My hands are shaking; sweat drips from my brow, and my fingers slip against the silver handle of the dagger. I try to keep the pressure on, but the blood is gushing now. I manage to work my t-shirt over my head and scrunch it into a ball, pressing against the deep, life-draining wound Atticus inflicted. I can’t believe he did that.
“Logan, I’m so sorry.” With my free hand, I pull the gag loose and try to unknot his restraints, but it’s impossible with the one free, yet useless hand that won’t stop trembling. The knots are too damn tight. I need a knife. I’m well aware of the irony. I have a perfectly good knife in my hand, but if I remove it, Logan will die much quicker than he is already.
“Please don’t die, please don’t die.” My head drops and tears drench my cheeks as I whisper my plea to a God I struggled to believe in. Now’s your chance.
“You gave him the money. You shouldn’t have given him shit.” Logan growls, raising his head and my hopes. I thought he was unconscious, with his massive frame slumped limp in the chair, his chest barely moving with shallow breaths, and the only colour left clinging to his skin is the blood, slick, thick and glossy, pouring from what I thought was his lifeless body. I could squeal with joy and would if he didn’t look so deathly pale. I mouth a silent thank you.
“I couldn’t let him hurt you.” My words falter at my ridiculous reasoning given the situation we’re in.
“Thank you.” He cracks a weirdly wide smile that makes my heart ache. “But you shouldn’t have given him the money. He was always going to kill me.”
“No…no, I don’t think that’s true. He—” I shake my head when Logan strains to speak. Tears cloud my vision. My heart is breaking. I can’t believe Atticus meant to kill Logan. I saw the way he played the room, staged the props. This was an elaborate game to him, but I don’t believe his objective was murder.
His goal was to retrieve his money, take the diamonds, and get out.
If he wanted Logan dead why not slit his throat? I’m not being naïve. I know he’s capable of murder, I just don’t believe that was his intent, not today at least.
“He loves you and you love me. Tia, trust me, the bastard wants me dead.” He groans, his face contorted with unbearable pain. I’m not going to argue that Atticus gave me his phone so I could get help. Frankly, that’s going to be irrelevant if they don’t get here soon.
“Don’t talk, save your strength. Please just hang on, Logan. The ambulance is coming.” I sob, my nose streaming a sticky mess, which coats my upper lip, and tears are falling in rivers down my cheeks. I try and dry the excess on my shoulder, which would only work if I could stop fucking crying for a single second. I suck in a calming breath. This isn’t helping. He doesn’t need me falling apart, the pathetic wreck I am, wailing helplessly.
He needs me strong, to keep him awake, focused, and alive. I got him into this mess, and I will not let him die.
“Hey, no sleeping Logan! Stay with me, okay?” His chin has dropped to his chest. I cup it in my free hand and lift his head, giving him a light, and somewhat sharp shake in lieu of a slap.
“I didn’t give him the money.” I can’t fight the smile tipping the worry from my face. “I learnt from the best remember?” He blinks, his dark brown eyes, glossy with pain, sparkle with recognition as I elaborate.
“That transaction was a ghost transfer. I actually sent it directly to a separate pension account that no one can touch, except the pension fund panel. I mean, they can access it, but it’s their money.” I roll my eyes at my fumbling attempt to explain something Logan will understand way better than I ever could. The effort it takes for him to speak is agonising, and I raise my hand to try and stop him when a deep grumble rumbles from his chest.
“Smart.” He sucks in sharp breath, making me wince. The spread of warmth trickles through my veins when his big hand covers mine in a tender squeeze and pride flashes in his eyes.
“Like I said…the best.”
“Do you mean me or my sister?” he chokes out, and I deflate with devastation at the broken expression before me, tearing me apart.
“Logan I—” He groans, and there’s a fresh surge of blood pouring from the wound. “Oh god, please, please don’t die. Please don’t die! I love you, Logan. I love you so much.” I heave stuttered sobs back into my lungs, in an effort to hold the impending flood at bay. This hurts so fucking much I can’t bear it.
“Did you tell my sister that?” His heavy head flops onto his shoulder; my hand cups his chin, but it’s too much weight to carry. His breathing is so fucking soft I can barely hear his whispered words.
“What? Um, I don’t know,” My mind races, I can’t think. All I can see is the man I love slipping through my fucking fingers. His steely gaze fixes on me, waiting for my answer. “Yes, probably…I don’t know, Logan.” I don’t care about any of that. I drop my head back yelling to the heavens. “Fucking hell, where’s the fucking ambulance?” He closes his eyes for the longest time; it actually scares the shit out of me when he finally opens them.
“That’s a problem.” The chill running the length of my spine matches the icy coldness in his eyes, only I don’t have time to dwell on what that might mean. An almighty ear piercing explosion shakes the very foundation beneath us, plaster cracks and crashes from above, a strong smell of gasoline and gas fills my nostrils. Glass in every pane of the eight massive windows shatters instantaneously and flies across the room as a ball of fire bursts through the double doors, blowing them off their hinges. The oak panels over the fireplace catch first, the books, shelves and rugs are incinerated in a flash of unstoppable flames, and the curtains light like a touch paper. Flames lick the length of the material with a river of fire, rippling up the heavy fabric and scorching the walls. There’s so much wood in here, it’s like a tinderbox. Flames skip and dance from surface to surface, racing to destroy everything its path, racing to devour us.
“Logan, Logan, can you hear me? Logan, speak to me! Are you still with me?” I cough, choking back in the smoke filling the room. His eyes are closed, and I can’t see if he’s breathing. The panic in my voice is juxtaposed to the humour in Logan’s response.
“I’ve had better days.” He splutters, wincing at the pain.
“Oh god, thank god!” I exhale with a relief-filled nervous laugh, trying to clear my throat without sucking in too much of the toxic air surrounding us.
“You need to get out.” He’s emphatic, and I would laugh again, but I don’t have time to play around.
“No!” My eyes burn with the fumes, and my throat claws unbearably with the need to cough and my lungs feel as if they are shredded raw from just trying to breathe.
“Tia, this whole place is going to burn to the ground.” He scowls and grips my hand too tight, as if the sudden shooting pain in my fingers will make me see sense. I feel like my skin is bubbling with the intense heat surrounding us, so a little hand cramp isn’t going to cut it.
“Then I’ll burn with it. I’m not leaving you.” I speak calmly. This is a non-negotiable matter of fact.
“Tia, be realistic. I’m bleeding out. I won’t even make it to the window, but you will.” He chokes and coughs and pleads. “Please, if you love me at all, you’ll do as I say.” It’s a low blow, and my chest cleaves in agony.
“And if you loved me at all, you wouldn’t ask,” I retaliate.
“I don’t love you. Now will you leave?” He forces his retort through angry, tight lips and a pulsing clenched jaw.
“I don’t believe you.” I search his eyes for the truth, only the smoke and rapidly encroaching fire make it hard to see past the fear. His words hit me as hard as the knife in his side, and I buckle with the possibility of what he’s saying and the probability of it actually being true.
Is he just trying to get me to leave or do people actually have a rare moment of clarity when faced with imminent death?
I know what I feel is true, regardless of this being the last few minutes of my life. I love him; it’s beautifully simple for me. Is it the same for him? Is he telling the truth? Does he really not love me? No, I refuse to believe that, I know he loves me. I felt it long before a life and death situation forced him to take a corner. I come out fighting. “Why are you here if you don’t love me?”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice.” He cuts me down, and even though his eyelids are heavy and droop with weakness, when he does manage to fix his eyes on mine, I can’t be sure what I’m seeing. I flounder.
“Oh!” The heat is unbearable. Black smoke thickens, cloaking every bit of space in the room. The blown out windows suck the smoke from the building as fast as the fire is fuelled with fresh kindling from the abundant furniture. It’s prevented Logan and me from suffocating but it’s also providing fresh air to accelerate the raging fire. The noise from the destruction is deafening. Even so, in the distance, I can just make out the faint cry of sirens. I mutter a silent prayer and whisper to Logan to hold on, just a few minutes more.
I don’t know if he can hear me.
I don’t know if we even have a few minutes.
A large piece of ceiling collapses, and weighty chunks hit my shoulder, knocking me to the floor. The dagger slips from my hand and falls from the wound. Black smoke chokes the air in my lungs and stings my eyes, I’m disorientated and stumble to my knees, coughing and spluttering. I crawl, blindly feeling my way back to Logan. I touch his leg and quickly work my way up his body and back to the wound, I instantly press the spurting blood with my bare hands but it’s too late. His body is slumped unconscious and I can feel his life slipping through my sticky, blood-soaked fingers.
My skin burns, it feels as if it’s being flayed off my bones. The heat is incredible; my throat is parched and raw as I suck in shallow breaths of burning air and toxic smoke, just to keep breathing.
“Logan! Logan don’t you dare fucking leave me!” I scream and move my body over more to protect him against the inferno blazing around us. My bare arms blister and the tiny hairs singe in the intensity of the heat. I start to choke as the smoke gets unbearably thick and the cloud blocks out the daylight, plummeting us both into scorching oblivion that feels a lot like hell.