32
I dash over to James’ cell with the keys jingling in my pocket, pulling them out in a panic to set him free. He’s hooked a tiny lantern on the bars, so I’m able to see what I’m doing as I jab keys one by one into the lock.
“I didn’t think Charlie would ever let me see you again,” James says in Russian, his deeper notes thick and hoarse. “I’ve asked—I’ve begged—but he always insisted it was not going to happen. That pizda has some answering to do!”
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” I say in a blank state, occupied by still checking the keys. “Just don’t worry about Charlie.”
“Just don’t worry about him?” James is aghast, reeling with hatred for my lover. “That mudak has had me locked up for over a week! That mudak wouldn’t even entertain the idea of me seeing you! He’s a jealous jerk! He’s twisted, just like Maksim! Look at where he’s holding me, Blaire!”
My attention strays past James at the cell he’s residing in—a big cell with heavy, dark drapes hanging on the walls. The toilet is sectioned off by a blacked-out roller blind. The double bed in the heart of the space is dressed in clean, red sheets and big, fluffy pillows. A side table, with a low burning lamp, houses a whole stack of books. There’s even a thick carpet in there, with James’ tanned boots sinking into the softness.
This is confusing. Why would Charlie hold James prisoner with luxuries if he wants him dead?
“Blaire? Are you listening to me?”
When my brother says my name, I look up at him, at the haunting blueness in his wide, elongated eyes. He appears well—which surprises me even more, given he should still be withdrawing. His oval face is sharp and defined, the pallor of his skin glowing against the orange lantern. His dark red hair looks almost chestnut in this light, a scraggly mop framing his hard features, hanging on his shoulders.
My chest feels tighter with every second passing between us, as it’s like seeing him for the first time as my brother. Not just my teammate, or my friend, or my opponent.
My brother.
My brother who I am unexpectedly angry at.
I coil my lips, and his expression drops.
Yes, I am fucking angry at him. He’s caused so much trouble. Because of him, I’ve slaughtered half of Charlie’s crew. Because of him, Charlie might struggle to forgive me.
“Ty prishla,” James says, you came, I think to break our awkward ice. “I knew you would the moment you discovered I’m here. I’m sorry for rambling on about that Los Zetas meathead. I’m just...I’m so glad to see you, Blaire. Look at you”—he visually takes me in from head to toe, turning up his thin lips in a heartfelt smile—“you look amazing. Healthy. I’ve never seen you carry this much weight before.”
“You can’t only hate Charlie because he refused to let you see me,” I say with purpose, tipping my head to study his reaction.
His eyebrows wrinkle, evidence of his bafflement. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he wants to kill you, doesn’t he?” I ask, lifting my shoulders in a shrug. I’m surprised by how frail my voice sounds, but I’m suddenly nervous. If James says yes—if he confirms what Luna said—what’s going to happen between Charlie and I? Will it be over? Can I forgive that level of treachery?
Silence submerges the cell’s, making my chest drum at a million miles per hour. I hold eye contact with James, trying to be brave and strong, but I am not brave and strong right now. I’m mentally begging a higher power that I’m certain doesn’t exist, please say no. Please say no. Please, let Luna be wrong.
I can’t bear the alternative.
“Yes, he does plan on killing me,” James confesses, and it knocks the air right out of me. “He told me earlier today. He’s coming back soon! You-you need to get me out, Blaire. We need to leave!”
I buckle to my knees, the sudden ache in my heart and the recurring cramps in my stomach becoming unbearably crippling. It’s emotional pain physically personified, to know I exposed my soul to Charlie—I let him in—and he’s betrayed me. I told him all James had done in aid of sparing me of sexual abuse. I told him why it’s important to keep my brother safe. He said he understood. He promised to give James a better life, and I believed him.
Like the idiot I am, I fucking believed him.
I groan to squeeze out the pain, clutching at my stomach. I press one hand in to the floor, balancing myself on my knees.
Panicked yells echo in the distance, James desperate to know what is happening to me. “Talk to me! Tell me what’s wrong!”
Block it out. Block it out. I shut my eyes, willing my emotions away. Just block it out.
I shakily stand, fumbling to shove the keys in the lock again, searching for the one that’ll let him out.
“Blaire, what is wrong with you?” James yanks at the cell door, causing deafening clangs to resonate up the stairwell. “Will you say something? What is wrong, dammit?”
My life was perfect before you ruined it. That’s what is wrong.
I can’t speak. Can’t think. I’m too angry and wired and...broken. He betrayed my trust. I don’t know why it only now hits me, but knowing he was going to kill James and knowing he betrayed my trust is agony.
James’ knobbly fingers touch mine where I’m handling the keys, but I pull away—though not before I notice his skin is warm. I scowl at him, at his lanky body clad in clothes: a heavy, beige sweater and baggy sweatpants over tanned boots. Charlie’s boots.
“You’re warm,” I say, glowering harder now.
James breathes out in relief at my response, gesturing at a small oil burner in the corner. It’s smoking, filling the air with heat. I can feel the heat now, lingering on the coldness of my lips.
“Charlie set up the heater when he brought me here earlier tonight; said a cold, rainy night was forecast.” James bends at the knees to meet me at eye level, observing me. “Are you okay? You looked like you were in pain.”
“Where were you before tonight?”
A scowl lays thick across his unnaturally dark eyebrows. “What does that matter?”
What does that matter?
Hackles itch the nape of my neck.
“Tell me where you were,” I speak through gritted teeth, stepping up to his cell so we’re mere inches apart. That’s when I catch a sniff of his scent: fresh soap and fabric softener.
So, he’s warm, comfortable, and clean.
“I won’t ask you three times, James,” I warn, my gut instinct yelling at me that something is very wrong. “Tell me where you were before tonight, right fucking now.”
“I-I was in some kind of hotel,” he stutters, holding my ominous stare. “I-I don’t know where it was.”
“Charlie kept you in a hotel?” I question, while my brain collectively stores the information, to weigh up facts. “Did he provide you with a medical team to help you?”
His eyes widen, but he nods.
“So, you were hooked on heroin then?”
He glances away, sinking into his shoulders with shame—but I feel no remorse. All I feel is rising anger, as I’m almost positive he and Luna have lied to me. It’s in the way he’s acting. He can’t look me in the eye or give me a straight answer to anything. And now that I come to think about it, he paused when I asked if he thought Charlie planned on killing him.
Luna couldn’t look me in the eye when she told me, either.
I assess James’ cell once more, again wondering why Charlie would fix him up with amenities like heaters, bedsheets, and warm clothes...why would Charlie put James up in a hotel and pay a medical team to help him recover, if he wants him dead?
“If you’ve lied to me about Charlie’s agenda,” I warn in icy Russian, lifting an accusing finger, “I will never, EVER, forgive you, James.”
He blinks a thousand times, frozen with panic.
“James...” I prompt, and he cracks.
“Please don’t hate me, Blaire! I-I couldn’t bear it!”
My face lights up, stunned, while anger explodes inside my body like an erupting volcano.
“You should have thought about me hating you prior to stealing my happiness!” I scream before I can stop myself, making him recoil in reaction. I’m suddenly so fucking angry, realizing and accepting this is all his fault. He took me from Charlie when I didn’t want to go. He got me kidnapped by money-hungry, drug-crazy Arabs who sold me to an enemy.
Fuck. I killed Charlie’s men to save him when he didn’t even need saving.
I can’t hold back my madness. It bubbles and boils while I spill over shouting that it’s all his fault, emphasizing the hell I endured while dosed up on drugs and withdrawing. “I was alone for two weeks rotting in my own puke and filth, paranoid that no one was coming for me!”
“What?” he gasps. “No...no! Charlie didn’t tell me they’d hooked you on drugs, too? He-he always insisted you were healthy and happy. He-he told me—”
“Maybe he didn’t tell you to spare you of the guilt!” I carry on screaming, barely hearing a word he says as he tries to plead his case. “You screwed it all up! I was happy with Charlie! I wanted to go back to him after Maksim! Tatiana said I could stay with him! You texted and told me to stay if I could!”
“I’m sorry!” he sobs, reaching out to me. “Please, Blaire, you must be quiet before someone hears!”
“Screw being quiet!” I screech so hard the vein in my forehead pops out. “He loves me for me! He doesn’t want to use me or hurt me! He came for me when I needed him! He went against the Russians, for me! He hunted Robert, for me! And he was searching for you, too, to fucking save you, you pizda!” I kick the cell bars, knocking him back a step on instinct. “You nearly got me killed! You stole me when I still needed medical attention! And I murdered his men to save you when you don’t need saving...! Fuck—fuck! Why did you do this?!” My final words come out so loud my ears pop, ringing through my skull.
James collapses with apologies, but they turn my anger into a crazy need for death and blood—his death and his blood. I watch on the outside as I tear at him, face squashed against the bars as I reach through to grab, scratch, and yank at his clothes. “I fucking hate you for what you’ve done! You had the power to let me be happy, and you abused it for your own selfishness!” My nails form bloody, red streaks down his cheeks and neck, but he doesn’t stop me from attacking. So I keep going at him, insane on rage. It’s only when a severe cramp rips through my stomach that my psychosis breaks, and I have to wrench my head aside to puke on the floor. It comes up in a thick lump, making my eyes swell to get it out.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” James asks, dropping to his knees to see my face. “Is your stomach hurting? Why are you sick?”
I shake my head because I can’t speak through the vomit, gulping back more heaves.
“Blaire, will you say something?” He stretches through the bars, trying to reach for me, to smooth my hair back. “You’ve never been ill like this before.”
He’s right. I have never been this physically ill without reason—but there is a reason. I think this is my emotional agony epitomized. The mere thought of being without Charlie actually makes me ill. If James has his way, this is what I will exist of. If James has his way, I’ll suffocate in the miserable loneliness of missing Charlie.
I can’t allow that to happen. I won’t!
I lift a hand to point at the keys still jammed in the lock, performing my obligation. I have to help James to freedom, no matter what he has done. I owe him. But this is where we end. I want to be with Charlie. I deserve to be with him. Ten years of agony and abuse says I deserve him.
“You need to go,” I say, wiping my mouth with my inner wrist, “or you won’t get away.”
“What?” James’ face empties of color. “I don’t care about that right now.” His hand brushes my cheek, making me cringe. “Why are you sick, Blaire?”
“Head east to Dover,” I speak over him, ignoring his concerns. “Tatiana’s men will pick you up from the port. But I’d advise that you form another plan, if you can, since I’ll have to bargain your freedom from her,” I scoff her, glaring at him from under my eyebrows. “That is the cost of everything, isn’t it, James? Everyone wants something from me. Even you.”
“Huh? No!” he shouts in distress. “I don’t want anything from you, Blaire. I just want you!”
Huffing at him, I struggle to my feet. Pain will not conquer me tonight. Nothing will conquer me tonight. I need to get back to Charlie.
“Wait...what? I, need to go?” James asks, catching up to what I’ve said. He meets me on my feet, knuckles turning white in his grip on the cell bars. “Aren’t you coming with me? I mean, except for being angry at me for lying, are-are you okay? Are we okay?”
I shrug, unsure of what else to tell him—I can’t even look at him. I was better than okay. My health is at one-hundred percent and before tonight, I was happy.
Then I murdered Charlie’s men... Fuck. He’s going to hate me.
“Blaire, don’t do this. It’s me. James.” He lets go of the bars and presses his hands together in a desperate act of prayer. “We’ve always been together. Us against the world. You know that.”
“Us?” I glower at him with revulsion. “Stop talking like there is an us. There is not and never will be an us, James.” I jab a finger at my heart, to articulate my feelings. “I love Charlie.”
My brother’s face...I swear he could puke. He scrambles to snatch the keys out of the lock, but I rip his hands away and yank them out first. I step back, watching him with extra attention.
“Blaire,” he says my name in a nervous tone, “let me out, now. Calm down before you do something you know you will regret—like you always do when you get mad—and let me out.”
I shake my head.
“Yes, Blaire. Whatever our issues are, we can sort them. But if you don’t let me out, then I’ll be stuck here.”
“I will let you out, but only once you agree to leave and stay away.”
“Leave? I am not going to leave without you!” he yells, snatching through the bars at me. “You need me. You know you do! Give me the damn keys, Blaire!”
“I don’t need you,” I say, cuddling my middle. “You might not believe me, but it hasn’t even been a struggle to move on from Maksim, and do you know why?”
His eyes beat with fear, flashing like fire as I confess, “Because I love Charlie.” Every nerve ending in my body prickles when I say it again, and it’s such a relief. I never knew saying something could be such a huge fucking relief. “All along, I wondered how I broke Maksim’s conditioning so easily, but it wasn’t easy. It was love, and it was so, so hard.”
My brother’s quivering lips curl against his teeth as he spits, “You don’t know what love is, you ridiculous girl!”
I scoff at his mockery, stating that he sounds just like Maksim, and he retches.
“I know love doesn’t hit you or bruise and scar your skin,” I say, motioning at my mutilated back. “I know love doesn’t rape you. I know love doesn’t lie out of selfishness. Love is being there in one’s hour of need, no matter what. No matter how dark or sinister.”
“Blaire”—his entire face screws with warning—“don’t...”
I shake my head to stop him from speaking, eyebrows drooped in sudden sadness. “I love Charlie, and he loves me. He tells me, and he shows me every day.”
James whacks the bars, his revulsion of Charlie rushing to the surface. “He doesn’t love you—no one does! They all see value in you, that’s all! Charlie will have you working like a dog, just like Maksim did! He will rape you when you say no! He will hit you because that is who he is! You just wait and see!”
“No,” I whisper. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m wrong, yes? Well, why don’t you ask around about him, you stupid suka! I’ve heard the stories about him—I know he’s a monster! He ordered his ex-girlfriend’s jaw to be broken! I saw her at Maksim’s house, the bloody, beaten state she was in after she confronted you—”
I shake my head again, slower this time, and take a few paces back. “Say what you like. I’m staying with Charlie. And we’re done, James.”
“No,” he gasps, and his mouth clenches with loss of control. “We will never be done! I will never stop until you’re mine! I deserve you! Maksim is gone, so you’re rightfully mine or Tatiana’s!”
“I am not a toy to be passed around,” I say, keeping my voice calm and collected. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want him to understand. “I’m a person, and I have the right to choose. Charlie gave me a choice, and I choose him.”
“No, you fucking do not choose him!” He punches the cell, shattering in a senseless craze. “You can’t! I won’t fucking let you!”
I talk over his mad yelling, telling him I will iron things out with Charlie to ensure that he doesn’t go after him. “I’ll always safeguard your life because—regardless of all that’s happened between us, even after all you’ve done—I do care.”
“I am not scared of Decena!” His face burns with red rage, the veins in his fisted hands pulsing. “The only fucking reason I’ve been passive this past week is because I knew he would lead me to you! I’ll kill that pizda!”
Ignoring him still, I continue saying my goodbye. I insist that if he ever needs my help, if he’s ever in trouble, he can contact me on my online profile. “I will always be there for you as you were always there for me, but only if you’re in danger.”
“What does that even mean, Blaire?”
“Stay away from me,” I point at the space between us, “and stay away from Charlie.”
“No!” he roars. “No, I won’t fucking let you walk away! I love you, Blaire!”
“I don’t love you,” I say, unwelcomed tears dripping down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” It hurts to crush him like this, as I know all too well that when his anger wears off, all he’ll feel is empty dread. But I can’t lie. I won’t lie. I try to carry on, croaking that I will hold off the Los Zetas for one hour. Then I toss the keys in his cell, making them hit the wall and bounce onto his bed. “Don’t dally as it will only result in your recapture, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to get you out next time.”
“Iisus Khristos, Blaire, don’t...” he chokes on a sob, dropping to his knees in a state of defeat, “please, don’t do this to us. I’m fucking begging you,” he grips the bars, imploring, “Don’t walk away. Without you, I have no one. What will I do?”
I cannot look at his face. I cannot see the tears of heartbreak swimming in his eyes; so much fucking pain. So I pivot away, and whisper a tragic, “You will do what I did, James. You will figure it out as you go.”