Page 40 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
“You should talk to someone about your psychopathic behavior.”
“Pack. Now. Leave the gun. You can’t take it where we’re going.”
I stalk out of her room and pick up my own bag. It’s already packed. I always keep it that way for moments like this. I can never be too prepared.
12
Adelina
We get out of the taxi, and Sasha tosses the driver a handful of notes. We both travel light with one bag each. I glance up at the enormous building in front of us. Roma Termini spans the front of it in huge letters. Two military vehicles are parked right outside, and a couple of soldiers lean against the front of one. Their guns are clasped in front of them. My heart pounds and my muscles tense the second I spot them.
“Why are there soldiers here?” I ask quietly.
“There is civil unrest in the capital. The military presence is merely a deterrent.” We pass by the vehicles, and one of the soldiers makes eye contact with me, and I instantly drop my gaze. “Watch your bag closely,” Sasha says.
I clutch my bag closer, hurrying to keep up with him. As soon as Sasha’s bought tickets, we’re striding into the center of the station. It grows busier, and I can see how pickpockets could easily make a living here.
“Take my hand,” Sasha orders.
“What?” I’m confused by the sudden cancelation of the no touching rule.
He snatches my hand and threads his fingers through mine. This is… weird. “We’re being followed. Don’t let go.”
I’m jostled from every direction as he drags me through the crowds at a brisk pace. I try to look around to see who is following us, but I don’t get a chance. I stagger on after him, dodging children and ankle bashing suitcases.
He suddenly ducks out of the mainstream traffic and down a quiet platform. A train sits empty, and I spot a cleaning crew inside. Still, he keeps going, and I jog to keep up. We’re almost at the very front of the train when he slams his hand on the button for the door, and it pops open. As soon as we’re inside the abandoned train, he shoves me beneath a table until I’m squashed against the wall. My hands press into the dirty floor. Gross.
“Do not move until I come for you.” Sasha unfastens his watch and hands it to me along with one of the tickets he purchased earlier. “If I don’t come for you in fifteen minutes, leave. Take the train to London.” And then he’s gone.
“Sasha.” I hiss, but it’s no use. For the first time since this nightmare began, I panic. I hate him most of the time, but I don’t know what I’d do without him. Even if I make it to London, I’ll be lost without him once I get there. I suddenly realize just how much I need him if I’m to escape Enrique’s clutches.
I still when I hear the train doors open. I clutch my knees to my chest and hold my breath. A pair of boots pass by, though there’s no sound. The footsteps are silent. Just like Sasha’s. And I know, it’s one of them, the men who tried to take me in New York.
There’s a grunt, and the man’s knees wobble before he buckles, hitting the ground. Wide eyes stare through me, and my pulse leaps into a flat-out sprint. A knife protrudes from the man’s throat, and a pool of blood creeps across the floor toward me. I scramble away from it, rolling through the gap between the top of the table and the seat. When I sit up, I find Sasha standing at the end of the carriage. Our eyes meet before the door to the next carriage opens behind him, and a man steps through. Then another. Both dressed from head to toe in black, their stances more akin to a terminator than a living person.
“Run, Adelina,” Sasha shouts before turning to face them.
I leap over the back of the chair and slam to a halt. A woman steps through the door we first came through. The look on her face says she’s about to hurt me, and she’s going to enjoy it. Everything about her is severe, from the solid black uniform to the way she walks. Her red hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail that swings as she tilts her head, assessing me like a predator would wounded prey. She takes a step forward, and I mimic her, moving back.
“Adelina Ricci,” she says, her accent far thicker than Sasha’s.
I look her in the eye, hoping to appeal to…something, but there’s nothing there. No emotion, no basic humanity. It’s like looking into the eyes of an animal with base instincts. I take another step back, and her eyes zero in on the movement.
