondie to sip from. After several swishes, Patch asked, “Want to brush your teeth?”
The desire to do so was considerable, the rancid aftertaste even after rinsing with water almost made Dan want to hurl again, but his body remained unwilling to move. “Not now.”
“Bring me the toothbrush and toothpaste.” Blaze grinned at Blondie trying to lighten the mood. “Daphy was only seven when our parents died. I use to help her with brushing her teeth. Just don’t bite my fingers like she did.”
The fiery pulses shooting through his stomach ebbing to a more bearable level, Dan managed a wan smile. “She bit you?”
As Blaze began a story of how Daphy chomped on his fingers when he attempted to floss for her, Mason left the room to dump the basin in the latrine. Part of Mason wished he had not made Blondie eat, but he understood the kid required nourishment and decided to file this one under the need outweighing the result. Just like when Blondie got him down and out of the plane. A little bumpy, but well-intentioned.
He returned several minutes later to find Blondie reclining comfortably, well as comfortable as he could given the circumstances, and the others gathered at the wooden table deep in discussion. Mason put the cleaned basin on the bedside table next to Blondie.
At Mason’s downcast appearance, Dan made an effort to f
lash his pearly whites, as he quipped, “Minty fresh now.”
The leftfield comment and smile instantly put one on Mason’s face too as he sat in the chair near the bed. “You didn’t bite him?”
“Nah, wanted my teeth brushed.” Dan glanced at the table to make sure Blaze was engaged. He dropped his voice low, so it didn’t carry. “Daphy is lucky to have Blaze as a dad.”
Mason nodded as his grin grew. So are you. The conversation at the long table interrupted the comment he planned on making.
“No that won’t work either. I don’t want them awake until they reach home,” Dom said.
“Well, we could also go with the story they are sick like we planned for Ripsaw. That way their IVs can stay in place,” Winds suggested.
“Security will scrutinize anyone ill. Ripsaw with an IV, it will draw too much attention to him,” Patch said.
“I can reattach IVs once we are airborne. Just need to cover their insertion sites with clothing.” Winds took a bite of an apple.
“But what do we say is the reason they are sleeping?” Dom asked.
“Food poisoning. They’re exhausted from throwing up for days,” Dan proposed in a quiet voice as his hand moved to his aching abdomen.
Everyone at the table turned to gape at Blondie, each a bit ashamed they didn’t come up with the simple and straightforward solution.
“Damned good cover story,” Blaze praised. “That is a better reason for Ripsaw too. Less scrutiny than a disease, no travel issues.”
Winds grinned. “Not even poisoned cherry vodka can dull Blondie’s sharp intellect. What would we do without you?”
A spear thrust into his gut obliterated any comeback Dan might’ve said as blinding whiteness radiated throughout his entire body causing him to shudder as his eyes slammed shut and he let loose a scream of agony before he began to retch again.
Stunned, Dom watched in horror as the unit rushed to Danny’s side. His heart broke again and again for what William’s son endured to save his precious girls. “He is so like William both inside and out … he possesses a pure warrior’s heart. I hate that he is in agony.”
Dom didn’t realize he spoke out loud until Anastasia’s hand covered his and she said, “Dan is an extraordinary man with a beautiful inner spirit. I also wish there were more we could do to ease his suffering.”
Exits and Arrivals
52
May 31
Makhachkala Airport – 0630 Hours
Winds pushed Ripsaw as they made their way through the terminal. The group leaving today on the Learjet split up into three groups to go through security at different times to avoid drawing attention to Dom, his daughters, and the Teplov family. A necessary precaution since Ripsaw and Winds might be recognized and detained by the politsia scrutinizing all passengers.
Once he and Ripsaw made it past the security checkpoint, they would meet Dom at the embarkation gate reserved for private flights. If they got caught, Savoy would leave then notify Blaze. As Winds continued to scan the area for potential threats, he thought back on the preparation and plans for getting out safely. Dom left an hour before with his children and Natia. He went first to ensure the plane was ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
Winds grinned as he recalled how Anastasia and Tatiana transformed Natia, revealing the unadulterated sweet and innocent young woman. Mike managed to locate contacts for her, and her eyes turned a stunning aqua blue. Quite a lovely woman with all the garish makeup off and dressed for her debut in society. She emerged from her besmirched cocoon, not as a mere brown moth, but a stunning monarch butterfly.
Anastasia kissed Ripsaw on the cheek before they departed and told him he did a wonderful thing in his decision to rescue Natia. Ripsaw blushed. Winds couldn’t remember a time that had ever happened.
She was right. Ripsaw excelled on this mission. He managed to reach Blondie and Mason, who would not have made it out without his intervention. He leaned down and whispered, “How are you holding up?”
Blinking his eyes open, still a bit groggy, Ripsaw refocused. “Alright.”
Winds noted Ripsaw’s exposed IV port. “Pull your sleeve down.”
When Ripsaw complied, Winds’ mind returned to his musing. Before departing the abbey, Natia had been quite frightened she would say something wrong. Winds witnessed Tatiana and Anastasia comfort and reassure her Dom would do all the talking. However, they made her repeat her cover if asked by security. Natia shyly responded she was the girl’s au pair. Dom arranged for a wheelchair for Nicolette and Anna-Marie too, better than attempting to carry them through the airport.
A smile crossed Winds’ face as he recalled viewing the girls after Dom dressed them. Anna-Marie wore purple leggings, a cornflower blue knee-length skirt, and a purple long-sleeved, cotton shirt with a sparkly heart on the front. Dom also bought her cute tennis shoes with glittery purple laces and a blue zip-up hoodie. Nicolette wore soft, black jeans, a light gray angora sweater over a dark gray t-shirt, and black ankle boots.
After Dom explained how his wife frequently styled their hair, Anastasia fashioned each girl’s locks with a delicate, thin, waterfall French braid around the crown of their heads leaving the rest hanging loose. Right before they left Sacred Heart Abbey, they all witnessed Dom tear up as he knelt, hugged his children, and vowed no one would ever hurt them again.
A half-hour later, Andrei and his family left. Winds hoped they had no problems getting through security. If asked about Elsa’s return, Andrei would merely state a good Samaritan found her wandering alone on the beach. After they located someone who understood English, he returned Elsa to them.
When Ripsaw’s head bobbed, Winds glanced down and noted the beads of sweat on his forehead. He stopped them in a secluded area and moved in front of Ripsaw, taking hold of his wrist checking his pulse. A little faster than usual, but still in the okay range according to Patch. As he wiped his friend’s brow, he requested, “How’s the pain?”
“I’m fine.” Ripsaw inhaled sharply as his leg throbbed.
“FINE or fine?” Winds’ concern jumped up several degrees.
“Normal not Blondie’s. Just throbbing more than before.”
Blowing out a breath, Winds stood. “Alright. You ready to do this?”
“Yeah.” Ripsaw adjusted the barf bag in his lap, a prop for his supposed food poisoning.
Arriving at the checkpoint, Winds handed over both fake passports and identification cards. They held their breath as the agent examined their documents and a politsia officer standing next to him scrutinized them.
The male agent spoke Russian, “Why are you in a wheelchair?”
Speaking French Winds said, “I do not understand.”
Ripsaw lifted his bag and made a couple of fake heaving sounds as he pretended to be about to gag. He slumped back in the chair and closed his eyes, assuming a haggard appearance, not too difficult given his injury.
Noting the French passports, the man waved over an interpreter. He spoke to her succinctly.
The woman turned to them and in French queried, “Are you injured?”
Winds answered, “No. My friend consumed undercooked poultry and spent the night praying to the porcelain god in our room.”
“And you are not ill?”
“I prefer steak.” Winds produced a charming smile.
“Where are your tickets?” The interpreter peered at the amber-eyed man. His dark brown hair, tanned skin, stubble on his jawline, and defined muscles made him markedly attractive.
“We are going home. Arranged a flight on a private aircraft since traveling commercial might be a problem for my buddy. No one wants to chance being puked on. Would be rather disgusting, don’t you think?”
To hide his chuckle, Ripsaw changed it into another groaning noise.
The female security officer stepped back two paces before she spoke to her counterpart. The male agent handed their passports back and gave Ripsaw a wide berth as he waved them on their way.
As Wi
nds pushed Ripsaw, he noted the officer followed their path with his eyes all the way to the private jet area. He maintained a sedate pace although he wanted to rush under the intense scrutiny. When the door to the lounge closed, Winds breathed a sigh of relief. He glimpsed Dom waiting for them at the gate and hurried over. “We need to leave now. An officer eyed us quite a lot.”
The door opened, and Dom caught sight of a politsia officer striding in. “Keep cool and keep moving.”
They exited, and when they reached the jet, Ripsaw glanced up. It would hurt like hell to climb the steps. “Is he still watching?”
“Yeah.” Winds moved the chair close and said, “Use the rails to pull yourself up then wobble like your gonna faint, start to go over, and I’ll catch you and carry you up the stairs.”
Ripsaw stood as instructed, but he accidentally knocked his injured leg on the bottom step. The dizziness was not feigned as pain rocketed up his leg, his head swam, and his vision became pinpoint before he succumbed to blackness and toppled over. Winds caught his brother and in French called out to Dom, “He passed out. You grab the wheelchair. I’ll get him onboard.”
Learjet – 0700 Hours
Settling Ripsaw in a seat, Winds noted Ripsaw’s unfocused eyes flickering open. “Hey, buddy, you with me?”
“Hm.” Ripsaw’s head lolled to the side, gradually returning to awareness.
After closing the door, Dom moved to the cockpit. “He okay?”
Winds buckled Ripsaw’s seatbelt. “Yeah, let’s move.” Sitting in a chair facing Ripsaw, Winds strapped in and checked out the window. He saw the cop put the radio to his mouth. “Dom, he is contacting someone.”
Glad he finished preflight checks earlier, Dom radioed the tower, received clearance, and taxied to the designated runway. “We’re almost out of here.”
Noting Ripsaw becoming more aware, Winds grinned. “Welcome back. What happened?”
Sheepishly, Ripsaw said, “Bumped my leg. Hurt’s like hell.”
“Once we’re airborne, I’ll make you comfortable.”
