Dmitry's Closet Nelson, S. (best reads TXT) 📖

“Start with me,” Dmitry said, putting the gun down. “Start with me. Let her go. She’s so weak, she can barely stand. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Oh but she does. She wants it.” Ivan grabbed Royal’s breast. “She needs it after being with you.” He licked the side of her face.

“I don’t have anything. No gun. Please just take the knife from her neck.”

Ivan watched his brother for a minute then ran his hand down the side of Royal’s body. He enjoyed watching Dmitry in so much pain, having never seen the depths of him before. All he had to do was mention her name, and Dmitry cringed like he had been shot by a thousand bullets. The man who was once made of stone had turned to dust before him.

“Tell him how good it was, Royal,” Ivan ordered, pressing the knife against her neck. “Tell him it was the best that you’ve ever had.” He ran his hand down her inner thigh.

Royal closed her eyes. “Only you, Dmitry,” she said in a whisper. She felt the knife as it cut into her throat for her disobedience. The taste of iron filled her mouth.

She heard Dmitry as he screamed her name.

“ROYAL!”

Ivan stepped back as Royal’s tired, feeble body hit the floor beside the bed. He laughed loud and hearty, enjoying himself immensely.

Dmitry pulled the knife from his side pocket and charged towards his brother, screaming and groaning in agony. Ivan ducked. Catching his brother in the waist, he picked him up and carried him a few feet from Royal’s body. Dmitry buried the knife into Ivan shoulder. He tore through the flesh until is stuck in his bone.

The two men fell into the table and slid on the floor.

Dmitry screamed out in pain, pulled Ivan’s knife from his leg and rolled over. He was resigned to dying but not before Ivan. Not for what he had done to Royal.

Ivan pulled the long dagger from his shoulder and screamed.

“You fucking rat bastard!” Ivan screamed.

To their feet, they were again, moving around like angry wolves. Their eyes were planted on each other, shoulders hunched, knives pointed.

Dmitry felt the warm blood running down his leg.

Ivan felt the blood gushing from his shoulder.

Dmitry didn’t wait. He stepped in and with a swift, stiff arm felt his knife cut Ivan across the chest, long and wide. He moved back out and swung with his balled-up fist, making contact with Ivan’s ear. He knocked him off balance,dazing him.

Ivan swung and stuck the knife in Dmitry’s chest, then pushed him up against the wall. Blood painted the both of them.

Dmitry screamed and head butted Ivan, then kicked him in the groin. As he bent over, Dmitry kicked him in the stomach and sent him backwards. Pulling the knife out of his own chest, he threw it right into Ivan’s chest. There was a minute of shock.

Stunned and dazed, Ivan found the gun. Dmitry ducked beside the bed and pulled Royal’s limp body to safety. He covered her, wanting badly to die with her or live with her but do neither without her. Bullets whizzed over the two of them as he held her tight.

Ivan stood up and spit on the ground. He wheezed as his lungs slowly collapsed.

“Son of a ball-headed bitch,” he said, coughing up blood. “I’ll be damned if I die without taking your selfish, worthless, genocide-fueling ass with me. Trust me. The world will be better for it.”

Pointing the gun, he heard shots ring out behind him, through him. His body jolted forward and large bloody holes filledhis chest. Sticking his shaking fingers in the wounds, he fell forward on the bed dropping his gun.

Cory and Anatoly stood behind Ivan in the doorway. Anatoly pointed a large chrome Desert Eagle .50AE pistol at his back. He had finally gotten what he most wanted, to kill his murdering bastard of an uncle.

“Hurry, Dmitry. Agosto is on the way. He still thinks you’re dead. If you go now, you can get out of here undetected,” Cory said, looking down the hall.

Anatoly ran over to help his father, but he stopped by the bed and looked away. “Shit,” he said with tears in his eyes. “What did he do to her?”

Dmitry had dressed her wound and was applying pressure to her neck. He finally stood up with Royal’s bloody wilted body in his hands.

“Oh no,” Cory said, limping towards them, holding his bloody wound from the gun fight.

“Nothing matters anymore,” Dmitry said, watching Anatoly grab a sheet and cover her.

Cory walked over and felt her neck. “She’s still got a little pulse. We can get her to the emergency room, but we have to go now.”

Anatoly touched her arm. “I’ll take her to the hospital. You have to go, Papa.”

“I have to stay by her side.” Dmitry shook his head in despair.

“You have to go.” Anatoly knew it was the only choice. “Go, papa.”

“The bag is downstairs. The plane is waiting.” Cory touched his arm. “There is no more that you can do here. We’ll take good care of her.”

“She won’t live,” Dmitry said crying. “She’s dead because of me. My wife. My child.”

Anatoly took Royal from his father’s arms. “Cory take him now, before he goes mad.”

Cory guided Dmitry out of the house into the Tahoe and drove off, leaving his son and the woman that he loved behind. The police could be heard in the distance approaching the mansion, and he felt like nothing more than turning himself in for the guilt that he carried in his broken heart.

“I am failure,” he said, sitting back in his seat.

“You prevailed,” Cory said, passing the police officers.

“I escaped. I am escape artist. That is all.”

“Even if you gave yourself up, there is nothing more you can do for Royal. She will live or die without your control.”

“Turn back,” Dmitry said softly. “Sync