Enslaved to the Mob Ch. 14

"I was about to send a search party for you." Mikhail joked, his smile soft as he struggled to sit up against the pillows.

She could only meekly smile at his comment, forcing herself to play it calm. As Mikhail gestured to the space beside him upon the bed, Angelique slowly made her way towards him, crawling up into the bed beside him as her heart raced and pounded fiercely within her chest. Her body was tense, her mouth silent, as she sat beside him, watching as his hands took the photo album from her lap.

"I'm thankful that you saved my belongings. If they had been left in the car, they would probably be nothing but ashes by now." Mikhail remarked weakly as pulled the album close to him.

"Your friend Nikolai is dead." Angelique said abruptly and out of the blue. "Your men, they wanted me to tell you."

She couldn't hold it in anymore, she just couldn't. Every second Angelique held back the knowledge was like sheer torture on her nerves. It weighed her down, a dark cloud hanging over her head. There was no easy way of telling Mikhail and breaking the news to him. There was no scenario in her mind that would be good. In the end, she knew it had to be quick, like a band-aid being pulled off: quick and sudden.

But the long silence that followed was in ways more painful than having to tell him. The soft, weakened smile upon Mikhail's face was gone, washed away with a serious, cold look upon him.

Slowly he rose from the bed, his body stiff and slow with fatigue and the lingering effects of the medicine. Silence came over him as he processed what she had said. With every moment his anger rose, anger intertwined with strong feelings of pain and misery. It was blinding, mind numbing. It wasn't until he placed his belongings down upon a table that the full wrath of his anger was clear.

In one fell swoop, his arms, even as weak as they were, threw over the table. All of its contents flew everywhere, tossed away before a blinded, enraged scream of pure anger rushed past his lips. Everything in his path was not spared. Lamps were thrown against the wall, books ripped from their shelves. And yet, as he turned around, seeing the frightened, terrified form of Angelique upon the bed, Mikhail's rage only increased.

He stormed over to the bed, pulling her by the hair from the bed with all of his might before slamming her against the wall. Even as she tried to escape, he would not be denied. As Angelique tried to scamper away, crawling away from him with all of the speed she could find, his hand reached down, pulling her closer to him before locking around her neck, and pulling her up to be pinned to the wall.

Angelique was terrified. Absolutely terrified. Her eyes were so utterly filled with fear as she looked into Mikhail's eyes. There was nothing behind them, nothing but a dark emptiness filled with rage and anger. Behind those eyes, there was no light, no signs of life at all. It was only anger, pure unadulterated anger that coursed through his veins like boiling water. She was at a complete loss for what to do, pinned against the wall with his hand so firmly around her neck. There was no escape, no way out. She could only watch as his free hand balled into a fist, cocking back before being ready to strike her.

And yet, Mikhail couldn't.

With his hand cocked back, ready to strike the terrified, crying woman that trembled in his hand, he couldn't bring himself to do it. A cohesive thought ran through his mind: who was to blame for it all? She had been sent here by the others. She had been the one sent to be the messenger. They should be the ones punished. And yet, there was no telling for how long she had held in the dark secret. For some time he had noticed she had something on her mind, something so looming and taxing upon her mind. How long had she known about it? How long had she been keeping it from him?

It was then that the thought hit him like a pile of bricks to his head. Blame could have been easily laid at anyone's foot, and yet, Mikhail knew he was the one responsible for it all. It was his entire fault. He had no one to blame for Nikolai's death but himself. If he hadn't been so foolish, if he hadn't been so fucking brash, if he had taken care of things before, none of it would have happened. Nikolai would not be dead. He wouldn't be bed ridden with bullet holes and cocktails of antibiotics and pain killers. At the end of the day, he could blame everyone and anyone, but the truth would always be there. He was the one to blame.

He was rough with his grip as he released Angelique from his grip, pushing her aside as he sat back down onto the bed. His eyes were downturned to the floor as Angelique coughed, breathing in fresh air as she hurried away from the angry animal that Mikhail had become. For as long as he could remember, the first real ounce of regret and misery filled him as he thought. Death was something that was a common occurrence in his line of work. On more than one occasion he had sent men to their deaths, even his own men. But never did he feel the regret and pain he felt then and there over Nikolai's death. He wanted the punishment he deserved; he wanted the pain and misery he deserved. The person he had been closest with for the longest time was gone, all because of him. Who would be next to go? Mikhail looked to Angelique as she stood off to the side, her eyes filled with pain and fear. Already she had come close to death. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing her die because of him. Punishment for his sins.

"Get out." He growled at her, his eyes returning down to the floor in all of his pain and misery. "You're free. Get the fuck out of here."

Mikhail had been so fucking dangerous, so damn unpredictable that night, but what he had said after everything was said and done confused Angelique more than anything. Free? She was actually free? "Wh-what?" She asked, confusion so evident in her voice.

He rose quickly from the bed, crossing the distance between them in no time at all. Firmly he gripped her long dark hair, jerking her about as he opened the bedroom door. "I said get out!" Mikhail yelled, pushing her out of the room with force. "You're fucking free, stay the fuck away from me!" The last things he said to her before stepping back, and slamming the door, leaving Angelique all alone in the hallway with nothing but the raw emotions that threatened to break through.

She was free. Mikhail had freed her. It was a day she had always deep down looked forward to, the day when she would be free to go home, to go back to the life she had been ripped away from. And yet, as she sat upon the floor, looking to the closed bedroom door, she couldn't help but to feel the desire to stay. Mikhail was in a bad place, a very bad place. That much was clear. She knew so many things, things Mikhail did not know, things that would destroy him both mentally and physically if they came to pass. Part of her wanted to run, to go home back to her life and family, and yet, a larger part of her didn't want to. She wanted to stay with him. Despite all of her inner turmoil, she had begun to like the man that had saved her life.

Slowly Angelique collected herself from the floor, moving back to the small bedroom that she had been given.

As soon as she turned into the open doorway, however, panic filled her. Her eyes locked upon the seated figure of Dmitri sitting across from the door. Haze of smoke surrounded him from the cigarette he had ignited, and yet, ever so clearly, she saw the gun, the very same gun he had used to violate her, sitting upon the table beside him.

Dmitri. She had to tell him, she had to warn Mikhail. Angelique had opened her mouth to speak, to scream and yell, but it was too late. The smoke screen shielded from her view the stun gun in his hand. With the pull of a trigger, the leads shot out, piercing her flesh as the raw, powerful electricity flowed freely.

It paralyzed her instantly. She only had a brief moment upon her feet before the pain overwhelmed her. Onto the floor she collapsed, the incessant buzzing of the gun the only sound in the room other than her body's own natural and instinctive cries. The pain was unbearable, excruciating. Every muscle in her body felt weak, aching with soreness. Upon the carpeted floor she laid, panting deeply as she fought for air. Angelique could do nothing, her body far too weak, as Dmitri rose from his chair, snickering in enjoyment.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"