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“I guess he was good for something,” I spit out. “I mean other than the fact that he’s feeding the fish of the Hudson.”
The blow came so quickly that I didn’t have a moment to brace myself as O’Connor’s meaty hand collided with my face. It was so hard that it knocked me sideways, taking the chair with me.
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and as I ran my tongue over my teeth, I was surprised that none of them were cracked.
I started laughing as I saw flecks of blood on the floor. There was something so comical about this situation. For the past years I’d been terrified of someone finding out who I really was, but now, I knew that anything could make me a victim. Hell, O’Connor didn’t know who the hell I even was.
“What are you laughing at, you little bitch?” he sneered.
He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me backwards. The movement of my body disclosed my secret, and I saw the moment that O’Connor realized my hands were free.
His grip on my hair tightened, and he hauled me to my feet. I knew in that moment that my time was up. “I was going to make your death quick, but now, I want it to hurt.”
His free hand went to his waist, and I moved so swiftly that I don’t think he even anticipated what was going to happen next. The handcuff was swinging around my right hand. I grabbed the metal between my fingers, and before O’Connor could even think, I brought the sharp edge up to his eye, jamming the metal into the soft tissue with all the power I could muster.
It was surprisingly easy, and the blade made very little resistance as it slid into the soft tissue of his eyeball. O’Connor dropped me immediately, screaming as his hands went to his eyeball.
I didn’t wait around to see what happened next. The minute my feet hit the group; I was off. I didn’t think as I darted out of the door of the apartment and ran down the hallway and towards the stairs. I could hear the sound of O’Connor screaming, but I didn’t look back.
If I could make it out to the street, I might have a chance of survival. The door was so close that I could feel a breeze even from the hallway.
Then, it slammed open, and I nearly sobbed as several men in tactical gear stormed the building. This was the end. I was going to die in this dirty ass hallway, and the only thing that I could take comfort in was the fact that I’d taken a piece of O’Connor with me.
The men stopped, pointing their guns at me, and I froze waiting for the pain of the bullets that would slice through my skin.
But it didn’t happen. “That’s the girl!” someone yelled, and I felt my muscles freeze. I opened my eyes, and I saw a young man moving towards me. It was Marco Blanchi.
“Anastasia Ivanov?” he asked.
For a moment, I hesitated to confirm my identity. After all, the Blanchis were our mortal enemies. But as I thought about Patrick O’Connor, I decided that Marco Blanchi was the lesser of the two evils.
“Yes?” I said, a question in my voice.
He smiled. “Your father sent me. We’re here to rescue you.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Annie was curled up on the couch across from me. The doctor her father had sent over to the hotel had left about five minutes ago. I had arrived thirty minutes ago, and when I saw Annie, I was able to finally breathe.
“Can I get you something?” I asked, getting up from my seat. I felt a nervous, anxious energy that I was unfamiliar with, and I felt like I needed to do something.
Annie shook her head. She hadn’t spoken since I’d arrived. The doctor had fixed her hand and patched up the cuts on her lips.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Marco made sure I drank about three liters of water before he left.”
I scowled slightly at Marco Blanchi’s name. I didn’t like the idea of him being the one to save Annie, but I would get over it. He’d come through, so I could let my animosity towards him go.
I walked over to the mini-bar and poured myself a drink. It was the first one I’d had today, and the feeling of the liquor sliding down my throat reminded me of the embrace of a lover.
“You don’t need to stay,” Annie said, her voice slightly small.
“What?”
She shifted slightly, pulling the blanket around her body. “At this point, you know the truth. You know who my father is, and I know how you feel about that.”
My fingers tightened around my glass, and I took a deep, steadying breath. “You don’t know anything about how I feel right now.”
“You can barely look at me,” Annie said. There was a thickness to her tone, and though I wasn’t looking at her, I knew that she was crying.
