Page 112 of Take the Sub and Run

“Andrei.”

“Yes, Angel, yes.”

“If I leave home…”

“You're not leaving home,” he assured her. His gaze was fervent or earnest. His soul laid bare. “Because I'm your home. Or I will be if you let me. If you want.”

She cupped his cheek with her left hand, still thinking maybe it was a hallucination until she felt the warmth of his skin and the scratchy stubble along his chin.

“I love you. I didn't think I would ever love someone. Not in the way…” He smiled softly. “Not the kind of love that you could paint. But I love you. And if what you need to feel safe is to be at home, let me be your home.”

“You're really here.”

“I really am.”

“I love you, too.”

“I know.” Now his grin was cruel. "Your father told me.”

“He's still here?” She whipped around to look which jolted her leg. Sofie screamed, gripping her right thigh.

Andrei was there, staring at her leg, his hands raised but not touching her. “What did they do to you?”

“My father has a cane.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“He hit me. My left leg and I think something tore, but I can stand on it. But one of the others used the cane on my right leg and I…I heard it break. The bone. My knee.”

Andrei visibly swallowed as if trying not to vomit. “I should have killed them slower.”

That unexpected statement cut through some of the shivery fear that gripped her. “Killed them?”

“The three younger ones are dead. Your father is lying in the yard incapacitated with no phone or way of calling for help. And we’re leaving him there.”

“I think murder is a crime,” she said, bemused.

“It is.” Andrei was up and moving through the studio, looking for something.

“You can't say anything to me about forgeries anymore, if you're doing murder.”

“A fair trade.” He raced back over to her, holding two long canvas stretcher bars and a roll of packing tape.

Andrei knelt and looked up at her. “I have to carry you out of here. If I'd known, I would have murdered them off site so we could call an ambulance, but it's too risky, so I'm going to carry you out.”

Anticipation of pain made her stomach roll, but she nodded.

“I’m going to splint your leg the best I can first. He reached up with one hand and cupped her cheek. “Stay with me, Angel.”

“Always. Why would I leave?” She touched him with tentative seeking fingers, asking silently for him to rise. Somehow he understood and moved so that she could press her lips to his. It was only then that she began to truly believe she was safe.

“Why would I leave?” she said again. “You're my home.”

Twenty-Four

Painting exhibition at the new Beaumont Gallery.

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