Page 110 of Destined for the Devil
And there, I witnessed Lena and Isla in aphysicalfight. Lena had a fistful of Isla’s hair, viciously pulling on it. Islascreamedbloody murder but somehow found her composure and shoved Lena into the bar. A tequila bottle exploded beside them just as Lena let go of Isla’ hair, only for them to charge at each other.
With Isla's hands at Lena's throat and Lena throwing wild punches in Isla's direction, they were both barely holding themselves up on their heels, their skirts riding up with every wild motion.
What the fuck was going on?!
"Oh,blyat, look at that!" Sergei half-chuckled, but both he and I were already running toward them, eager to intervene.
Separating them was much harder than I had anticipated.
It was impossible to discern what they were yelling at each other, pure fury and insults flying between them. I grabbed a hold of Isla’s waist and pulled her off Lena, whom she was straddling and choking. But as soon as Isla was off Lena’s stomach, a rogue punch caught Isla square in the cheek.
In all my years of spending time in clubs and whatever other shit-holes, I’d never seen a girl fight. This looked both hot and extremely violent, like they were fighting to the death.
Lena jerked in Sergei’s arms once he lifted her up, her eyes bloodshot and her face twisted in a most menacing scowl. "You're a fucking liar! You come into our lives and try to fuck it up, you snake!"
Isla writhed in my arms, trying to get back at Lena, not lost for words herself. "You're delusional! Better I fucking tell you than you find out for yourself, you fucking bitch! You punched me in the face!"
A second of silence passed, but as if on cue, both women lunged at each other again. Sergei seemed to sober up from the scene and pulled Lena back while I held onto Isla without much effort.
A hush fell over the entire restaurant. Staff froze mid-step, the young bartender still held a wine glass in his hand, and everyone else stared at us in wild disbelief. Sergei led Lena away and toward the exit, both of them exploding into a full-blown argument.
"Angel, what happened?" I looked over Isla's red cheek, holding back my laughter. This whole situation was both concerning and also straight out of a comedy skit.
I led a disheveled Isla to the closest table, where she slumped down in a chair with a pout, angrily adjusting her skirt. I asked for ice and took a seat in front of her, giving her my full attention.
"Don't laugh, Roman!" She chuckled when she noticed me trying to hold it back. “What the fuck is the matter with her?!" She accused Lena and winced at the ice I placed on her red and puffy cheek.
"How did—what—who started this?" I wanted to ask everything at once but realized it was best to have the discussion at home.
An hour later, Isla's bruise was coming in full force while she sat at the kitchen island and carefully inspected her face in a handheld mirror. I stood with my arms crossed in front of her, beaming shamelessly, no longer able to hold back how hilarious this was for me.
"Stop laughing!” She smiled when she noticed me out of the corner of her eye. “This isn't funny! That bitch gave me a black eye!" She gently applied some cream on the spot, but nothing was going to save her from the bruise. "We were having a normal conversation, and shefinallystopped being a total cunt." Isla took a sip of the drink I poured her right after the shower.
"So what set this off?"
"I did everything you told me! I asked a million questions about her life, and we talked about fucking everything on the planet!” Isla spoke loudly, still accusing Lena of every misfortune in the world. “She told me about her kids, her house, her Pilates class, her parties, her friends. And then I began bringing up Natasha and that night, and she would just shut down. Every time. She just didn’t respond and steered the conversation in another direction."
Damn it. Maybe there wasn't enough time for Lena to open up. What the fuck was she doing there that night with Natasha?!
"So then, I asked how she met Sergei, and she went on thislong-asstirade about how she had actually known him for years before he asked her ou—"
"What?!” I interrupted, my face blazing at this new information.
"Yeah! She said she met him, like, years before he finally asked her out.She said she was so happy that they both finally saw how much they liked each other. That's why she didn't feel guilty for getting pregnant before her wedding—because she knew they’d be together." Isla delivered the news, but my mind descended into hell.
This was another earth-shattering secret Sergei had kept hidden for years. It was common knowledge that their relationship moved at lightning speed—they met, she got pregnant, and they got married. Evidently not. I motioned for Isla to continue.
"Anyway, she told me about how amazing he was and how he was a great husband and father and blah, blah, blah, and how he loved her and she loved him, and they were justsoin love—” Isla spoke quickly, dramatically listing off everything she’d heard from Lena, “—and that’s when I told her what he said to me at that dinner, just like you asked me to do."
Isla knocked back an angry gulp of her whisky, continuing on as if defending herself. "I wasn't a bitch about it! I just told her that, you know, it sounds likemaybeshe should have a conversation with him since he said some pretty sick shit. That’s when she just fucking flipped and lunged at me and pulled my hair, and well...I guess you saw the rest."
Fucking great. We were nowhere closer to finding out if Sergei actually had anything to do with Natasha's death, and now Lena was angry as all fuck.
Except I did find out that Sergei was in love with Natasha for years, but…that didn't bring me any new peace of mind. On the contrary, it made our whole friendship hollow, my fingers itching to put a bullet between his eyes.
Fuck. This was a failure.
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