Page 146 of Taint My Soul

“Don’t you touch a fucking hair on his head!” I snarl as the soldiers drag me through the door. My hand slips free, and I swing, fist flying into one’s jaw. The other two come at me. One kicks my leg and forces me down while the other drives the head of his gun to my wounded shoulder. I grunt, body buckling with pain. One gets on my back and forces my hands back. Another shoves his booth into my head to keep me from moving. Cuffs clink around my wrists, the cold metal seeping into my skin.

In the last seconds, my teary gaze lifts to the man sitting on his throne.

There’s no fucking emotion on his features. No remorse. Nothing.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

ELIO

The elevator dings, sending a wave of excitement through me. It’s been hours since Saint left, and I was already expecting him. I stir the soup quickly and place the lid carefully over the pot before moving to the living room. Bernard storms in, out of breath, eyes wide with an expression I can’t name. My face contorts with confusion, but the older man stops on his heels when he sees me.

“Where is Saint?” My voice trembles.

“Pack a bag.”

“What?” My voice shakes.

“Pack your bag.” He repeats.

I move, hurrying upstairs, pushing through the pain that stabs consistently in my stomach. I find a backpack in the dressing room, and I shove some clothes into it, then I pick up my medication from the vanity cabinet in the bathroom and head downstairs. I return to the living room, backpack straps on my shoulder, and my gaze lands on the unsettled man in front of me.

“We have to go.”

My eyes find the guitar lying on the leather couch. I surge forward and lift it into my arms. Before I can dash to the kitchen, Bernard’s hand closes around my arm and drags me toward the elevator.

“I already turned off the stove and flushed it down the sink.”

“What about Saint?” My heart hammers furiously against my chest. We enter the elevator together, and the machine whirs as it glides down to the underground parking lot. Every part of my thought races with questions. Why did he just barge into the apartment? Where is he taking me? Where is Saint? What happened to him?

My chest squeezes with discomfort mixed with the pain of my unhealed injuries.

The doors ding and open to the parking lot. Just then, an incoming SUV screeches to a halt as three armed men spill out through the doors. Bernard pushes me behind him and pulls his gun, a silent pistol. He aims at one of them and shoots, taking a headshot. I move briskly, hiding behind the front bumper. Sharp, intensely muffled, lower-pitched sound explode in the air, sending a concussive shock through my body.

I remain there.

Plastered against the concrete floor of the lot. Back pressed against the bumper.

Stuck in the memory of David holding a gun to me. A shiver runs down my spine. A bullet pierces through the side mirror of the car, glass shattering. My hands find my head instinctively, pressing against my ears, a broken cry burning through my throat.

Beside me, Bernard grunts as he takes a hit. He falls to his knees, but it doesn’t stop him from taking another shot at the enemy. The gunshot stops, and silence twists with tension. Trembling, heart slamming against my ribcage, I get on my feet and see that the three men are lying in a pool of their own blood.

Bernard regains his footing, hand buried into his injury as he bleeds out on the floor.

I don’t waste a second. My body trembles as I look at him, too terrified to do anything.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me!

This is not the time to be terrified.

Bernard could die.

I move toward him, and I put my hand around his shoulder, leading him to the black Bentley.

“You have to drive.” He whispers.

I didn’t know why he was doing this for me. Maybe Saint had asked him to evacuate me from here.

“Where are we going?” I ask.