Rebel

Tyler tumbles into my room and hauls me out of the bed.

“Mike’s found her,” he rumbles.

“What?”

“Mike found her half an hour ago. She’s alright.”

My knees bend and Tyler grips my arm to steady me.

Then everything is blurry until I walk into a hospital room and see her on a hospital bed. She’s asleep. There’s a heart monitor behind the headboard. To her right is a hanger with two bags of clear fluid—a lightweight tube is attached to the cannula in her arm.

Tyler keeps talking to me. Nurses talk to me. Doctors talk to me. My dad talks to me. Ashley comes, accompanied by two Feds, but my dad deals with them. The others come.

But, I can focus only on Star’s greyish bruised face.

The bastard chopped off her two fingers, but the doctors say he didn’t rape her. She’s very dehydrated and needs antibiotics. Ten hours later, the doctors say the sick fuck didn’t infect her with any blood borne disease either.

Star

He wakes me with his hot kisses. I see tears in his eyes.

“Star,” he rasps.

“I didn’t let him hurt me, Rebel.” It comes out in a screech.

He weeps for a moment as his hand covers his eyes and his head drops. His body shakes.

“I’m fine,” I say.

His glassy eyes fix on mine. “I can’t live without you.”

There’s such raw emotion in his voice that pain squeezes my heart. I feel the urge to comfort him.

“I know,” I say. “That’s why I knew I had to escape. If I hadn’t, you’d have been very sad. Everything’s fine.”

He is still sad. A flutter goes through my chest.

“You don’t like my hands, Rebel?”

“No, Star, I love your little hands, fingers or not.”

I chuckle. “So why are you so sad?”

“I’m just happy to have you back.”

“So smile for me.”

He smiles then kisses my lips. His tears moisten my cheeks.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he moves it closer to the bed and lays his head next to mine. His hand travels to mine and he closes his fingers around my wrist.

“We’ll have a wedding in Catholic church,” he says. “You’ll have this big white dress.” He kisses my temple. “Our kids will have Christening.”

“Okay.”

“And we’ll pray every night.”

“I don’t know any prayers.”

“I just learned ‘Our Father’. It’s easy. I’ll teach you.”

“Okay.”

Rebel

Joy and pain mix in my chest as my urge to revenge her drifts from me and to me. Soon, I’ll have the sick fuck tied with a rope. I’ll make him suffer.

“He sang to me,” Star says.

“What?” I feel like a hammer has struck me on the head.

Star takes a convulsive breath. “He sang—

—Sally the stripper Sally the stripper

She never came back

I’ll chop off her fingers

When I have her back

I’ll chop off her toes

When I have her back

I’ll make her blind

When I have her back—

Or something like this, Rebel.” Her eyes wander off somewhere far from here.

Dread surges through me.

It can’t be. But it is. I killed one bitch called Sally the stripper. I killed her to save Daisy.

“Star, baby…”

“We will never talk about him again, Rebel. Ever.”

“As you wish, my little bird.”

“Can we kiss as previously?”

I nod and kiss her forehead, her cheeks then her lips. My mouth moves down her neck. Then I kiss her hand wrapped in white bandage.

“Some people have no legs so I can consider myself very lucky to have two legs.” She beams at me.

Tears blind me. “You’re so fucking wise, Star.”

“You think I’m wise?”

“Damn very wise.” I nod. “And beautiful. The most beautiful woman on the face of the earth.” I kiss her head. “Rest. I’ll pop in tomorrow morning and the day after tomorrow they’re gonna get rid of you.”

“See you.”

“See you.”

I walk out of the hospital, jump onto my bike and roar to Chaviva. I go straight to Luka’s office. His eyebrows raise a notch as I stride towards him, grab his throat, and punch him in the face.

“It was one of you, you fucking mobsters,” I rasp.

“Are you fucked up or what?” Luka tears himself away from my grip as his chair bangs against the wooden floor and blood dribbles from his nose.

“He took my wife from me and chopped her two fingers off.” I sweep my arm, but he dodges my punch.

“What?”

“He told Star… told her… Sally the stripper… Rings a bell?” I sweep my arm and my fist slams into the side of his chest.

“What?” He bends forward, guarding himself.

My nails dig into my palms. “This is not a coincidence.” I bring my fists up to my chest. “It’s one of yours.” An urge of murder boils inside me. “Fucking mob.”

“Wait, brother, wait.” Luka straightens and grabs his head in both his hands. Something about the tone of his voice stops me before I deliver another punch. “He was here.” He nods to himself. “His father, Utkin, trained Sally.” He shakes his head as though he wants to shake off a nightmare. “Utkin’s not one of ours. We sometimes hire his men, that’s all. Utkin’s son, Foka, is a weak scumbag. He delivers money to Chaviva.” He shakes his head again. “You think…”

“I know.” I push him violently, but he doesn’t push back. “You and your fucking shit is still killing people.”

“I had nothing to do with that shit.”

“Yegor and Dimitri—“

“I’m not Yegor. Or Dimitri.”

I push him again. “You’re one of them.”

“And so are you.”

Rage fills me and poisons me. I see Dimitri and Yegor dead in my mind.

“It was,” Luka says. “You and I can’t change the past. But I want to change the future. Those two old gits will die soon and all the shit must die with them. You hear me, brother? I’m on your side. Always. We’ll make the things right.” He sounds solemn. Honest.

“The scumbag who hurt my wife must suffer.”

Luka’s jaw muscles twitch. “I promise you, brother, he will pay.”

I know he’s Bratva. He’ll keep his promise. He’s an honourable thief, after all.