He smirks. “We both know that’s a lie.”
Christian
She looks so much like me it almost breaks my heart. And she shows no fear at all in front of the stranger who stares at her as if he’s seen a ghost, instead she raises her chubby little arms in the air and demands I lift her. I give her a trembling hand and she grabs it with tiny, tiny little fingers and heaves herself out of the crib and onto the floor. I don’t even know if she can walk and I’m afraid to touch her because I don’t want to scare her.
The girl, Cecilia, my child, my child, toddles out of the bedroom and into the next and sits down by a red little car and a black plastic baby doll. It takes me a nanosecond to get back to breathing right again, then I follow her footsteps and crouch next to her.
“Caaa,” she says and hands me the toy.
I have no doubt she’s mine. And she talks!
She’s incredible.
Rolling the little car across the floor, I say ‘vroom-vroom’ and she nods and giggles.
Watching her play quietly with the doll, I’m oblivious to how much time might have passed, when a shrieking blur of arms and legs suddenly throws itself at me. My reflexes serve me and I manage to jerk just a little to the side but something hits me nonetheless and a sharp pain erupts in my shoulder.
Fuck!
When Kerry, because it is a beyond ferocious Kerry who has returned, doesn’t come at me again but rips something from the doorframe, all the warning signals in my head finally come together like one. Instinctively, I snatch the kid from where she’s sitting, hiccupping and frightened, and clutch her tightly to my chest with my good arm. Hell, my shoulder hurts. I wonder briefly how much damage has been done, but looking in front of me I realize I’ll have to think of that later.
If there’ll be a ‘later’.
I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with Kerry, but she seems to have lost it completely as she points a dangerously wobbling shotgun at us.
It’s the first time I get to see her clearly. Until now she’s been nothing but a haze of flailing limbs. She looks like a mere shadow of who she used to be. Her hair is short and dyed black. It looks chopped off, as if she’s cutting it herself. She’s pale and thin, a lot thinner than she was before and her eyes are huge and dark, fear and hate oozing off her in almost palpable waves.
I tell her to lower the gun, she tells me to let go of the baby. Fat chance. Her eyes tell me to go fuck myself.
“Do it!” she roars with a strength I’d never have thought that frail body possessed.
“Let go of the weapon, Kerry. Let’s talk about this.”
“Don’t hurt her,” she wails. “Please don’t hurt her. She’s all I’ve got.”
I have an eerie déjà vu from Winnipeg. Funny how long ago it seems now. Was it yesterday? I hug the little kid tighter. She’s crying in distress, but I don’t want her to become afraid of me so I make some cooing sounds to try to calm her.
“Ker!” I say bluntly. “The only one who’s potentially hurting her at this moment is you and your fucking gun. Lower it now!” I raise my arm and hold it over Cecilia’s throat instead for emphasis. I wouldn’t dream of hurting her, but the maniac before me doesn’t know that and she’s working on primal instincts right now, so I have to meet her on that level. Fighting to gauge her state of mind, and to plan my next move in this sudden mess, I can’t stop my thoughts from wandering, and I can’t help but notice that she’s afraid this time. Really, really afraid. I almost don’t recognize her. She was always so feisty.
No wonder, though, she’s a woman, a female, defending her baby.
Her eyes are bloodshot. “Please,” she hiccups. I answer with a raised eyebrow.
I see her before me like she used to be, soft, feminine, trusting. I see her under me. I see her screaming my name, but not in fear, and not in pain.
There she goes again!
Distracting me without even lifting a fucking finger!
Fuck! I want to hurt her. For distracting me. For slamming hard objects on my head, shoving a fucking knife in my shoulder and damaging my knee. For always, always, fucking fighting me!
She is crying freely now, the shotgun shaking violently, dangerously swaying before us. “Please, Christian, please let my baby go!”
I glare at her frail, trembling form. I want to—No, I don’t. That’s not true. I have a child. Ker is a mother and I actually have a child, and she’s a beautiful little creature with dark hair and warm eyes. I see myself in her, and yet I don’t. I can’t believe I was ever so small, so vulnerable, so innocent. She could be hurt so easily. The thought makes me clutch her little form harder, keeping the barrel in focus. I’ll kill anyone who ever even gives her a scratch. And it won’t be quick, I’ll take my time, making sure they have plenty of time to re-think their decision to ever get close to my flesh and blood.
I almost let go of her in shock as I realize I could be the cause of her being in danger. That my lifestyle probably has given me a fuckin’ continent of enemies.
Given her enemies.
Chapter 23
Christian
Despite my swollen knee screaming at me in protest, I slowly get up from my sitting position into a crouch. Cecilia is still securely with me in my lap. She’s my little armor right now, protecting me from her mother who’s gone totally berserk. I keep my eyes trained on Kerry’s dark tormented gaze and she never lets go of mine.
“All right, take it easy. I’m not here to hurt anyone, I just want to talk. Okay?” My voice is as soothing as I can manage under the circumstances. I hurt almost everywhere. It’s fucking tiring.
She clutches the gun tighter. “Drop her!” she croaks, barely able to speak any more.
“I will. Okay? Just to show that I mean no harm. Just take it easy with that thing, Ker, we don’t want anyone to get killed.” My legs tense and I inhale, then I shove Cecilia toward Kerry as I burst up and knock the wind out of her by slamming the stock of the gun into her stomach. She stumbles back and falls to the floor, clutching her stomach, gasping for air.
Too easy.
The little one wails and stumbles toward the fallen woman. “Mu—hmhy,” she hiccups.
“Mommy’ll be just fine, she just hasn’t learned how to play with the big boys yet,” I say coldly as I secure the gun and cock it open, pocketing the two cartridges before I open the door and hurl the fucking piece as far as I can throw.
Kerry keeps her huge, frightened eyes trained on me as she scoops Cecilia into her embrace, still gasping.
I shoot her a glare as I go to the mirror and examine the fucking knife that still sits embedded in my shoulder. My mind spins from the shock that still hasn’t waned. I could’ve died. Just a few inches to the right… If I hadn’t reacted in the very last moment, Kerry would have killed me. It’s a bread knife. She tried to do me in with a kitchen tool! I’m able to flex and straighten my elbow, and I can feel my fingers. All good signs. My gaze shifts between the wound and Kerry as I see her stir slightly.
Wounded but not down. Maybe not as broken as I first thought? She’s a dangerous woman in her fear, and I want to fucking live.
“Move one inch and I’m gonna fuckin’ rip your skull from your spine. Got it?” I growl, putting as much threat into the words as I can, because I’m afraid I won’t live to see the morning if I don’t put some fright into her.
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t move either and I can focus on getting the blade out of my flesh. I groan as I touch it even a little. There’s only one way to do this. I give Kerry a dark glance again and then I grip the handle and pull it all the way out in one single move.
“Fuck!” I roar, feeling as if it’s tearing me to pieces. I drop the knife, my knees weakening for a few moments. Get a grip! If I faint, I’m dead. I glance at my pale reflection in the mirror. Blood oozes from my shoulder, soaking my white shirt, dying it glistening red. My face and neck are partly covered in dried blood from the wound on the side of my head. I look like I’ve be
en run over by a train. And I feel like it too. Glaring at the huddling woman, who doesn’t look half as bad as I do, I have to suppress the immediate instinct to slam my fist in her face. I’m gonna have to calm down before I do something irreversible. Again.
Kerry
It happens so fast. I see Cece start to fall, or more like tumble, when he lets go of her and then he’s a blur of limbs and the next thing I know I’m lying on the floor, gasping for air. He’s on his feet and he has my gun.
I’m dead.
I close my eyes and hug my daughter tightly to me. She hiccups and cries in my embrace. I want to cry with her. God, don’t make her feel any pain. Please let it be quick. I hear a clicking noise and swallow hard. Please, Christian… Inhaling shakily to speak, I look up at him and realize he’s not pointing the gun at us. He’s disassembling it. What? He glares at me and says something snarky about me not being able to play like the big boys.
I never wanted to. I just wanted a life!
The ice-cold wind hurls through the room in an instant as he opens the door and throws my gun far out of sight. He forces the door shut against the elements and leans against it for a moment, regarding me. When he moves and turns away from me, I move. It’s like an instinct. If he isn’t on his guard, then I can try to wound him.
But he is. Constantly. He doesn’t miss an inch of what I’m doing, and I have to refrain from moving and sit quietly with Cecilia in my lap as I watch him examine his wounds. With a roar that makes me nauseous with fright, he pulls out the knife. It looks so gross I can barely watch, and I turn Cece’s head away for a moment. She wiggles in my grip, crying again.
I did that… I should’ve aimed better.
I kiss my daughter on the head and whisper it’s all right, that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Please, God, let it be the truth. At least regarding her. There’ll be hurt for me, more hurt, I know it. That’s all he’s ever done. Hurt me. And if he’s been looking for us… for me… That’s just terrifying. I hug her tighter and shuffle all the way back until I hit the wall when he stalks closer to us. He’s limping quite badly. The expression on his face is closed and I can’t read anything from it.
“Please,” I rasp.
“Please what?” he snarls.
“Please don’t hurt her.”
He scoffs and my heart sinks like a stone. Then he smiles. Toward her. And his eyes change for a moment before they turn back to me with their frightening coldness. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”
“Ple…” What? “You… oh.” You wouldn’t? “I find that hard to believe,” I sneer.
“And why is that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, a muscle on the side of his jaw clenching and unclenching.
“Be… because you… do.” I swallow hard. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to mention the things he’s done, it hurts too much to even think it. But he’s here, and I have no choice. “You hurt… people.”
His lips curl as he glares at me. “Right,” he says after a moment. “That I do. But I’m not gonna hurt her. She’s my kid for fuck’s sake. How much of a freak do you think I am?”
You wouldn’t know! “I—” My concentration is shattered as Cecilia’s hand comes up to stroke my chin.
“Momma, am angwy.”
I try to smile against the threatening tears. “Yes, sweetie, the man is angry, but it’s all right. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”
She shakes her head. “Angwy.” I frown. She strokes her belly. “Eatballs.”
“You... oh!”
When I look up, Christian has crouched before us, his left leg stretched out. “What?” he says, not entirely unfriendly.
“I… she… she needs to eat,” I say shrinking back from his proximity.
His gaze shifts from me to her and then back to me again. “So feed her.” He shrugs and stands, looking down at me.
It takes me a couple of moments before I understand. I lick my lips, glancing warily at him as I rise and let her down on the floor. My ankle sends off a stab of pain.
He follows us into the kitchen, and then he just stands there, like a looming shadow, leaning against the doorframe.
“Can’t you leave us alone for one second,” I snarl. “You’re making me nervous.” And it’s true. My hands shake as I bring out frozen meatballs and pasta putting them on the counter.
He snorts. “Couldn’t really leave you alone with even kitchen utensils, now could I?”
My cheeks turn hot and I refuse to answer. I drop the heavy pan dangerously close to my right foot and then I fiddle so much with the pot I almost drop it too. His gaze burns holes in my back and my heart slams against the inside of my ribcage. I give Cece a piece of bread to chew on while she waits. She’s playing with her fork and spoon and I’m happy she seems so unaffected.
I’m not.
“I could use some of that too,” he suddenly says.
What? I can’t believe the nerve. “There’s a diner down in Middlebro,” I mutter.
“Tried it, it sucks.”
“So stay hungry,” I snarl.
“I need to eat, Ker, and I’m going to whether you like it or not. Here.” His voice is calm.
Mine isn’t. My cheeks burn as I turn toward him. “I’m not letting you eat my food! If you’re hungry, you know your way outta here and back down to the town.”
“I’m not gonna fight over this—”
“That’d be a first.”
“As it is, I’m here now and you’re gonna give me something to eat.”
“Fuck you,” I mouth and turn away from him.
“What was that?” He takes a step closer and I stiffen, stirring the boiling water intensely with a fork, unable to remember if I put salt in it or not.
“You’re just going to take whatever you want anyway, aren’t you? That’s what you always do.”
“What I always do, huh?” He comes even closer. My whole spine tingles almost painfully from his presence, it’s as if my skin shrinks. My hand around the pot handle clenches harder and harder until my knuckles whiten. I look down at the hot steam and the bubbles underneath. I could— I don’t even get to think the thought to its end when I feel something at my side. I make a move to look, but freeze when I hear his low voice in my ear.
“Let go of that handle. I know what you’re thinking, but think again. I’m faster and stronger than you, baby, you’d only end up somewhere you’d rather not.”
My joints crack when I release the would-be weapon. Then I glance down at my side, realizing he’s holding a knife. My gaze darts to Cecilia, but she hasn’t seen anything and seems blissfully unaware of the tense atmosphere.
“Please, put that away,” I whisper.
The egg timer beeps, making us both jump. I prepare the little meal for my daughter with violently trembling hands. Christian has taken a step back and follows my every move. I risk a glance at him. His white shirt is blackish red and glistening all over his left sleeve. “You’re bleeding,” I mutter.
He turns his head and looks at the mess. “Yes. You stabbed me.”
When he still doesn’t make any attempt to stop it, I can’t help myself. “For God’s sake, clean it up!”
He smirks. “Why, Ker, does it bother you?”
“You’re soiling my floor, and that bothers me,” I snarl. And he really is. Just his presence has soiled my house, but his left hand is drenched in fresh blood and it does drip, splattering dark red on the wooden floor below him. I already know I won’t bother to clean it. I know I’ll leave the house as soon as I get the chance and never return. Ever. If I get the chance.
Christian looks at his side and his face twists. Then he starts unbuttoning his shirt with his right hand and I look away, my mouth suddenly dry. That never-forgotten, deep-rooted longing for him suddenly flares up as I see a glimpse of his broad chest, making my stomach clench. How, how can that be? Even now?
Cecilia comes and pulls my hand in the midst of the turmoil and startles me. My mind wasn’t even in Canada,
but she drags me right back in an instant.
“Go feed her,” he mutters as he pulls off his shirt. He grabs a towel from the counter and presses it against the wound. “I’ll make something on my own.”
I refuse to meet his gaze and scoop her up on one hip, her plate in my other hand, leaving the little room with a sigh of relief, my heart nearly pounding its way out of my ribcage.
When I set down the plates, my gaze falls on the phone in the corner of the room, mounted to the wall. Cells don’t work out here, so I have a landline. I only need a few seconds when he isn’t watching me.
My heart drops when Christian’s head snaps in the direction I’m looking. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
With a scoff, he strides over there, disconnects it and rips the plug from the cord, dropping it to the floor. His eyes are pitch black as he turns to me and holds out his hand.
“Cell.”
I lick my lips, out of breath. “I don’t have one.” The lie comes so fast I didn’t even think it over.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
I shake my head. “Honest.”
He tightens his lips into a thin line as he presses the other hand to his wound, grimacing. “I’m not in the fucking mood. Give it to me, or I’ll tear this place to pieces, Ker.”
Tears well up in my eyes as I limp to the front door, my ankle pounding with pain, looking for my jacket. Then I remember it’s outside. I dropped it before I climbed in. I glance out the window, rain smatters against it.
“It’s… It’s in my jacket. Out there.”
He follows my gaze, strides through the room and pushes open the door. The wind tears through his long dark tresses, whipping them across his face. He forces the door shut again. “Well fuck it. That solves that, then. Got a computer? Any other means of communicating with the outside world?”
I glance at him warily as I, with a hand on the wall for support, get back to the table. “I have a laptop, but it doesn’t have Wi-Fi. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Nothing works out here.”
Russo Saga Collection Page 81
