Chương 7: Chapter Six
Whiskey and I eventually got back to the Romanov Facility at around midnight after being at the ball for a couple hours. I regretted being back in a normal reality, but I guess being with Whiskey made it better. His presence soothed me and made me feel safe in this dangerous world, which is the best thing that could happen while on this dangerous mission.
After he helped me out of my ball gown, I changed into more comfortable clothes. In this case, it was denim jeans, a black button-down shirt, and gray slippers. I also put on a black-and-gold Timex watch that I received from my grandfather on my seventeenth birthday. It's a treasure that I had with me for a long time, and I intend on keeping it for the rest of my life.
"So what do you think Balor's gonna do next?" I asked, stepping out of the bathroom and back into the main area of the suite.
"Hard tellin'," he responded as he stared blankly ahead. "He's unpredictable, and he's dangerous. Especially considering that he's the one who orders at least five executions a day. If not, more."
I rested my hand underneath my chin, thinking about any theory as to what Balor could be or would be capable of doing. Whiskey was right. Balor was unpredictable, and it was frightening to think about. The things this devilish, disgraced creature could do was absolutely appalling. If I think that what he does in private is frightening, who knows what could happen if he gets his hands on Whiskey and I.
And if Balor ever puts his hands on Whiskey, he'll regret ever being born.
"So we wait until he pounces again. That's our best move, right?"
Whiskey shrugged and turned on the television. "It's the best thing we can do at this point. If we engage him at the wrong time, then Balor can go runnin', and that means we have to start all over again in catching him."
"And if he runs, then we might not see him ever again," I added.
Whiskey held up his hand, signaling me to quiet down. "Well, it looks like we might get our chance," he said as he turned up the volume on the television.
Then there it was. A frightening news report that I never thought I'd ever see. It was like something out of a nightmare.
Hundreds of people are dead after a violent terrorist attack erupted at a town square in Kurgan, Russia today. Authorities are saying that the Hellhound Corps, led by Balor Devlin, is the guilty party responsible for this heinous crime.
I will never forget those words. Those bone-chilling words. These were words that no one should have to hear. They're the kind of words that should only be used to inflict aggressive heartbreak onto someone deserving of such. And not just the normal, emotional kind of heartbreak, no. I also mean the kind where your heart is physically crushed because of someone stabbing a knife right through it. It pains you, and those words sure as hell pained me even though I wasn't involved.
"Shit," I said in a hushed tone. "That's horrible. You think Balor's trying to send us a message?"
"Oh, he definitely is. I've been doing this a long time and know when a terrorist is sending a rebellion group a message," Whiskey answered.
I then got a crazy idea. A crazy, stupid idea. I should have never said the words that came out of my mouth.
"Then, we should go after him."
"No, sugar. We can't go after him yet," Whiskey disagreed. "We don't know he was actually there at the scene of the attack."
"But he had to be nearby in a hidden place in order to orchestrate this," I said back. "It's nearly impossible to be in a whole 'nother town over and successfully organize this tragedy."
"I know, sugar, but we don't know where he could be now. We don't know his precise location. One wrong arrest of one his men, and he's on the run again. We can't afford to make the mistake of lettin' him run, sugar."
"But if we go after him now, then we can let him know that we ain't gonna handle this shit," I answered back, this time having my voice in a shouting voice.
At this point, Whiskey and I were about two feet away from each other. He was staring at me with hungry yet raging eyes. It was like fire was lit in the back of his eyeballs, and all I could see was anger and hate. Meanwhile, my blood boiled as I continued to stand in front of Whiskey. Neither of us were budging from our spots.
"If we wait for Balor to do something that makes him even more vulnerable, then we might have more of a chance. We don't have to worry about our lives as much, and we might have a good enough chance to catch Balor and not have him run again," Whiskey said in a relatively calm voice.
"But if we don't ride his ass now, then a lot more people could die!"
"It's a huge risk, sugar, and I'm not going to live with the guilt of your death. Just like I did with my high school sweetheart!" Whiskey shouted.
"You're telling me this? I've had to live with the guilt of my twin brother's death for a little over a year now. At this point, Whiskey, I'd much rather die a heroic death and avenge my brother's death than to wait around here and do nothing!"
"So you're sayin' you're willin' to drop everything we've sacrificed and die?" Whiskey asked, still keeping his voice in a shouting tone.
"If it comes down to it, then yeah."
That's when Whiskey erupted. His face was now a very clear beet red, and he was the angriest I've ever seen him. Even our time back in the snowy Ural Mountains wasn't as rage-fueled as this.
"There is no way in hell that I'm not lettin' you die, sugar! Uh-uh. No way. That would be stupid of you to go out there and get yourself killed."
"Oh, so now, you're calling me stupid for wanting to stop innocent people from dying at a fast rate," I shouted.
"That's not what I'm sayin'."
"Well, it sure sounds like it! It's sounding like you're holding me back. It's like you're stopping me from protecting you and the rest of the world," I started, still shouting. "It's like you never loved me. You're holding me back and not letting me save the world. It's like you're losing feelings for me."
My life flashed before my eyes as Whiskey sprang into action, getting deep into my personal bubble. He used his hand and grasped it onto my throat tightly, but it wasn't tight enough to choke the life out of me. My stomach dropped almost instantly when Whiskey did this.
Was he going to choke me to death?
Was he going to kill me just for disagreeing with him?
Our faces were centimeters away from one another. So much so that I could once again feel his hot, fuming breath beating down on the front of my face. As he and I locked eyes, I could see directly into his soul. It was fuming, angry…and I could tell he was contemplating his actions. He was regretting them, but on the outside, he was infuriated with me. Deep down, I was scared to death because Whiskey had never done this before. It's like he internally flipped a switch and turned into an angry individual. On the outside, however, I kept a strong, angry facade while using my eyes to showcase my feelings of burning desire and aggravation.
"Don't say that," he angrily started, still keeping a firm grasp on my throat. "You know that I love ya more than anything. So don't use that spewin' mouth of yours to say something like that when you know it isn't true."
I kept my infuriated eyes glued to Whiskey's. "Why not? It's one of our God given rights to have free speech. And I intend on using that whenever I damn well please."
"Not when that free speech threatens the ones you love," Whiskey added.
"But it sure looks like you're threatening me right now," I remarked, "and don't you say you aren't. I know you too damn well, Whiskey, and you're someone I love that seems to be threatening me using physical force. Well, guess what? It ain't gonna work because I already know your true intentions. You're not gonna follow through with it, and that makes me not afraid of you right now. In fact, it turns me on. It makes me want you even more. So this choking thing you're doing…yeah. It ain't workin' out the way you want it to."
He relinquished his grasp on my throat, and I was left breathing for air. I know Whiskey didn't intend on hurting me, but in that moment when he first lunged at me, it sure felt like it. He gave me a crooked smirk, glancing down at my lips briefly. He was thinking about kissing me again, but he never acted on this impulsive thought.
Deep down inside me, I wish he did.
Out of the blue, Whiskey's earpiece started to let out a ringing tone. It was almost like a telephone was ringing. His attention, in that moment, had immediately shifted from me to this apparent call.
"Sorry, sugar. Gotta take this," he said, walking out of the room and taking the call from Ginger Ale.
I was left stunned. Not just because of Whiskey's abrupt phone call, but also by what just went down. I must have severe mood swings or something of that nature because I switched into a depressive state.
After I sat at the foot of the bed, I broke down in tears. This was the biggest fight Whiskey and I had yet, with the encounter in the Ural Mountains coming nowhere near close. This case, however, was different. Whiskey turned to physicality as a threat, and it scared me. Did he really intend on killing me and covering his tracks? Deep down, I hoped he didn't. I love him too goddamn much. I can't let him go now. I just can't.
I buried my tear-soaked face in my hands, letting out loud and ugly sobs at this point. What if this fight—this fight we just had—would cause our relationship to end? What if this was the final straw? Just then, Whiskey entered back into the room and saw a disheveled me, sobbing uncontrollably at the foot of the bed. He was shocked at what he was seeing. He didn't think that I had the capability to cry, despite seeing me cry before. Almost immediately, however, that internal switch of his flipped, and his down-to-earth, concerned side was showing.
"Hey, hey, hey. What's goin' on, sugar? Why are you cryin'?" he asked, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close to him.
I sniffled and tried to say what I had to say in just one breath. I didn't want to stutter or have any interruptions in this serious comment I was about to roll out.
"This is it, ain't it? Our relationship?"
"What the hell are you talkin' 'bout?" Whiskey asked.
"That fight we just had. That had to have ended this relationship we had," I said, still crying, but it was in a considerably less hysterical way.
Whiskey then got the face of realization and quickly switched back to his concerned side. "Sugar, no. It didn't. It definitely didn't."
He inhaled and started again. "People fight all the time. It's in their nature to. It's in our nature, even. Just because they have a verbal tussle doesn't mean their relationship is done. Not all fights are like that. People are gonna have disagreements. People aren't gonna see eye-to-eye all the time…It's just how we're made. Just because we fought like that, sugar, doesn't mean we're gonna end this relationship we had. It just means that we deeply care about one another to vent out our frustrations and disagreements with one another."
He used the pad of his thumb to wipe away all the tears that soaked my face. "I love ya, sugar. And I sure ain't gonna ditch this loving relationship we have just because of one fight. I love ya too goddamn much to do that."
I slightly smiled, letting him know that I appreciated what he did. He ran his hand along my jawline, allowing me to once again feel the coarse nature of his hand. Once he reached the bottom of my chin, he stopped, keeping his index finger underneath it. He used the finger to raise my chin up, guiding me to his eyes. His eyes were concerned, but they were underlined with power. He was demanding me to keep this gaze. This hungry gaze.
Then, he leaned in close to kiss me gently. A lot gentler than the previous kiss before while we were in the Ural Mountains. Is this how I was going to end the night? With a gentle, soothing make-up kiss with Whiskey?
Nope! Hell no!
Like a roller coaster, things between me and Whiskey escalated rather quickly. Before I knew it, I was doing everything I could to rip off my shirt as quickly as possible, all while Whiskey and I locked lips harder than ever.
That's right. Things were getting steamier than ever.
I knew where this was headed, and I was okay with it. I was thrown aggressively—but carefully—onto the bed, and there I saw Whiskey, standing over me in a much more demanding light than ever. He was serious, demanding…I guess he wanted me that much too.
"Now, I'm ready to make you scream my name so loud, those people in the states will be able to hear us. You think you can do that for me?"
"Of course," I said, trembling slightly.
Now that he was hovering over top of me, he forcefully pinned my wrists down to the bed. I didn't know that he was capable of such strength like this. I couldn't even move my wrists because of this strong force bearing down on them.
It should be noted that the rest of this night was a blur for me, mainly because it made me inconsolable—out of intimacy, of course—so after that moment, I can barely remember this night without getting hornier than ever.
And as my breath quickened and my heart beat louder than ever, there was one phrase that made me bite the inside of my cheek so hard that it nearly bled.
"Good girl."
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