I got my damn wish.
Movement on one of the many monitors caught my attention, and I leaned forward to study the image. Vlad’s stuff was high tech, the picture crystal clear. Vladimir was pissed. No, he was furious.
Ella flew into camera's beady eye, falling to the floor, her body scrambling into a ball as she pressed herself against the wall. What the fuck?
I watched, barely able to breathe as I saw the terror, in high definition black and white, as her husband stood over her, shouting at her as though she were a disobedient fighting dog. His stomach bulged from his open shirt, and he held something. Something long and thick.
My eyebrows pulled together, beads of sweat formed on my forehead when I realized what his choice of weapon was. A goddamn belt. In one swift movement, a movement so quick I knew she hadn’t seen it coming, Chrobak raised his arm and brought the leather down across her chest.
I stood, gripping the arms of the office chair, and yelled, “You fucking pig!”
Ella clenched her chest, slumping sideways as a dark liquid oozed between her fingers. That didn’t deter her husband, it only seemed to spur the cunt on.
Raising the belt again, Ella moved towards the side of her bed. Vlad was yelling.. I could see Ella’s tears as clear as day. They streamed down her face in fat drops, her hands waved in front of her face, and blood smothered her palms, her dress. I was white-knuckling the leather now, my fingernails almost snapping.
Moments later, Vladimir was pulling Ella by the crook of her arm, her legs stumbled under her, and then they were gone. Out of view.
Veins were popping from my neck, painful, and fit to burst. I wanted nothing more than to storm down there and open fire at this sadistic fuck. However, I didn’t. I couldn’t. How would I do that and live to see another day? I knew he wasn’t a nice guy. The countless girls who were sold under his and his family’s legacy told me that, but seeing someone’s cruelty first hand always helped reiterate the truths you knew, made it stronger, truer, real.
My skin was burning and yet froze at the same time, I sunk back into my chair, unable to take my eyes away from the screens.
Jozef had crawled into bed with the brunette, his hips angled towards her, his body shaking as he jerked off beside her sleeping body.
I was beginning to feel like a voyeur, watching people as they slept, jerked off, and beat women. I needed some fresh air and a smoke.
Checking my watch, I realized I still needed to spend a while longer trapped. Vladimir had left me several logbooks in which I needed to write down anything untoward, anything that may be deemed a threat against him. The place was a maze, the walls outside impenetrable, the enemies who didn’t work for him were stupid.
Sighing, cracking my neck to relieve ever-building pressure, I opened the first folder and got to work. However, it wasn’t long until the movement on-screen had me looking up once more. Ella’s limping body stumbled down the hallway, her arms wrapped around her hurting, bloodied body. A strange sensation encompassed me, something more than rage, mixed with erratic heartbeats and the urge to go to her.
Scribbling down notes I hoped would suffice, I shoved the folders into a drawer, collected my things, and went in search of my poor, broken bird.
My? Holy shit, Murdoch.
Ella
The pain seared through me, the way a sharp knife does a piece of steak. Each trembling step I took sent wave after crippling wave of fresh pain across my flesh. Even my bones hurt; Vladimir had murder in his eyes tonight, if it hadn’t have been for the copious amounts of alcohol alongside the cocaine, I’m sure he would have succeeded.
My mind was fuzzy, reminding me of the television my Mama had. The thing had never worked, yet she’d sit there for hours, dull eyes enraptured by the crackling of the static. That’s how my brain felt. Crackly. As though my skull had broken and loose pieces of bone were rattling around inside. The blood was dry now. It had turned into, almost, a kind of crust, and it pinched at the tiny hairs on my arms as I lurched along the hallway in a very zombie-esque way.
Usually, I’d go to Marnie, failing to find her I’d seek out Edith, but tonight, there was no one, it far too late to disturb anyone and risk another beating. There was only one place that seemed perfect to comfort me. My alcove. A spot that had been overlooked when the cameras were placed. It didn’t provide much space to have secret meetings or the like; it was simply a corner where I could lick my wounds.
The stairs almost beat me. The creaks of the floorboard under my heavy, uneven weight had me stopping every second, hoping to God that no-one had heard.
After using all the energy I had left, I made it to the bottom, shuffling once more through the empty rooms, one destination in mind, the only thing that kept me upright.
The air rushed into my lungs as I stepped outside. With an open mouth, I inhaled, then exhaled, wiggling my toes against the cold, concrete floor, my body desperate to feel something other than mind-numbing agony.
The insects were chirping, the moon was high, and my alcove was just a few stumbles away.
It happened within seconds. One moment, my feet were doing what they were supposed to, the pain was spurring me on, my survival instinct urging me to keep upright until I could collapse in a heap. The next, my eyes stopped working. A fresh blast of ripping pain tore through me, the blood oozed once more from my chest, leaving me with a weird, indescribable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was falling. Not towards the ground, oh no, but towards the pool. No matter how hard I fought against my limbs, they refused to cooperate.
Headfirst, I felt the harsh blow of water, the oxygen knocked from my lungs, and the darkness took me once more.
Floating.
Floating.
Mama?
Why can’t I breathe?
What is touching my lips?
Get off! Stop. Please.
My hands cannot move, my legs sleeping; my heart feels as though it’s no longer inside of my chest.
Just breathe, Ella, please! I urge myself.
The world is black. Darkness shows itself to me a lot more than any light does.
My chest feels funny. My ribs hum as the pressure gets harder—pump, pump, pump.
Warmth on my mouth. Not warmth. Lips. Someone’s lips.
“Breathe, goddammit!” The unfamiliar voice cries.
Pump. Pump. Lips. “Ella, come on. Breathe.” It says again.
There’s pressure. So much pressure. So much so, I think I am dying. Certain of it. My lungs just won’t work.
“Oh, thank fuck!” The voice says, relieved.
The darkness dissipates, bringing with it the light once more, and I feel a new kind of pain as my weak, battered body bolts upright, slamming into the wet-shirted torso of Jax Murdoch.
Ella
My lungs screamed as I came to, water spilled from my lips, Jax helped me on to my side so I could spit it out, rather than swallow it. His hands were all over me, burning my skin, yet careful not to touch my wounds.
I panted and puffed, gasping for oxygen I had been deprived of for however long, and once all the water was expelled, I faced the man who saved me.
Our clothed bodies were drenched, his olive skin sparkled under the glow of the moon. Dark eyes searched my face, stripped me bare, and left me a trembling wreck in his arms. A strong, bearded jaw ticked with concern and then softened once he knew I was okay.
He’d brought me back from the edge of death. His dark hair had curled slightly, his short bangs now resting just above his eyebrows. Oh, my. He was beautiful. My eyes went from his to his arms wrapped around me, and from nowhere, the tears fell.