12
Lucca
As soon as I arrive, I know something is horribly wrong. Call it intuition or whatever the hell you want, but I know deep in my gut something has happened to Claire. Fuck, I should’ve pushed for her release. Not that Petro would’ve allowed that, but I could’ve tried harder.
My suspicion rises when the guard walking me to her cell won’t even look at me. Like it scares him I’m about to rip his balls off, and I seriously might.
He unlocks the door to her cell, and I step inside. Claire sits on the small cot, her knees drawn up to her chest and bundled up in my jacket. Her head shoots up, and her teary eyes find mine.
My blood boils in my veins when I see her black eye and swollen face. Motherfuckers.
I’m about to spin around and kill the guard, but Claire is already on her feet, throwing herself into my arms. She buries her face into my shirt, her small hands clinging onto me like I’m going to disappear.
Wrapping my arms around her tightly, I hold her to my chest and let her cry. When she doesn’t seem to calm down, I pick her up and sit down on the cot with her on my lap. I stroke her hair and tell her everything is going to be okay until she finally stops sobbing.
“Claire, look at me.” I nudge her to move her head, so I can see her face. Her red-rimmed eyes find mine, and my chest aches. “Who did this? Who hit you?”
Her frightened gaze flickers to the door like whoever did this will be there. “I—I don’t know.”
“Just tell me. Was it one of the guards?”
She nods her head but doesn’t give me a name.
“Did he do anything else? Did he touch you?”
“No,” she shakes her head, “he just hit me.”
I feel a fraction of relief, but not enough to put a dent in the need to kill whoever hit her. No matter if she tells me or not, I will make someone pay before I leave here.
Claire leans her head back against my chest, and I stay a while longer to hold her. I wish I could stay, or better, take her with me, but I can’t. Not yet anyway. After a while, I lean my head down, so my mouth is right next to her good ear.
“One more day, butterfly. You need to make it one more day. Tomorrow, I’m coming for you, and I’ll take you away from here. We’ll go somewhere safe, where no one can hurt you.”
She pushes against my chest, putting enough space between us to look up and into my eyes. There is frantic worry swirling in her green eyes.
“They said they are going to kill you.”
“I know they are going to try, but they won’t succeed. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine and so will you. One more day, and all of this will be a long distant memory.”
She wants to believe me. I can see the longing in her eyes, but fear has a chokehold on her. I know how she feels because I’ve been feeling the same. I haven’t been scared in a long time, but I am now. Scared of losing her, scared of seeing her hurt, scared of failing.
“One more day,” I repeat, praying to a god I don’t even believe in that my words are true.
I give her one more hug and place a kiss on the top of her hair before I tear myself away to rush out of the cell.
My footsteps echo through the long hallway, and I concentrate on that sound and nothing else. It takes everything in me to keep going.
At the very end of the hall, Igor waits for me with crossed arms, leaning against the wall like the world bores him.
When he sees me approaching, he straightens up. “One of my men didn’t follow orders. I was going to deal with it, but then I thought you might want to do it yourself. He is in this room.” Igor points to the door next to him. “Enjoy.”
“That I will.” Matter of fact, I will enjoy this very much.
I place the explosive in the closet close to the stairs. My hand is shaking, actually shaking. I haven’t been this nervous in a long time, but I’ve also never crossed Julian, or hurt someone I actually cared about either. At least not continuously.
“What are you doing?” Carter’s voice startles me.
I spin around and stare at him as he assesses the situation. “What is that?”
For a split second I think about lying to him, but I know he isn’t stupid. He already knows something is off. The suspicious look in his eyes gives him away.
“Explosives,” I explain, keeping my voice low.
“Why?” is all he asks. One word that holds at least five questions.