Page 88 of Hateful Vows
I’m closer to the open door and see a crouched silhouette on the floor on the side of the room, illuminated by a bright artificial white light.
“He’s inside!” I scream. “Don’t shoot.”
We stop our offensive operation but our assailant doesn’t. A clicking sound echoes between us and the bullets stop flying, but only shortly. I hear the telltale lock of a machine gun before he’s back at us.
“Retreat,” Lucie and I yell in harmony before diving back behind the walls and running back up the stairs.
Fucking hell. I refuse to be bested by one. Single. Man.
From our place at the top of the stairs, side by side, Lucie and I take aim, hoping the man will show his head and we can shoot him in the face. And he fucking does, crazed with violence.
The face that greets us brings me to my knees.
I stagger. And hesitate.
But Lucie doesn’t, shooting Dante and hitting his shoulder.
He seems stunned for a moment, his eyes empty and violent—nothing likemyDante— affixed on Lucie.
He grunts then retreats, but not before another bullet hits the side of his head, missing him, shy of an inch. The grin that spreads on his face sends a shiver of fear I haven’t felt since my step-father died.
Metal clank in the closed space my husband retreated in.
I’m reeling. It can’t be him, I must be hallucinating.
Tears prickle my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. If he is the one behind all my stress, I’m going to kill him slowly and take everything he has ever cared for. I won’t stop until I’ve wrought every imaginable pain from him. I won’t rest until he pays for all this.
Lucie jumps ahead of me, and I follow close. “Be careful,” I tell her. She gives me a sharp nod.
We both creep towards the now silent room. A medical metal table is turned to the side as if he had used it for protection. A whimper drags my attention away.
The crouched person is still there on the floor, in tatters and smelling like they haven’t been allowed to bathe in too long. My heart clenches with pity and I approach, trying to make myself as little as I can, not to scare them.
And the black heart I thought I didn’t have breaks into a million pieces.
The eyes that meet mine are as green as ever, even though his face is emaciated and wild.
“No…”
No recognition shines in the usually expressive irises and I take his left hand, slowly lifting it. He lets me.
His identity smacks me in the face.
Property of Irina Venturais written in wobbly script on his left ring finger.
“Dante,” I cry out his name. The tears come and flow without my permission.
I don’t care that he’s filthy. I take his face in my hands and land my forehead to his. “It’s me. It’s Irina.”
“Irina?” he croaks.
I nod frantically. “I’m going to get you out. You’re safe now,” I say but it’s more for my benefit than his. Pain is written across his body and face, and mine echoes in the depth of my soul.
Dante grabs my wrists with more force than I thought he'd be capable of in his state, frantically looking to the sides of the room. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone. There was a trap door underneath the metal table,” Lucie answers.
“No, no, no. I need it,” he yells, grabbing his knees and frantically rocking back and forth. “I need more.”
