Page 209 of Bona Fide

? The Broken Hearts Club — Gnash ?

He warned me,I just didn’t listen.

Seems to be a problem of mine as of late.

Nothing seems to commute properly when I’m told something, I just flatly ignore it or never think it fully through. I should; with my current track record, nothing should surprise me.

But this does.

All of this REALLY does.

Marty won’t let go of me, more than likely afraid I’m going to fall over or throw up. I want to do both, at the same time. It doesn’t compare to any horror movie I have ever seen. Any sick and horrific thing I have ever seen—nothing, and I mean not a damn thing, would ever prepare me for this.

“This is what I was talking about,” Marty whispers next to me, holding on to my hand for dear life. As though I’m the one that’s going to help him through the mess he just caused. “I didn’t want you to see this part of me, Tsarina.” I let the hand that’s holding my stomach drop to my side so that I can grab his other hand.

I crush it to keep from throwing up, to remain strong, to stay by his side because I hate the woman in front of me, but I love my brother.

I will always love my brother.

My nostrils flare to keep myself as sturdy as I can. The smell of blood fills my lungs and immediately seeps into my gut, making me dry heave once.

“Let’s get out of here.” Marty begins to pull me, but I shake my head violently to leave me be.

I need to know why.

I need to know what kind of monster my brother has become.

I need to know what happened while he was gone for so many years when he obviously wasn’t just a Marine. No, that ship sailed a long fucking time ago, I think.

“Why?” Marty matches my cowered demeanor, his forehead hovering over mine. He’s shaking too, I can feel his quaking exhales, as though we’re experiencing this together for the first time.

“You think...this is fun.” I tear my eyes from the blood stains on my brother’s shirt and meet her.

I haven’t seen the bitch since she released those videos of her having sex with various politicans posing as me. I never got to thank her for almost killing Mama.

Demi is here.

She’s here, tied to a chair and covered in her own blood. Her once nice dress shirt is drenched in it, I can’t tell what color it was before. It drips from her body and onto the pristine hardwood floors. Which brings me to the next stomach corkscrewing thing—her leg is missing.

Yes, I said her leg.

It’s gone.

Her blue eyes, they try to glare at me, but she’s in so much pain. But the moment she can pull it off, I see them boring into me.

And she’s not alone.

A man sits in a chair next to her, head bowed into his chest—unconscious or dead, I’m not sure. I can’t look at him for more than a minute because of what looks to be gashes on the side of his face along with the large amount of swelling that makes him look unrecognizable.

“I’ll kill you, bitch,” Demi seethes, crimson red covering her teeth. I feel Marty make a move, but the next compression of my hand gets him to pause.

Answering her will do nothing, not that I have anything to say. I’d like to say I’m a tough bitch, but the sight of blood and missing body parts—I can’t.

“She’s been running with the man next to her,” Marty whispers by my ear. “He’s a Russian spy. They plotted out an assassination attempt on the president—it failed.”

My neck snaps to him. “She tried to kill him?”

“Hired man with a shitty shot.” My jaw twitches as I keep my attention averted to the scene on the right of me. “If Francis didn’t step in when he did, that bullet would’ve killed Lockwood.”

---