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The gunmen awaited Yuri’s approval before lowering their guns and allowing her to proceed.
Debris covered the floor, and she sidestepped silver platters and broken tiles to make her way to the bar counter. Glasses, limes, and booze lined the shelf. She opened drawers at random and rifled through their contents until she uncovered an empty ice sack. Tiptoeing back, she knelt and handed it to Mark.
“Thanks.” With a table knife, he cut out a square from the bag as Riku gasped for air. Mark directed a glare at Yuri. “We need a hospital. He needs surgery.”
“No.” Striding toward them, Yuri traipsed over the red-stained marble floor.
Crouched low, Tess cringed as she watched the assassin tread through pools of Riku’s blood as if they were rain puddles of no consequence.
“That wasn’t a question.” Anger flared in Mark’s voice, and crimson flooded his cheeks. While keeping pressure on the wound with his right hand, he straightened his back, and his muscular shoulders strained against his dress shirt, now smeared dark red. Glowering, he spun to growl at Yuri. “He’ll die if we don’t get him to a hospital now.”
“No.” The silver cross around the gunman’s neck glinted in the light.
Another gunman appeared with a first aid kit from the catering kitchen and handed it to Mark.
The box contained three gauze bandages, each smaller than a passport, laughably inadequate.
Mark fumed but dumped the gauze into the open crater of Riku’s chest and gestured. “I need to pack this, so apply pressure with both your hands.”
She nodded, but after studying the gory injury splitting open Riku’s torso, she recoiled. Wincing, she gathered her courage and placed her hands on the warm wound. Blood seeped over her skin.
Riku moaned.
Nauseous, Tess trembled.
Mark tossed away the blood-sopped cloths, then added the plastic square along with more napkins. “I’ll take over applying pressure now.”
He slid his hands under hers, his fingers warm on hers for a moment, and released her from the task. Seconds ticked by, and while no miracle materialized, a world without Riku didn’t compute, either. Torn apart by the scene unfolding before her, Tess grasped for any shred of hope. “Stay with us, Riku. Hang on.”
“Marie. Tell my wife I love her.” Sucking sounds emitted from his chest with each word he whispered. Blood saturated the fresh gauze in seconds.
Please don’t let him die. She snuck a glance at Mark but couldn’t voice the question. Watching the doctor for clues, she felt her hope sink when his mouth tightened into a straight line.
He gave a solemn, slight shake of his head.
“Riku, tell me about Marie.” She strained to prevent her voice from wavering.
A faint smile appeared on Riku’s pale lips, but his labored breathing grew irregular. “She is my sunlight.” One gasp, then nothing. His face smoothed, no longer contorted with pain.
Mark bent forward and placed two fingers on Riku’s neck. Shaking his head, he withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry. He’sgone.”
This can’t be happening. Her world cracked open with a sonic boom, loud in her ears although the room remained hushed. Still holding her mentor’s limp hand, she stiffened and felt a dull numbness set in. Too stunned to cry, she couldn’t find any words at all, not even to thank this stranger for risking his life to intervene.
“Stay strong. We’ll get through this.” Mark leaned forward and touched her arm.
The firm command in his voice reassured her, despite the chaos which unfolded in every direction around them. A faint whiff of sandalwood drifted her way, evoking the peacefulness of a pine forest after a rainstorm. Disoriented from shock and denial, she glimpsed his scarred hand and slumped her shoulders.
“Enough. We divide you up. Men this side, women over there. Hands up, and no phones, or we shoot. No talking.” Yuri lifted his gun and signaled to his subordinates.
Shell-shocked guests covered in white dust, seemingly ghostlike, shuffled to their designated lines in complete obedience. Several had suffered bloody cuts from the fallen glass chandelier.
One gunman guarded the few women standing together, and the men flocked to the large group opposite them.
Tess joined Kavita next to the two female caterers. Dust from the shot-up ceiling coated Kavita’s once-vibrant sari, and her golden-brown forearms bled. In horror, she exchanged a glance with her colleague but didn’t speak.
“Men, line up, side by side. Go.” Yuri doled out more orders.
As the male executives shuffled into a neat row stretching the room’s length, Yuri inspected each man. He patrolled the line of pressed shirts and trousers, studying each face and touching the men’s hair. Lingering over the white men, he skipped the Asian and Indian men and read every conference badge. With a grunt, he stomped a foot and screened the row a second time, examining every man through his narrowed gaze.
