Page 130 of Destined for the Devil
As if I gave a fuck.
"Yeah? Whatever helps you sleep at night, asshole!” I shouted back with the same energy. “This all started when you decided that killing my dad was a great fucking idea. So you have no one to blame but yourself, you dick!"
God, it felt amazing to finally say it to him, to finally show him just how much I fucking despised him.
Sergei had no comeback. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number, huffing and impatiently waiting for someone to pick up.
He spoke urgently, half shouting in rapid-fire Russian, but I couldn’t even pick apart one word. Thanks, Duolingo, you useless piece of shit.
I stayed planted near the cockpit, the pilots hovering behind me, waiting for someone to take control. We all watched Sergei pace like a trapped animal, switching between curses and orders, loudly speaking into the phone.
Finally, he hung up and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I really fucking hate you, Isla.” He shook his head, glancing in my direction. “If we don’t die tonight, Roman’s definitely going to kill me now.”
Victorious, I shrugged. “I sure fucking hope so.”
56
Precipice
Isla
"Whenyoushoot,pointexactly where you want the bullet to go through. And hold the gun with both hands. Try." Sergei barked out instructions, and I listened intently.
I pressed the trigger, and my hands went numb from the violent recoil. “Not bad for your first time; try again.” He spoke coldly, and I did as he told me. "Remember, bullets fly fast, so don't try to dodge it. That’s how you get one in the chest.”
Sergei's eye was starting to lightly bruise from my punch, and I fuckingloved it. He had a number of other injuries on his face, and I wondered what the hell happened to him.
"You will fucking stay away, Isla. Donotfucking argue with me.” He withdrew the gun from my hands, pointing it down. “This is just in case it all goes to shit and everyone starts dying. At least you'll be able to extend your life for a few minutes if you know how to shoot."
"Okay, sure." I watched him load the gun, aiming it where I’d just sent the bullet.
Earlier, on the plane, Sergei called his contacts in Russia. I didn't know how any of it was possible, but we were waiting for something like a mercenary army to arrive, consisting of ten men.
They were on their way, and in the meantime, Sergei drove me to the middle of nowhere, insisting that I learn how to shoot.
"How much are you paying these guys?" I dared ask.
"A fuckingshit ton.” He barely looked at me. “But they’re professionals, so…they're worth it." He stopped shouting, finally.
"Why didn't you just do this before? Why did you have to make me beg?" This seemed obvious now if he had access to this kind of strength.
He flicked his eyes to me, away from the weapon in his hands. Like a match being lit, he was annoyed and angry immediately. "Because Isla.” He tilted his head in frustration. “Because Roman made me promise to get you out, okay?! He didn't want to consider storming Giovanni's place because he didn't want to put you in danger. In fact! We may all fucking die tonight.” He splayed his hands in the cold air, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I'm sure he has the whole fucking place buzzing with explosives. Let’s go.”
In silence, he drove us back to the private jet, and once on board, he pulled out a duffel bag from underneath a seat and withdrew my coat. Couldn't have done that before, could he? Then, he approached a tiny closet and pulled out a bullet-proof vest, throwing it at me just like the coat.
"Put it on. This is non-negotiable."
Not wanting to get into another argument, I took my sweater off and picked up the vest, having no fucking clue which way was front or back. Sergei watched me for a beat and then let out an annoyedtskand yanked it out of my hands.
“Put your hands up.” With rough, impatient movements, he tugged it on me and then spun me around to adjust it.
"What the fuck is on your neck?" He spoke from behind me, his voice drenched in something akin to concern. I realized the whip marks must have caught his attention. I didn’t respond, but he probed again. "What happened? These look fresh."
"John whipped me one day. When I refused to say what he wanted. On the video." The memory infiltrated my mindonce more—John raising his arm to bring the leather down on my back, again and again. I shook on the floor, my teeth chattered from the pain, but he didn’t even blink. He just stood there, calm, waiting it out.
Sergei turned me back around to face him, disgust and disbelief shining in his eyes. “Hewhippedyou? Like…with a whip?"
Yes, obviously. What else do you whip someone with?
