The Monster (18+)

Chapter 25: You're Leaving

Chapter Twenty-Five
"You're Leaving"

Everyone moved fast but I was stuck, replaying everything that happened in the last few hours. From Dimitri ordering Rafael to be taken in, to him carrying me to his car because he saw how much I struggled to stand.

He cradled me to his chest, and when he shook from his unrestrained rage, I weakly pressed a hand to his heart before murmuring, "I'm okay."

His chest still heaved when his eyes flickered to mine, and I knew that he needed an outlet for the storm building inside him. Even though I couldn't understand it—his desire to hurt—I've come to accept that part of him. It's who he is.

And despite all that rage, that passion for violence, he handled me gently.

Someone opened the backseat for us, and he lowered me, so I was sitting with my legs hanging out of the car. Once he began to reluctantly pull away from me, his stare burned into my zip-tied hands, and I swear, it felt like my flesh burned.

He stuck his arm out and demanded something in Russian, his eyes never leaving my wrists. One of his men handed him a knife, and before I knew it, Dimitri ripped the ties while looking seconds away from committing a massacre.

Throughout this whole ordeal, he never once spoke to me. It felt like something was pressing against my chest, and at one point, I struggled to breathe when he buckled me in before closing the door. I watched through the window as he barked orders before he rounded the car.

When he sat next to me, the car kicked forward, but besides staring at my wrists the whole ride, he never said anything.

I ended up falling asleep, not realizing how exhausted my body was. By the time I stirred awake, the first thing I noticed was: I'm no longer in the car.

No. I'm in an apartment. A penthouse, more like it.

It took a few minutes for me to even peel my eyes open, but I could hear everything. Men and women speaking Russian, all of them sounding brisk and impassive. When they turned off the safety of their guns, my chest rose in fear, but then I heard a door open and close, signalling their departure.

Then, I paid attention to finer details. Like where I was laying.

It felt like a couch, but it didn't feel like any couch. It felt rich. Warm. Soft.

And then I opened my eyes, and I wanted to sink into the floor because there were men. Everywhere.

The penthouse was open concept. At first, I thought I was facing the living room because there were two leather couches on either side of the circular coffee table. But then my eyes extended forward, and I saw a peninsula. Then, I thought that must be the kitchen.

But no, it wasn't. I only had to tip my chin down to see the other half of the room; and there it was. A whole living room with two leather couches and two arm rests, opposite of the peninsula. A hug rug covered the space, along with a square coffee table. It all centred around the massive TV hung on the wall.

And the kitchen? It was directly next to the living room, taking up most of the wall across from me. It was huge, white and glossy, with two islands and a fridge double the size of mine. There were two hallways, which I assumed led to the bedrooms, and next to those halls was a large space with two elevators.

I didn't even know elevators could open into apartments.

Despite dozens of people occupying the large space, nobody looked at me. Actually, some of them seemed to be actively avoiding me.