by Roxie Rivera
His other hand had wrapped around my throat, increasing the pressure that was choking the life out of me. Feeling woozy and terrified to pass out, I marshalled the last of my energy and kicked the old bastard hard, right in the shin. His grip faltered as he cursed nastily at me, and I inhaled a deep, shaky breath before slamming my knee into his stomach as he bent forward in pain.
Strong hands gripped my shoulders, spinning me around with so much force that I practically flew through the air before slamming into the dirty concrete floor. My knees hit first, jarring my skull, before I flopped forward and smacked my chin. Dazed and bloodied now, I gasped for air and tried to stay conscious. My vision blurred, and I couldn’t make sense of what was up or down. I clamped my eyes shut for a moment and fought the urge to vomit or pass out.
The old man snarled angrily. A moment later, the guard manhandled me off the floor and all but dragged me away. I managed to get my feet under me and stumbled forward, staying upright and close to him. I tried to fight with my captor, swinging my elbows and clawing at his arms, but he was so much taller and bigger. When I managed to strike his face, tearing into his cheek and neck with my fingernails, he shouted furiously and slapped me so hard I fell backward onto my ass.
Reaching down, he squeezed my forearms so tightly that I cried out in pain, his fingers burning and bruising my skin as he twisted my arms away from my body and lifted me to my feet again. Grabbing my wrists in one huge hand, he pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced me to look up at him. “I’m going to make you watch while my men fuck your friends. When they’re done, you’re going to get on your knees and lick every last man clean. Then? Your holes are mine.”
Horrified by his threats, I didn’t fight him as he dragged me to the room-turned-cell. He gripped the back of my neck, his fingers tangled in my hair and tugging at my scalp, while he unlocked the door. He pushed me forward into the room, and I hurried to get away from him and ran straight into Lana’s arms.
At the same moment I realized Savannah was missing, he seemed to realize it as well. He stomped into the room, striding toward Lana to question her. I didn’t even see Savannah until she had already struck. Using all her might and the years of charity softball games she had under her belt, she slammed a piece of metal into the back of his head, stunning him. She didn’t hesitate before swinging again, this time cracking the side of his skull.
Blood sprayed everywhere as his scalp burst open. Lana and I both flinched at the sickening crunch of metal hitting bone. As he fell forward, Savannah swung again, hitting him between his shoulders to make sure he was going down. Terrified another guard had heard the fracas, I scrambled to the door, closing it quietly and pushing my back against it, desperate to keep it shut. Lana ripped off her dirty socks and shoved them in the guard’s mouth, silencing the groaning sound he was making.
“Here.” Savannah had taken off her shapewear, slipping it down her legs and out from under her skirt. “Tie his hands with this.” She went for his bootlaces next, ripping them out quickly and using them to secure his ankles so he wouldn’t be able to stand or walk.
“Help us,” Savannah whispered hurriedly as she gestured for me to come closer.
Together, the three of us dragged and pushed the guard to the corner of the room. We rifled through his pockets, taking his phone, the Mexican pesos and American dollars in his wallet and the knife from his boot sheath.
“I thought he’d have a gun,” Savannah admitted glumly. “We could have used a gun.”
“We have a knife,” I said encouragingly. “And you’ve got that.”
She lifted the metal hunk that I finally recognized as a leg from the bench. “It’s better than nothing.”
“We really have to get out of here. Like now,” I said, thinking of the guard’s threats to rape us and the demented old man who had tried to strangle me. “The man who kidnapped us is a certifiable nutcase. And he’s sick.”
“Sick?” Savannah repeated. “What do you mean?”
“He was coughing. Like coughing up blood.” I gestured to my face and shirt, both speckled with his spittle. “He’s all thin and stooped, and I think he might have broken out of a prison or a mental hospital in Russia.”
“Tuberculosis?” Lana suggested nervously. “It’s common back home, especially in places like prisons.”
“Oh, that’s fucking great,” Savannah grumbled. “I’m leaving here with tetanus,” she showed her cut hands and the rusty piece of metal, “and you’re leaving with TB.” Shaking her head, she said, “Well, come on, huckleberries, let’s get out of here.”
“What is huckleberries?” Lana asked with confusion.
“It’s a movie thing,” I said, grabbing her hand and dragging her behind me. “Tombstone. Doc Holliday has tuberculosis. We’ll watch it when we get home.”
“Do you think you can lead us out of here?” Savannah asked as she pried open the door a few inches and looked into the dimly lit hallway.
“It’s like a maze out there, but I know which way we absolutely don’t want to go.”
“That’s better than nothing, I guess,” she murmured before stepping out into the hallway.
Following her, I motioned to the right, indicating we needed to go that way first. Behind me, Lana locked the door of the room where we’d been held so it would look as if we were still secured in there. Quietly but quickly, we moved down the hallway single file, pausing at corners and holding our collective breaths before picking a new direction.
Startled by the unexpected sound of gunfire, the three of us froze. We exchanged terrified glances and moved closer together, squeezing against a wall and sliding down lower as if to make ourselves smaller targets.
“Should we go or stay?” Savannah asked, her courage faltering the same time as mine.
“Go,” Lana said forcefully. “We go. Now. Or we die.”
Knowing she was correct, I stood up first and peeked around the corner closest to us. Listening to the gunfire, it seemed to be coming from far behind us, in the main area of the warehouse where I’d been shown the photos of my mother and Maksim and Kira. It seemed safest to keep moving forward so I tugged Lana behind me and ran.
When we reached the end of another hallway, Savannah inched forward and took the lead. She peered around the corner and snapped back quickly. She reached back and pushed me against the wall. I did the same to Lana. Savannah lifted the hunk of metal high in the air and prepared to smack the living shit out of someone.
“Fuck!” A man swore loudly as he blocked the metal bench leg with his forearm. Dark eyes narrowing and mouth slanted with irritation, he snatched it out of Savannah’s hands and lowered the menacing barrel of the HK416. “Watch out, Slugger Barbie. I’m here to save you.”
“Like shit you are,” Savannah snapped back, not trusting him anymore than I did. “You probably work for these assholes who kidnapped us.”
“Baby, if I was going to steal you and tie you up, it would be to keep you in my bed.”
“Fuck off,” she snarled as he looked her up and down.
His hard face softened with amusement. As more gunshots erupted, his playful expression turned serious. “I’m Gabe Reyes. I’m here to get you three to safety while Kostya creates a diversion. So, you can either come with me right now, or try to find your way out on your own.”
The three of us exchanged nervous glances. I recognized his weapon as one used by American forces. My mother and I had shot one together at a women’s shooting club so I was aware of its history and use. Back in the warehouse with the crazy old man, I had seen Russian rifles and guns, mostly AKs and cheap knockoffs like WASR-10s.
“We go with him,” I decided. We didn’t have any other choice. If he worked for the kidnappers, he would shoot us if we tried to escape him.
“Come on.” He put down the piece of metal and turned back the way he’d come. With the measured movements of a military man, he led us down one hallway and then another. We stayed close together, afraid
to get separated or left behind. He kept his weapon raised, ready to fire. We could only hope that he was aiming for our enemies.
He raised his closed fist to signal us to stop. We had reached a T intersection of hallways with an exit door straight ahead. Huddled together, we watched him clear the perpendicular hallway before opening the exit just a crack. The early morning sunlight filtered into the dark space, and the clean scent of fresh air filled the dank hall.
With his foot holding the door, he stood with his weapon raised to his shoulder, ready to fire as his head pivoted side to side in a search for trouble. “Go.”
Savannah ran out first. I pushed Lana after her and brought up the rear. When we were outside the building, he shut the door carefully with his foot, not letting it slam or make any noise. He took the lead again, pushing by Savannah before reaching back to grab her hand and tug her along behind him. She reached back for Lana and Lana for me.
By now, my heart was beating so hard that the pounding pulse in my ears drowned out everything around us. I was only vaguely aware of the nonstop gunfire erupting in the abandoned warehouse. My legs were shaky, and my fingers trembled as the adrenaline spike overwhelmed me. Lana’s hand was just as wobbly in mine, her fingers jittery and cold.
Relief overwhelmed me when I finally spotted Kostya. He was using the door of an SUV as cover while he rapidly fired into the warehouse. The black bulletproof vest over his tight gray t-shirt washed away the terror I felt at seeing him so exposed and at risk. Unable to look away from him, I didn’t even hear Gabe’s instructions to Savannah and Lana. Instead, I followed without blinking, my gaze fixed on Kostya.
I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of my mother. She was on the other side of the SUV, firing just as rapidly as Kostya. She lowered her rifle, letting the shoulder strap hold it in place, and reached for another weapon inside the vehicle. When she lifted the massive weapon with such ease and comfort, I realized that everything I had been told in the warehouse was true. My mother wasn’t my biological mother. She was my aunt, and she was a Russian spy.
The huge barreled weapon fired with a loud thunk, shooting a projectile into the warehouse. Before it even landed, she fired twice more, sending fat rounds into the windows. A trio of explosions sent me to the ground. I fell on top of Lana, shielding her with my body and covering her face and neck as the burst of heat and smoke flared out of the building.
The metal walls screeched as they tumbled down, and the warehouse belched flames high into the sky. I heard men shouting and then more firing as they raced out of the engulfed building. Inside the warehouse, the contents of those crates started to catch fire and detonate. Each new explosion shuddered through my body, jarring my head and punching my stomach.
“Get up!” Kostya’s voice was right in my ear as he lifted me off the ground and gathered me close. “We have to go. Now!”
Sunny had taken Lana in hand, dragging her along toward the idling SUV. Gabe had already hustled Savannah to an open door and was forcing her inside.
“Holly!” Kostya shouted again, shaking me from my stupor. “We have to go!”
I touched his face, my hand on his jaw, and gazed up at him. In that moment, all I could think about was the horrible, terrible truth between us. Kira. My mother-slash-aunt. My father. His parents. All of these people who were supposed to love and protect us had ruined everything before we had even met.
“Kostya,” I said with a sob. “My mom—”
“I know,” he whispered hurriedly, gathering me close. “I know all about it.”
I slumped against him, desperate for his heat and his security. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“No,” he said, kissing my temple. “No apologies. You’re safe. You’re coming home. That’s all that matters.”
Staring up at him through my teary gaze, I lifted on tiptoes to kiss him. His hand cupped the back of my head as he crushed his mouth to mine. I gripped the straps of his vest, holding on for dear life and not ever wanting to let him go.
And then Kostya jerked. Once. Twice. Two more times.
His hold on me faltered just I became aware of a strange spreading pain in my side. He pulled back, his expression slack with shock. I felt it then—the bloody wetness on my skin.
Glancing down, I watched the red stains soaking through his shirt and mine. It didn’t make sense at first. He was wearing a vest—but he was standing sideways, giving just enough of an opening for a handful of bullets to tear through him. Two had blasted out the other side and gone right through me.
We both staggered together, him a few steps back and me two steps forward. We were like drunken dancers, each holding on to the other for balance. He fell first, flat on his back, and I dropped down next to him. He was breathing hard, sucking air in frighteningly shallow gasps. Blood was pouring out of him now, soaking into the grass and dirt around us.
“Go!” He pushed at me, roughly and weakly. “Go, Holly.”
“I’m not leaving you!” Ignoring my own wounds, I pushed on the bullet holes I could reach, shoving down hard to put pressure on him. “You’ll be fine. We’ll get you to a hospital.”
A bullet whizzed by me, snapping as it hit the ground. I flattened myself on top of Kostya, desperate to guard him from any more injuries, and glanced toward the warehouse. The old man—that crazy son-of-a-bitch—limped out of the burning warehouse, coughing up blood as he raised his shaking arm to fire again.
But not at me or Kostya. His focus was fixed behind us. I glanced back and saw my mother rushing to help us. He fired a shot that barely missed her, and I realized she’d left her weapons at the SUV. That psycho was going to kill my mother and the man I loved unless I did something.
The hard dig of Kostya’s sidearm bit into my thigh. I pulled it from the hip holster, flicked off the safety, and did what I had done thousands of times at the gun range with my mother. I controlled my breathing. I aimed for center mass. I squeezed the trigger.
My first shot hit him square in the chest. My second and third hit just below that. The fourth shot caught him in the cheek as he fell forward. Blood sprayed as he dropped forward onto his face, unmoving and still. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone else ever again.
Hands trembling, I switched on the safety and set the gun aside. My whole attention was on Kostya now. His lips were pale. His eyes were wide with shock. A clammy slick of sweat coated his skin. He’s dying.
“We have to move him,” my mother said as she knelt down and picked up the weapon. After tucking it into her waistband, she touched my bleeding stomach. “You’re hurt!”
“He’s hurt worse.” I shook off her hand and moved to his head. I slid my hands under his shoulders, and she moved to grab his legs. Pain tore through my stomach as I hefted him off the ground, but I ignored it, desperate to save the man I loved.
Sunny appeared suddenly and helped us carry him back to the SUV. Savannah and Lana had put the seats down, making a large space in the cargo area.
While we loaded Kostya into the back of the SUV, Savannah scrambled into the passenger seat to make more room for us. Sunny closed the rear door and started digging around in some black bags for medical supplies. I slumped down next to Kostya, my own wounds starting to make me dizzy.
“How much cash do you have?” Gabe asked from the driver’s seat as he aggressively gunned the engine and left the burning warehouse behind us.
“Enough,” my mother answered, jerking off her own bullet proof vest before tugging off Kostya’s. “Go to the closest hospital with an emergency room. We’ll move him to a private hospital once he’s stabilized.”
Kostya’s cold hand closed around mine, but his grip was so weak I had to thread our fingers together. I leaned down, ignoring the pain in my abdomen and touched my forehead to his. He tried to lift his other hand to touch my face, but his arm shook and fell back to the floor. My mother and Sunny began to treat his injuries, slapping bandages on him and injecting him with pre-filled syringes.
“Look at
me,” he ordered forcefully. When I met his determined stare, he said, “Nothing that happened before we met matters. None of it.” He smiled up at me and whispered, “I love you, Holly.”
“I love you.” I kissed him tenderly, wishing I could give him my strength. “I love you so much.”
His gentle smile slackened, and his eyelids fluttered together. His hand relaxed completely and slipped from mine. It took me a second to realize that something was wrong. “He’s not breathing!”
“What?” My mother moved toward his chest and checked his pulse. “Holly, do you remember your CPR class?”
I recertified every year for the salon. Without a second thought, I jumped into action with my mother. She planted her hands on his sternum and began to push hard, pumping blood through his body in place of his weakened heart. When she paused, I lifted his chin, pressed my mouth to his and delivered rescue breaths that forced his chest to rise.
Back and forth, we pumped blood and breathed for him. Sunny kept pressure on his wounds, but the blood kept pouring out of him, seeping into the upholstery and our clothing. Gabe and Sunny shouted back and forth. He drove fast but controlled, keeping the SUV safely on the road without swerving or flinging us around despite the high speed.
After another round of rescue breaths, I lifted my head and felt unbearably woozy. My body listed to the side, and my mother yell my name. Lana caught me, guiding me down onto the folded seat. She spoke to my mother in Russian, her voice calm and steady. A few seconds later, she was pressing a bandage into my side.
My eyesight began to fade out, growing fuzzy on the edges. I stared at Kostya’s motionless body, his arms jerking with each push of my mother’s hands and his chest rising with Sunny’s shared breaths.