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And screamed.
And screamed.
If Hal had ever harbored any doubt about the innate goodness (albeit sometimes deeply buried under testosterone bullshit) of his Crownsmount brothers, those doubts were put to rest when he saw the protective shield the Saints had formed around Valentina.
Most of the guys in Prosper’s home chapter had served in the armed forces at one time or another, and even if they didn’t immediately recognize the screaming woman as Gianni Abruzzi’s daughter, they knew trauma-induced hysteria when they saw it. There was not a man there that was not touched by her fear; they just didn’t know what the hell to do.
“Let me by.” Hal broke through the line. Then he turned to Gunner, “Get everyone the fuck away from her. I got this.”
“You sure, brother? Woman is going through some crazy hell—about as worse as it gets. Maybe we need to call an ambulance or some shit,” Gunner said.
“I said I got this, you gonna make me say it again, brother?” Hal didn’t have time for Gunner’s overly cautious bullshit.
Gunner put his hands up in surrender, then turned to the men and put the word out. Just as fast as it had formed, the line disappeared.
Hal slowly approached Valentina, whose screams had been reduced to pathetic whimpers simply because her vocal chords could no longer stand the strain.
Jesus.
The terror in her eyes was damn heartbreaking. Valentina was a shaking, quivering mass of fear wrapped up tight and trapped in torment.
Hal knew all about that, all about free-falling into a nightmare—into a world of horror that was as real to you as the world you had just left behind. No one knew better than he did what it felt like to be safely fixed in the present one moment, and then in the next transported into your worst nightmare.
Dolly’s words came rushing back to him—Remember that awful earthquake that hit the Caribbean a while back? It devastated the area and all those school children died. The buildings all crumbled like paper. It was almost four days before Gianni got word that Valentina was alive only to find that she had been caught under that rubble all that time. She was disoriented and severely dehydrated by the time they got her out. Trapped in the dark, she was alone all that time with all those poor dead and dying children around her.
Hal knew that even though Valentina was right there in front of him, physically standing only a few feet away, in her mind she was back there— trapped under third world devastation.
He felt helpless as he saw her chest heave with the effort of trying to get oxygen into panic-closed airways. Her eyes were two black marbles sunken into a face that was rigid, white, and beaded with sweat. Hal moved towards Valentina, his every action slow, deliberate, and executed with one mission in mind—to rescue her from the torment of her imprisoned mind.
There was a part of Valentina that knew she wasn’t back in Haiti. The part of her brain that had worked so hard to quell the demons of fear, whispered reassurances that she was safe and sound—that she was not buried in the dusty, dirty fragments of a broken city. Valentina felt her inner struggle and tried hard to hold on to her more saner self. But the fear was too strong, and she just couldn’t seem to find her way back. She was filled with despair and grappling with the terror of isolation.
Just when she thought she was never going to be able to break through the thick haze of fear, the sound of a faint but persistent voice reached her.
“Valentina, breathe. BREATHE. There’s plenty of air baby and you’ve got to breathe!”There was someone here with her in the darkness. Someone had come to save her. Valentina swallowed down the next scream so that she could hear that voice again. The powerful force of his tenor came through, only this time, it was louder and even more commanding. The rumble of his voice cut through the darkness and beckoned her forth. The hand that grabbed hold of hers was strong, warm and solid. She squeezed it hard, afraid it might let go.
“That’s right, Valentina, hold on to me, baby. I got you and there is no fucking way that I’m going to leave you. Listen, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to take in some steady air, or you’re gonna pass out. Can you do that for me? Can you try, Valentina?”
I’m not gonna leave you. You are not alone and I am not going to let go.
More than anything, Valentina wanted to believe that. More than anything she wanted to please that voice; follow that command.
She managed a small, fractured breath.
“That’s good. That’s real good.” Then she felt the hand that held hers move it against his hard, muscled body. “Feel my chest rise and fall? Now you do it. You inhale and exhale when I do.”
Valentina gulped a full breath of air in then let it out in a rush.
“That’s it, you’re doing great, but slower this time.” The voice persisted. “There’s plenty of air. You've got plenty of air. I’m going to stay right here with you. Valentina, I just need you to relax and follow my voice. You just keep your hand on my chest and breathe when I do, baby, and I’ll do the rest. I’ll bring you home.”
Valentina followed his steady voice and soft commands. It took a while, but as she listened to the low rumble of the strong, guiding voice, Valentina felt her chest loosen, and her lungs expand with air. The voice never wavered as it reached out to her through the darkness with a comforting, hypnotic rhythm.
With slow, deliberate breaths, Valentina eventually emerged from the depths of terror, pain, and certain death, to find herself protected, comforted, and very much alive in the arms of Hallelujah Thomas.
The next morning found the meeting room packed with hungover and still drunk Saints. Prosper’s hollering went a long way to sobering them up.
“You wanna tell me again how it fucking happened that we let Valentina Abruzzi on to the property!?” Prosper was pacing like a caged tiger—back and forth—back and forth. He stomped across the club’s scarred wooden floor all the while gesticulating wildly with his hands flexed into hard fists, and the veins in his neck popping out into thick road maps.
He had been hollering at ear-splitting decibels for close to an hour, and it didn’t appear that he was going to be losing steam any time soon. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars of goddamn—GODDAMN—surveillance equipment and nobody—NO-FUCKING-BODY—picked up the little fact that the new play thing that this fuckinggeniusbrought to the party”—Prosper swiveled on his heels and stabbed the air forcefully around Riker’s head—“just happened to be Abruzzi’s blood?”
