Page 66 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
His soldiers stare us down as though daring us to actually answer.
“I cut off his head and mounted him on my wall, right next to a prize boar I once shot. Magnificent beast.”
“Mr. Cole, I have worked with your organization before, hired your Elite…”
“Enough chitchat. Tatiana, please ensure Mr. Bianchi is treated accordingly.”
“Yes, sir,” the woman says, and she sounds so robotic, it sends a shiver down my spine.
By now, I can see the shadows of more men out in the hallway beyond the door. They’re still like statues ready to wake. It’s unsettling, inhuman, and suddenly, I can see exactly why Sasha is the way he is. I can also see how far he’s come, and it makes me love him all the more.
I sense Enrique’s panic, like a cornered animal. I’m not sure what he’ll do next.
The Russian woman puts the phone away and places both hands back on her weapon, pointing it at me. Enrique uses me as a body shield, and I know I’m about to die. Whatever he took, whoever that man on the phone was, he isn’t going to care about me. I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. At least I’ll be with Gabi and Daddy.
One second, I’m welcoming my own death, and the next, I’m falling. I open my eyes to see the balcony railing above me, getting farther away. He jumped and took me with him. When I land, it’s like every bone in my body implodes at once. My lungs collapse, and I gasp for air that simply isn’t there. I roll off Enrique onto my hands and knees, trying to breathe. My eyes water, my body screams in protest, and after what feels like forever, I finally manage to suck in a single breath. It’s not enough, though. Several sets of boots fall into my eye-line, but I’m paralyzed, unable to run away. My heart hammers against my ribs, panic over-riding everything. They’re going to kill me. I turn and look at Enrique. He’s writhing around on the ground, choked, staggered breaths slipping past his lips.
A hand wraps around his throat and wrenches him off the ground. I’m also tugged to my feet, still struggling to breathe or stand upright.
Two soldiers move in front of me, their huge bodies like a wall. I peek through a tiny gap and watch Tatianna walk up to Enrique’s shaking, gasping form. There’s a loud crack, followed by the most bloodcurdling scream. Enrique falls to his knees, and I slam my hand over my mouth when I spot his thigh bone protruding through his leg.
She stands behind him like an angel of death, long, ebony hair contrasting against snow-white skin. There’s no trace of emotion in her eyes as she wrenches his shoulder out of the socket. He screams, and I smile because I want him to suffer. I want him to beg and plead for her to stop, like the little bitch he is.
Gabriella was strong and dignified, even when she knew the end was coming. He won’t be. She dislocates the other shoulder until his arms hang limp, his screams blending with his choked, strangled breaths. When she draws a knife from the holster at her thigh, I find myself baying for his blood, hoping his death is slow and agonizing. I could never have imagined what happens next.
The man from earlier steps forward, grabbing Enrique’s face and forcing his head back. When she brings the blade to his eye, I force myself to stand and watch the horror show in front of me. He screams, one long, drawn-out cry of agony as she gouges first one eye, then the other from his head.
My stomach rolls, and hot acid burns its way up my throat. I finally have to look away, though his spine-chilling screams are branded on my mind. I rush away from the scene, scrambling for the house and shelter from that horrific sound. Another Elite escorts me down the corridor. I hate Enrique more than anyone, but I think the sound of his screams will stay with me forever. The image of those two, plucking out his eyes as though they were simply pitting a fruit—it’s ingrained in my mind. I picture Una and Sasha standing in their place, and I wonder if they were ever so cruel. Una is hard and terrifying, but compared to them, she’s positively charming.
Outside the house, it’s like a military operation. Several more Elite stand guard rigidly, and blacked-out SUVs line the driveway. I’m put in the back of one, the door slammed behind me. It’s only once I’m inside that I wonder what happens to me now. Where will they take me? I’m a Bianchi, after all.
Glancing down, I slip the wedding band and engagement rings from my finger, putting them into the pocket of my jeans. I don’t want them to know I’m married to him. Then again, if he isn’t dead yet, then I’m sure he soon will be. I wonder if Mr. Cole will mount his head right next to the first man who wronged him. Either way, I’ll soon be a widow, free of Enrique.
