Page 9 of Tear Me Down
A moment passes, and as I look back towards the stairs, time halts, and not in bliss or tranquility. I’m brought back to the moment last week when our lives quite literally changed in an instant. The same feeling of deep dread fills my chest, and my body runs cold, only to catch fire a fragment of a second later. The moment my eyes catch that scar, something takes over. A depraved monster that I’ve come to recognize as my friend buried deep within my psyche. My muscles tense, almost to the point of pulsing, and the room is suddenly much too hot. A foggy rim of red clouds my vision, signaling the beginning of the transition into the violent being I’ve come to know so well.
He's right. Fucking. There.
About fifty feet away.
I could walk right over, grip his windpipe in my fist, and squeeze so hard that I’d tear it in half. Fuck the witnesses and fuck the consequences.
I. Want. Him. Dead.
Worse than dead.
I want to watch his soul to perish in the eternal flames of the condemned.
“It’s okay, baby. I'm right here.” Her tender voice slips through my violent haze, tearing through my dark thoughts with a gentle scratch of my scalp from her nails. “Don’t make it so obvious. Everything is alright,” she whispers.
“I want to fucking kill him,” I seethe, having trouble controlling myself. My body trembles so harshly that even my words shake.
“I know, and you will. Just not tonight. Remember what you and the guys talked about, okay? Take a deep breath.” She soothes me, tightening her grip on me and pulling me closer. I bury my nose in her hair, desperate to fill all five senses with only her. Taking a shattering deep breath, I inhale her, slowly climbing back down to solid ground.
“Who is he talking to, D?” Carter cuts through the earpiece, slicing her comfort like a knife and ruining the moment. I open my eyes again and glance in their direction, willing myself to calm down long enough to focus.
I survey them, noticing five men and one woman. All of which look middle aged. One is Hugo, and another is the bald Fedor Popov, but the others don’t jog any memories. The woman is taller, and very slim. Clearly a middle-aged Italian but trying to hide it behind layers of makeup and plastic surgery. She has short salt and peppered hair, mostly black, that is shaved on the sides and styled back into a chic mohawk. She hangs on the arm of a tall, broad man. Slicked back, dark gray hair with a nose and other features that also scream Italian. Neither one wears a wedding ring, so I can assume they’re not married but are trying to appear together. When they speak, they look at each other like they’re fighting for their spot of attention, as if the other isn’t supposed to speak without their approval. Obviously fighting for dominance.
The other stranger looks simple enough, and clearly American. Not as tall as me or the other men around him, but still around six feet. His brown and graying hair is styled neatly, and he showcases a friendly smile. He’s seemingly good at public interaction. His face is softer than the others, and it’s as if life hasn’t kicked him in the teeth quite yet. If it ever will.
They all seem to be focused on a conversation. Hugo and the goody-two-shoes look nervous, but the others look relaxed when addressing one another. I’m too far to pick up what they’re saying, and their lips are moving close together, as if speaking in hushed tones. I assume they’re discussing the plan for tonight, but anything involving Hugo or Popov makes me wary.
“I don’t recognize anyone but the Russians,” I whisper back to Carter.
“I could try to run facial recognition, but these cameras don’t have good picture quality. The resolution may not be enough,” he warns.
I sigh in frustration. Could those be the guests the moles warned us about? What are the odds that they’re just old friends, or eager business partners? I could probably flip a coin on that one, but something doesn’t feel right. They’re all standing at the bottom of the stairs with their chins tilted high, looking over the crowd between spoken words, as if the people around them arepeasants. That what they say is law, and they expect everyone here to fall at their feet.
“What’s wrong?” Ashia asks in a hushed voice, her tone laced with worry. I turn us a little more so she can see who I'm talking about.
“We need to know who they are. Carter can't use the security cameras as a reference for face rec, and it’s too dangerous to use drones,” I whisper again, and she nods very subtly in understanding. More people are arriving and walking into the middle of the dancefloor around us, causing my nerves to stand on end. I observe the people closest to us, ensuring that they don’t get too close to Ashia.
“Can I see your phone, baby? I want a cute picture,” she says a little louder. Tearing my focus back to her, I can’t help but raise a brow as I register her request. Now isn’t really a good time, but of course, I pull it out and hand it to her, thinking she needs the distraction and something to keep her steady. She tugs me in her direction. “Come stand behind me,” she demands sweetly.
I comply without question, not wanting to deny her anything. She turns the forward-facing camera on and points it at us. I smile, wanting to make her happy. It’s almost impossible for me not to when I’m this close to her, but my senses and awareness are running a mile a minute right now. Waiting patiently, I watch as she adjusts the angle slightly. It’s not the best and comes up pretty high compared to her small frame, but I don’t question it. Whatever is going to make her happy and help her get through this disgusting party. I get confused when she doesn’t snap the picture and furrow my brows together as I catch her eyes in the camera.
“I'm not going to lie, D. She’s really impressing me tonight,” Carter says through the earpiece, and my confusion grows. That is, until I notice in the top left corner, is the perfect view of Hugo and his corrupt, undercover pals. Carter has access to my phone. Live access, and can screen shot the photos he needs without the evidence being stored in my device where they could potentially find it.
God damn, I love this woman.
“All good, D.” The moment Carter confirms he has the photos, I bury my face in her neck, biting down on her soft flesh and causing her to squeal playfully. I wrap my arms around her body and hold her close, chuckling softly as she slides the phone back into my pants pocket.
“You are a beautiful little genius. You know that?” I whisper in her ear, and she giggles as she wraps her arms around my own.
“Happy to help.” She turns her head and plants a sweet kiss on my cheek.
“Ashia!” I jerk my stare back up to see a fuller, black woman in a bright blue satin gown, with her braids knotted up in a bun, making her way towards us, pulling Emmett in tow. Once she gets close enough, I recognize her as Linette, Emmett’s wife, a happy, fully lived woman with contagious energy.
“Hey!” Ashia exclaims excitedly and lets go of me to hug her. The moment I don’t feel her against me, my jaw ticks in aggravation. Though, I quickly recover and shake Emmett’s outstretched hand.
“Good to see you, Damien,” he says honestly, a firm grip in his shake.
“Yeah, good to see you too,” I reply. Once Ashia pulls away, she stands back at my side, right where she belongs, and I instantly relax.
