Page 22 of Ace of Shadows
“Be my guest.” He doesn’t even look at me. He just keeps lifting those weights and staring out at the city.
Irritation gives way to anger and a pulse of despair worms up my throat like a bubble of acid. We both know I can’t do anything with a biometric ID, and I don’t want to walk away, only to be forced back here sheepishly.
But I can’t stay here.
“Look…please. You… you’ve told me all of this shit about the Mafia and drugs and the survivors being killed and I have no choice but to believe you. You could be some fucking stalker with a weird obsession and you’re lying to me like this movie I saw once. And I have to believe you because I can’t do anything about it. But you told me my d-dad is dead.” Emotion prickles at the back of my throat and warmth builds behind my eyes.
“A-And that my mom was attacked so brutally that she’s in a coma. I can’t… I can’t not be there for her. I can’t just stay here while she’s out there fighting for her life. She’s my mom and I was supposed to fly back from L.A. to see her after work and we were going to go to the theater together because she loves the theater. It makes her feel fancy. It’s the only thing we do together, and now I can’t b-because she’s hurt and I just want to be with her so please,pleaselet me see her. I have nothing and no one else in this world. Please let me see her. My dad is gone. My friends are gone. My mom is all I have left, just please let me.Please.”
Fat tears cling to my lashes as I use all my strength to prevent them from falling, but as I fall silent and slightly breathless from the rush of words, they finally spill over and roll down my cheeks.
“I’m tired and I’m sore and I’m s-scared and I just… I want my mom.”
Ruslan continues his exercise throughout my entire speech, his back still facing me. But as I finally fall silent and barely swallow a sob, he lowers his arms and turns to face me. Sweat gleams across his smooth chest and mingles with a patch of hair dusted across his pecs. His abdomen flexes as he pants and he curls his lower lip into his mouth while staring at me.
“Fine,” he says after a second of silence. “I’ll take you.”
I almost wishhe didn’t. Mom is utterly unconscious and hooked up to so many machines that I can barely count all the wires as I hobble to her bedside, my heart pounding violently in my chest.
She’s barely recognizable. Her face is black and blue, covered in bruises, and one eye is swollen so completely that I doubt it would open even if she woke up. One arm is in a cast, and I dare not imagine what she looks like under the blankets. The dull, harsh light of the room does little to bring me any comfort, and when I take her bruised hand in mine, her fingers are cold.
“Who would do this?” I gasp as the tears come. I’m not strong enough to keep them at bay. “My mom is so gentle. She’s quiet. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Who would do this to her? Who?”
Ruslan, who remains at the door with his arms crossed, doesn’t say a word. He becomes one with the shadows much like the first time we met, and it’s easy to forget that he’s even there.
Staring at my mom, studying her poor face, my strength crumples and I burst out sobbing.
These aren’t like the tears from before.
I collapse against her bed, clutch at her arm, and sob openly as if the sound of my crying will somehow reach her and bring her back. The tears pour, my nose blocks, and the black hole of grief in my chest threatens to crush me as each aching sob that tears from me rips me open.
It hurts.
It hurts so much that I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
Who are these people? What kind of monsters would do this? What kind of men?
I sob until there’s nothing left, until I’m laying my head on her lap and letting dry sobs shudder out of me between weak breaths and gasps. Her hand is finally warm from my touch, and I tell myself it’s because she knows I’m here.
“You have the wrong person,” I croak, finally lifting my head and gazing at Ruslan who is barely visible in the dark. “I don’t know anything about drugs. My family are normal people. We’re not involved in anything. My dad didn’t d-deserve to die and my mom didn’t deserve to be r-raped and beaten like this. You have the wrong people. I’m not a spy. I’m n-not. I’mnot.”
Ruslan finally steps out of the shadows and walks closer. “It’s time to go.”
Anger surges through me like a surging fire. “That’s it?” I snap, hauling myself onto unsteady feet. “That’s all you have to say? What kind of cold fucking monster are you, huh? Are you some kind of robot? Is that the kind of monster that would do this?” I throw my hand back to my mother. “Look at her! Look at her and look at me and then tell me you think we’re part of your world!Tell me you think we deserve this!” I slam both hands into his brick-solid chest. “How can you be so cold?”
“Ivy!” Ruslan’s large, warm hands suddenly clasp my shoulders and he holds me so tightly that I no longer wobble. There’s a split second where something floods his eyes, something akin to sympathy. “I can’t fix this. I can’t save your mom. Nothing I can say will make you feel better. But I swear I won’t stop until I find the truth, and then I hope the answers bring you comfort.”
Had I the energy, I likely would have cried once more, but the warmth coming from him is too inviting to ignore. I sag forward, my head low. “I can’t lose her too,” I murmur. “I can’t. I can’t do this by myself.”
“We’re taking care of her,” Ruslan says quietly. “The best we can. But we really have to go.”
Exhausted and defeated, I agree. Ruslan lets me kiss my mom goodbye and try to smooth out her hair, then we trudge out of the hospital. Halfway out, pain flares under my armpit from my crutch and Ruslan seems to catch on immediately because within the next step, he takes my crutch from me and offers his arm instead.
I clutch at his thick forearm and let myself get distracted by the strong, smooth muscle under my hands. It’s better than thinking about anything else. “Sorry I called you a monster,” I murmur as we walk down the steps toward the car Ruslan parked.
“I don’t take it personally,” he replies. “You have a lot to process. You need to yell and insult? Go for it. You need to break things? I can arrange that.”
“Why?” I ask as we reach the sidewalk. “Out of everything you’ve told me, I don’t understand why you even care.”
