BOUND TO HIM BY FORCE

9. WHAT NOW?

I had just killed a man and that man was staring at me as if asking me what I had done. I stared back at him with no regrets at all. It hurt badly but I would do it over and over again. I was playing the survival game.

I watched as his eyes paled, the life draining out of him faster than their driver could drive. His body staggered side to side before collapsing on the floor. The blood spread through his shirt, littering it red with his skin draining of color. Bullets ran up from his stomach to his chest where most had hit, straight to his heart, sure I had not missed even a single part of it. I held the gun in my hand, feeling its weight in my hand, suddenly feeling so heavy as if my arm would drop with it. I tasted the blood in my mouth, a reminder of what I had done that day, a reminder of what I had lost that day because I had died in that office. My head turned, the gun was picked up, daring to point it to the devil himself. He stared back at me, with no emotion at all, not even afraid.

He moved from the body that lay limp next to him.

“The next time you point a gun at me, you better shoot because I will do things to you, you never thought were possible.” His voice was like a knife on my skin, his legs carrying him out of that office.

I was frozen where I was, the gun still raised and suddenly shaking.

A chair scrapped somewhere, too shocked to even see who had been left alive. Footsteps ran after the man that I wished never to see again in my whole life.

The door was left wide open as my chest moved up and down, the tears just streaming with no sound at all. I could hear the voices in the hall, knowing they were talking about me.

I dropped the gun on the floor. It was empty and useless to me. I could not bear holding it again, so many lives taken by it. My legs were shaking yet my head was held high as I walked out of that office.

The two guards were still there, one of them closing the door behind me as I walked out.

Brute and the boss were talking to each other and then the boss turned and left.

I took slow steps to Brute, with him turning and walking towards me.

He did not say anything, he was as pale as I was. We turned together, walking down the stairs and out of the house. I guess we were both shocked that we were both walking out of there alive when all those people had died, when a lot of people had lost their lives. I still could not believe it. I could not believe it; I would never forget the day I had gone through in my life.

The light came blinding my eyes, we stepping down the steps to the outside.

The sound of turning cars filled the air, my head turning and watching a convoy of black-tinted Range Rovers do a U-turn and drive away. They drove fast, knowing the monster was in one of them, sated with himself, with what he had just done. We slowly walked to our car and I did not even blink when we got there and slipped inside. The driver sat on his chair but his head lay on the steering wheel. The tears just came, seeing the blood on the windscreen. They had killed him; they had taken his life. I did not understand why.

My head pounded with Brute sighing. He walked out of the car and opened the driver’s door to pull the limp body to the ground. The dead man fell with a thud, Brute not even thinking over it before stepping inside and closing the door after.

My hand went to my mouth, closing it shut as the tears fell. The car came to life and it was soon moving and driving out of there. They paid no respect to the dead, just left them there to rot. It had not been a full day with me there but I was already tired, I was already feeling so defeated. Whatever that was, it was not life. I would not be living; I would be suffering. My head turned, seeing the trees as we flew past them, wishing to never walk back there. It was hours, playing the scene over and over again in my head, feeling the pain build inside me as I swallowed it, feeling it darkening my soul.

I closed my eyes, seeing the man before me, seeing his eyes staring back at me. I could feel his hand on my shoulder, the firm grip with the icy feel that burned through my clothes. I could imagine myself next to him for the rest of my life, knowing that if I made even one single mistake it would cost me my life. He seemed not the one to accept anything less than perfection, he seemed not the one to be fooled twice.

The car stopped, my head picking up. The sun having gone down, done for the day and taking its rest. It had seen some cruel things happen; I did not blame it. It left a cold chill behind, my arms around my body. I hiccupped, sighing and letting a breath out.

The engine was killed with nothing but darkness surrounding us as we sat inside the car. My eyes flickered, no one saying anything, dead silence filling the car with Brute running his hands through his hair. I watched him shake his head, thinking over everything and collapsing right in front of me. He was scared just as I was.

It was unfair for a single man to drill such fear into so many people. It was not right.

We sat there for I don’t know how long, but suddenly Brute turned and opened his door. I did not mind sitting in the car, I did not mind just waiting there all night long and dwelling in my sorrow. His door was closed, him out of sight, and soon my door opened. My head turned, Brute holding out his hand. I took it and slipped out of the car. The door closed with my eyes looking around me.

I could not recognize where we were. I turned around, seeing a simple colonial house with us parked in its driveway. The lights in the house were turned on along with the outdoor lights. Green grass was all that shone, the way paved to the steps which walked up to a wooden porch. I was perplexed to no end, but there was no time to question where I was. I just followed the lead, dogs from neighboring houses barking.

Brute led the way, me on his heel, raw to the bone. The door was unlocked, him walking inside as I followed.

The lights were too bright, bowing my head, seeing grey hardwood floors that ran all through to the living room. My head picked up, seeing a couch and a large television screen. Keys were dropped, Brute walking into the house not knowing if I should follow or not. I decided to follow him as he opened a door and showed me in. I got in, realizing it was a bathroom.

“Thank you,” I said to him, with him closing the door after him.

My feet were slow, the first time being along since morning. So much had happened in just a few hours. I hugged my body, feeling cold, to lean on a wall and just close my eyes. I took deep breaths, my anxiety working on me, feeling like I was losing my mind. The voices kept screaming in my head.

“Kill him, kill him!” It was as if I was living through my hell over and over again.

My body pushed from the wall, walking to the shower. I turned the tap on, waiting for the water to spray away. My hands were shaking and I slowly pulled the clothes off my body. I stripped bare before walking under the cold body. I let them wash my skin, let them turn it cold, and leave it painted with goosebumps, shivers going up and down my body.

I just stood there, no more tears to pour out, my heart tired of drumming, just beating steadily. I felt dead, looking at my hands and all I saw was blood. There was no way of getting it off. My hands would forever be painted with nothing else but blood.

My body turned, picking up the soap bar and moving it all over my skin.

I decided to think about my parents. Were they really alive?

I doubted it.

I had not known the Russians were involved. It meant nothing good, it only made matters worse. The Russians would skin my father alive. They hated him with all they had and without the protection of the mafia, nothing had stopped them from attacking. It suddenly made sense why the cartels had attacked after all these years. The Russians had come into the mix and set everything in motion.

How could I cry when they were probably going through worse? How could I feel this sad and broken when my parents had probably seen a million more than I had and felt a billion more pain than I had.

I wished they were dead. I prayed they were dead. The thought that they were still alive was something I did not even want to think about. They would be going through something so much worse than pain.

My hands rubbed my skin, picked up the scrub brush, and washed the dried blood off my skin. I scrubbed until my skin burned, yet nothing could remove the stains that were not there yet my eyes not erasing them from sight.

My skin burned, deciding to stop before I bled. I put the scrub away and let the water wash away the foam off my skin. Nothing was left, as clean as I could be. I walked out of the shower, picking up fresh towels and wiping my body. I washed my underwear in the sink and hung it next to the boxer briefs that hung on the rack. Drawers were pulled open, looking for a spare toothbrush. I brushed my teeth then pulled my hair from the ponytail it was in. The towel was wrapped around my chest, picking up my bloody clothes and walking out of the bathroom.

The sound of television was heard, nothing but soccer playing there. I walked to the kitchen, finding Brute standing tall in the kitchen and making some food. His head picked up.

“You can wear one of my shirts and shorts there.” Brute mentioned as I nodded my head.

“Thank you.” I politely thanked then turned to walk into the room.

The door was closed, stepping in and sighing to sit on the bed. I sat there with the world too heavy on me. Life was suddenly so hard. Every second was filled with nothing but dread and heartache.

My eyes looked around, seeing some body lotion. I forced myself to get up. The body lotion was poured in hand, oiling my skin. I saw the wardrobe doors, walked to them and took out a t-shirt which was so long it acted as a dress. The shorts were just too big. Even after folding them, they just kept falling. I sighed, turning around with no option other than to walk out like that. The t-shirt covered enough. It was just that, if it went up, then all I had would be displayed. I did not trust Brute and if he just pressed me down, there would be nothing to stop him from taking advantage of me.

The only hope I held onto was the fear he had for his boss. I would just hope it was enough to not have him try anything.

I dragged myself from the room, walking out to the kitchen, finding Brute no longer there. I heard the water running; sure, he was taking a shower. A plate sat on the counter with my eyes falling on it. A sandwich sat on it, messy but still grateful. I could not take it though. You can’t just take people’s food without them giving it to you, it was rude. I turned, walking away to the couch where I sat down. A soccer match was playing. There was no way I would hate soccer. My dad was Russian, he lived for beer and soccer. I sat back, watching with the teams, ones I did not like but watched either-or. For that second, things seemed normal. For that second, I was back in my house, waiting for dad with the whole cooler box and snacks so we would all scream at the screen. Dad and Ivan were such sore losers, it was never my fault that they were loyal to the worst teams in the world. It was always a fight when watching. Screaming and jumping up either in anger or happiness with each goal scored. I would treasure those memories to the death of me.

A ghost smile tugged on my face; some light brought to life in me.

I heard the door open and close with another one following. I wanted to raise my feet so badly, but it was not polite to do that when a guest in someone’s house unless they deemed it okay.

I stayed put until Brute came and sat next to me, sighing.

He held a beer in his hand.

“Your sandwich is on the table,” he said, sighing in exhaustion.

“Thank you.” I thanked then stood up to grab the sandwich. I went to sit down, not really hungry, but when food was offered, you eat it. Slowly but surely, I bit into the sandwich, which was just mayonnaise, lettuce, and a bit of meat in it. I would have laughed my ass off if it were normal circumstances, but normal was not a word in my dictionary anymore.

I finished eating, taking the dish to the sink. There were other dirty dishes so I washed and stacked them on the rack to turn and wipe my hands. I went to sit back down, watching the match, but really it was watching me. Nothing just made sense, my head miles away.

Where was Ivan as of then? I hoped he was not getting into any trouble. It seemed I could not cut him out of my heart as I thought I would, as I told myself I would. I loved him dearly still, but I did not think we could move past what happened.

I tried to think of it, of ways he could have done it and there were a million things he could have done differently, from just the way he broke the news to making the decision on his own.

I sighed out loudly only to release and turn to stare at Brute. I thought he was watching but he seemed miles away himself. The bottle of beer just hung in the air, his eyes staring directly at the television and barely even blinking.

My head turned, giving him space to moan his friends.

Time passed, the game was done and that was when Brute blinked to sigh and stood up.

“Get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.” He said, placing his beer bottle down and walking away.

There was no way I could sleep.

A blanket and pillow were brought over. I thanked him with him walking away. There was no way I could sleep because every time I closed my eyes, I saw death and the devil staring at me, promising me nothing but death.