Page 1 of The Fallen King

one

Where Am I?

Waking up in a strange room, I do not know where the fuck I am but whatever is in this IV starts to take me under again as I try to focus and figure out what the hell happened after I was put in a body bag and carted away in the ambulance, but the pull to the darkness is so strong I can’t help but let it take me under.

Hearing commotion going on all around me as my body aches in pain. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but my brain keeps replaying the last thing I truly remember. Gunshots echo around me causing me to jolt, but I can’t open my eyes. Flashes of my truck being blown up replay vividly, seeing my body fly out of the driver's side door, smacking my head against the concrete. Another flash of Spade feeling around for my beating pulse as he tells the others that I’m gone. He knew damn well my heart was racing as he pricked my neck with one of Jameson’s injectables. We had five more months to put the plan in motion. Jade was supposed to give birth, and then we would move forward. My truck getting blown up wasn’t supposed to happen. My only guess is Marsela’s family will stop at nothing to make sure I’m in the grave. They have to be the ones responsible for it.

“Mr. Roselli. I’m going to give you something. It’s going to give you a jolt of adrenaline and complete focus,” a strange man says, as I slowly open my eyes. The bright light in the room causes them to close.Fuck that burns.

“W-what?” I rasp, not understanding what the hell is happening.

“We are here to save you,” he says as a warm sensation flows through my veins causing my body to tingle and my heart to pound fast. My eyes fly open and I jolt out of the bed. My vision blurs as the man steadies me.

“Easy, Mr. Roselli. You’ve been in that bed for twelve weeks, recovering. Your legs are going to be like Jell-O but that shot is going to make you feel like Superman,” he chuckles as my vision clears.

“Where the fuck am I?” I spit, as my heart races and my limbs shake. He hands me a knife and a gun before smiling sinisterly.

“Russia, but we are here to take you home,” he says as my eyes widen.Russia? What the fuck?

“How the hell did I get here?” I ask, and he huffs.

“No time for questions, Lad. Once we are safely out of here, I will explain everything,” he assures me, and I nod. “Alright, leaving this room, we shoot to kill. We've surrounded the area, and most are dead, but we need to account for any survivors or those who escaped. We shoot to kill. We take no prisoners,” he tells me, and I nod again, following his lead, realizing I'm in nothing but a fucking hospital gown, completely naked underneath, with a pair of grippy socks on.Fuck it.

Following behind the tall man dressed in a black tee and matching fatigues, completely armed to the nines with weapons, we move quickly through what looks like a hospital as sirens blare through the overhead speakers. We round a corner as a few men charge at us. Lifting our guns, we shoot until they drop.

Stepping over their dead bodies, I continue to follow the man’s lead towards the stairwell exit as he swings the door open, and begins taking them down, two at a time. I grip the railing as I take them down as fast as my legs will let me. More gunshots echo through the small space as he waits for me near a door at the bottom. Finally, making it to him, he swings the door open and a gust of cold air hits my naked skin. A running black SUV waits for us just outside the door. He opens the back and I slide in, taking a deep breath. The SUV moves quickly away from the hospital as the ground rumbles beneath the tires. A flash of light momentarily blinds us before a blast sends the SUV flying forward, but the driver takes control and gets us out of there safely.

Driving down the busy streets for a bit, we come to an airstrip and all pile out, climbing the stairs and entering the plane. I find a seat and take a deep breath. My head spins. I think I did too much in such a short amount of time, but luckily, the man who came for me hands me a bottle of water and a set of clothes.

“Drink that. It will settle your stomach from the drugs, then get dressed so we can talk,” he orders, nodding his head behind me.

Getting up, I walk down the aisle to the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I take a glance at myself in the mirror and don’t recognize the face looking back at me except for my eye colors. My hair has grown along with my facial hair and a scar on my face.Jesus Christ.As I get dressed, I think back to the night everything went to shit.

After Spade injected me with Jameson’s injectable, I laid there unable to move, but able to hear and feel everything going on around me. The urge to grab my wife and tell her to be strong, that it’s the only way to get through this mess. She's got to prove herself so I can come home. But even with that urge, I couldn’t move a muscle. Ambulance attendants quickly putme in a body bag in the back of the ambulance. I desperately wanted to scream, but the injection had worked as planned, silencing me.

Slamming my hands on the counter, I think about that night, and how it wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. I can still feel the pain I felt then as pieces of my skin melted from my body. Looking up at the mirror again, whoever fixed my face did a damn good job, but fuck. I’m really so fucking grateful to be alive, but I’m fucking angry.I want my wife. My family. I fucking hate this shit.

Devising a plan with my brother was a hard pill to swallow, especially with the person orchestrating everything. The one who brought the idea to the table and begged us to go through with it. We kept telling him she will never forgive us. That’s if she doesn’t kill us first.She’s never going to forgive me. I know she won’t.

Leaving the bathroom, I walk back to my seat as the man waits for me in his. Sitting down, I open the bottle of water and chug the contents. The cold water glides down my throat into my stomach.Damn, I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until now.

“Alright, Mr. Roselli. What do you remember?” he asks, and I raise a brow.

“What is your name?” I ask him, placing the empty bottle next to me.

“I’m Geoff Burke,” he tells me, and I nod.

“Well, Geoff. I remember being blown up and put into a body bag. I don’t remember anything after that.” His eyes widen when I mention that I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've been awake since the blast.

“So you don’t remember killing fifty people in the middle of Russia’s capital? You’ve been missing without a trace for the last three months. It was only last week that we found you, and from the records in your room that were attached to the bed, it seemsyou’d been there for twelve weeks and underwent heavy plastic surgery. Is that true?” he asks, and I nod.

“From the looks of it, yes. The only things that are recognizable to my past life are the tattoos on my chest and my eye colors,” I answer truthfully. I have no reason to lie, but three months; three months I’ve been a fucking ghost.What the fuck!?

“I see. Well, you’re safe now and the flight won’t be long,” he says, and I shake my head.

“And where are we going?” I ask, and he smiles.

“Home,” is all he says, and I raise a brow.

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