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Red stained my palm and a metallic odor hit my nose. His head jerked at my touch. Chains rattled. He tried to look up but couldn’t keep his head up for long. His eyes were swollen and had turned various shades of color.
Black and blue. Purple and red.
“Julie ...” my fingers shut his lips and hot tears burned my cheeks.
“Shh. Please, don’t speak. Don’t … don’t say anything.” I wanted to hug him so tightly, my heart ached. It hurt me to see him like this. Vulnerable, weak … dying?
I hadn’t noticed it before. The wide gash leaked a long stream of blood from his stomach. No. I pressed my hand against it; a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. My eyes watered, my throat burned, and all I heard was the stupid nagging voice telling me that my world, the one that had My Liam in it, was about to come crashing down.
“Liam …” I choked. “… who did this? Who did this to you?”
“Julie, come … I need … I need to tell you …” he was gasping now, trying to take in as much air as he could to fill his lungs. I leaned forward and he whispered in my ear.
When I pulled away, his eyes were glassy.
“I love you, my Julie… I’m so glad… so glad,” he heaved. “I saw you. One…last… time.”
The light in his eyes dimmed and his head dropped. The world spun and I was twelve again, listening to one of his crazy stories about Samantha Witherspoon, hearing his loud laughter as we rode our bikes and felt the breeze go through our hair.
I was twelve again, with Liam by my side, through the horrible death of his parents, through boarding school ... through everything I had ever experienced. Liam was a rock that I had stood on my whole life. This rock could not suddenly disappear.
It just couldn’t.
I took a step back. “Liam.” I poked his shoulder. “Hey, Liam! Stop it. Stop messing with me.”
No response.
The nagging voice grew louder. I nudged him again and shook his shoulder. He remained motionless. Dead.
“Liam! Open your eyes! Talk to me. Please, don’t do this. You can’t go! Liam!”
Strong arms held me close, and another man appeared from nowhere. White hair, blue shirt, black pants. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and checked Liam’s pulse on his wrist and neck.
I held my breath in anticipation and fanned the flicker of hope that the news would change. Then, he stared at Rafail behind me and shook his head.
No!
“No!” I thrashed in his arms. “No—Liam! Liam, wake up! You cannot do this to me. Don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me alone! Wake up, Liam!”
Fury, anger, and hurt brewed in my body. I needed someone to blame, and I knew just the target. I turned around, slamming my hands on his chest.
“This is all your fault! You’re the reason he’s dead! It’s your fault …” The harder I wept, the weaker my blows became.
He didn’t stop me. Didn’t hold my wrists or scold me as I expected him to. He let me scream till my lungs burned and held me tighter as my vision blurred.
Chapter 18 – Rafail
Click. Click.
“Quit playing with the fucking pen and think Viktor. Who do you think did it?”
The clicking stopped and he cleared his throat. “Now, don’t get mad, Rafa, but is there a reason we’re playing detective for Liam’s murder? He’s dead, isn’t that what you wanted?”
I peeled my gaze away from the boring ceiling and glared at him. His hands traveled halfway up through the air, signaling he didn’t mean trouble. But his dark eyes still held the question.
Yes, I wanted him dead, but on my terms.
What interested me was who had dared to carry out the damned plan. It was undoubtedly a good plan, executed with an undeniable trace of professionalism. Experience in the field.
