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written on a note on his chest.
I scream and scream, tears flowing from my soul, pouring from my eyes.
There’s so much blood everywhere.
He’s covered in it. He’s soaked, and it drips from his body to the floor.
I scream so much I feel I might die from the terror, die from the pain, die from the loss of another father.
Arms grasp hold of me from behind, holding me in place as I scream. I dare not look to see who it is. I can’t. I know it’s one of them. It’s probably Dmitri or another henchman here to kill me too.
I cry waiting to feel it. The press of a gun to my head, or hands around my throat ready to snap my neck, or maybe they’ll slash my throat, cutting me open.
“Ava,” the voice says in my ear, a hand now stroking my head. “Baby…”
It’s only when he says that, that I turn my head to look at him.
Vincent.
He came. He’s here. Sad eyes look down at me and back to Dad. Sad, heavy eyes that look so unlike the man he was when he was ready to kill weeks ago.
He shakes his head, and pure compassion fills his features when he stares back at me. I’m still bawling my eyes out so much I can’t catch my breath.
He loosens his grip on me, and I sink to the floor allowing the weakness to take me.
He lowers too and holds me close.
“Baby, please. Come, let’s go home. Come home,” he says against my hair.
Home… I gaze up at him, and my mind scatters. I can’t think straight. I certainly can’t talk.
His next words are stolen with a ticking sound.
It’s a distinct ticking sound that just comes on. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but it’s there. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Vincent grabs me. He just grabs me and throws me over his shoulder.
He runs to the window with me. That same window I used to escape with Dad weeks ago.
We don’t get to open it. An explosion rips through the fabric of reality, and then we’re smashing through the glass of the window. I see fire billowing forward, then I’m flipped around and cocooned against Vincent’s hard chest.
We’re falling, falling amongst shards of glass, smoke, fire, and my screams. Still he holds me.
My body jerks hard when he reaches for something to hold on to. I glance at the railing of the fire escape. The explosion weakened it, and we continue falling until we smash into the ground.
I swear he’s dead. He took a hit, and our weights combined hitting the ground together must have had an impact.
Blood pours down the side of his face, and his eyes flutter open as he winces in pain.
“Vincent,” I cry. I can’t believe he’s alive.
“Doll, are you okay?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“I’m not hurt,” I answer quickly.
Ahead are people who heard and saw the explosion. Fire rages from Dad’s apartment so high up it’s taken out the whole section.
