WARNING: This chapter contains mentions, suggestions and descriptions of violent acts.
And now, we head back to Moscow in 1984 (last seen in Chapter 10)
December 23, 1984
12:32am
Moscow, Russia
Renkov dropped his gun to his side, his voice dripping with anger as he spat on the dead man lying beneath him.
"Get rid of him!" he shouted to his right-hand man, Igor.
Igor quickly moved to clean up the scene as Renkov turned to look at the bed. His anger only grew seeing the trembling form gripping a bloodied sheet to try and cover herself. Pocketing his gun, he moved closer to the bed so he could be nearer her…not wanting to hurt or scare her any more than she already was.
"Katrina," he whispered, "he gone."
She nodded, though her face was partially hidden by a pillow. As gently as he knew how, Renkov reached forward and brushed her hair away from her cheek, feeling a dampness on his fingers. Looking down, seeing her blood now stain his hand, he knew her injuries were probably far worse than he'd expected.
"Katrina…let see…" he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He pulled back the sheet, finding her still in her evening gown…or what was left of it. He cursed softly as he saw her right hand hanging at an odd angle while her left was pressing into her abdomen. He turned quickly, finding Igor and another of his men working to drag Lukin's body out of the room.
"Igor…quick…bring doctors now!"
Igor nodded, instructing his counterpart to hurry. Never had Igor seen Maxim look so defeated…it confused and concerned the second in command greatly.
As the dead body was finally taken out of the room, Renkov moved into the bathroom, grabbing a basin, and filling it with warm water. Taking it and a few towels, he returned to Katrina's side.
"Katrina? You look at me?" he asked, wetting one of the towels.
Knowing she must obey, or risk being 'punished' further, Katrina gathered all her strength and turned slightly. The pain ripping through her sides intensified, taking away her breath.
Renkov saw her expression change…her face turning from red to stark white. Knowing she needed help, he did his best to find a space on her body that was not injured. Cautiously, he slid one hand under her hip and the other under her shoulders, laying her on her back. She whimpered as he pulled away, muscles and cracked bones now settling in to a deep, throbbing pain.
"I sorry," he said quietly, sitting near her again and softly running the towel over the gash on her cheek.
"All right," she responded, knowing if she complained, the torture would only get worse.
"Igor bring up doctors. We fix it," he assured her.
"I tried to get him off," she said, her eyes begging him to believe her and not punish her further.
Renkov, in that one moment, hated himself and the lifestyle he led. For now, he realized that the woman cringing in pain beneath his hands had not only earned his trust…but without knowing it, he had fallen in love with her. Gone were thoughts of making her pay for being a CIA agent...he could no longer imagine making her suffer. All he could think of was protecting her…and letting her know she would never be hurt again...by him or anyone else.
For this woman had made the ultimate sacrifice…had given her life…her body….to assure him a legacy. And he understood he was now in her debt…and always would be.
"Katrina," he hushed, leaning down and gently pressing a kiss to her forehead, "this not your fault. This my fault."
The confusion was evident across her face. Could she believe him and his kindness or would she face another beating in the future?
"I take care of you," he said. As he wiped the towel across the blazing red lacerations on her shoulder, he promised, "I never hurt you again."
She saw the hint of a tear in his eye before he quickly turned away, gathering another cloth to wet. He took a short moment to rein in his emotions before returning to her side, quietly tending to those cuts and abrasions he could see. It was what he couldn't see that worried him most. How badly was she really hurt?
Suddenly, she grasped his wrist, her eyes squeezing shut against sharp jolts of pain.
"Katrina!"
He dropped the cloth, moving to place both hands on her cheek. "Katrina, look at me!"
She took a few short breaths, forcing herself to look at him.
"What wrong?!" he demanded to know, his tone no longer angry but fearful.
"Please…the doctor…" she whispered, her eyes boring in to his.
She had never asked for help- not even after hours of his men beating her-had always dealt with her injuries in silence. But now…
"Igor! Igor!" Renkov yelled, turning towards the door to see if Igor and the doctors were close.
"Maxim…please…" she begged, her eyes closing and her grip on his wrist weakening.
Renkov's attention were brought back to his broken wife just as her hand dropped, her body now lifeless.
"No…Katrina, no!"
He ran to the door, screaming for the doctors. For he knew, if someone didn't help soon, Katrina would die- and it was all his fault.
