Felix's right hand came to his head, rubbing at his temples in an eerie imitation of the nervous habit Francois had begun over the past few weeks, and he started shaking his head back and forth, trying to negate what I was saying. For the first time, the woman spoke up. “Who are you? What is this talk of my Spartak? What are these lies?”
“No lies, sister,” Francois said, his rifle still at the ready. “Felix is taken. Didn't your father tell you? Vladimir always was a snake like that.”
“He is not my father,” the woman replied. Her voice shifted, going from haughty to pleading, desperate. “But I beg you, don’t take Spartak away from me. He belongs with me, and he’s happy here. I won’t betray him like his family did.”
“Even with the drugs you pumped him full of?” I spat back. “Bitch, you fucked with his mind, and tried to turn the man I love into a goddamn puppet.”
“I . . . I . . .,” the woman stammered, unable to find the words. Instead, she grabbed Felix and pulled him to her, crying. “Please Spartak, don’t listen to them! I love you!”
Felix dropped his hands and took hers in his, kissing her knuckles. “Is it true? Did you drug me, try to warp my mind?”
She blinked, tears falling down her porcelain doll face, then nodded, lowering her eyes. “I did.”
“And did you try to twist my mind to serve you?” Felix asked, just as softly. He brought his hands up, still holding hers, and stroked her cheek with the back of the fingers on his right hand, tenderness and hurt mixing in equal parts.
“I did.”
Felix let go of her hands and stepped back. “Then what about your saying you love me?”
Svetlana looked up, her blue eyes flashing with fire and conviction. “That is no lie! Yes, you were supposed to be a plaything, a boy toy that I could dispose of at my leisure, but over the past weeks, you've become something much more to me!”
Felix swallowed, his throat working as he searched to find the words. “And I love you,” he finally said, his own eyes shimmering with tears. “But I can’t stay with someone who lied to me, who twisted me and tried to make me into someone I’m not.”
Felix stepped back toward me, and I lowered my rifle more, reaching for him. “Felix . . . oh my Felix . . .”
He didn't take my hands, but instead looked at me in that same confused expression that he'd had every instant he set his eyes on me. “Your face is familiar, but I don’t know who you are,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, swallowing my tears. “It's okay, Felix. We’ll get you your memories back.”
I took his hand to lead him into the woods, when suddenly the brute behind Svetlana moved, faster than I thought a man his size could possibly move. The gun from his waist was in his hands even before I could turn, and the black, gaping barrel pointed right at my eyes. Felix hadn't even had a chance to turn when the hammer on the pistol fell, and fire spat from the end of the pistol.
Before the bullet could hit me though, Francois was in front of us, his arms out wide and pushing Felix and I toward the woods. At the same instant, our ally fired, his silenced rifle barely making a repeated spitting sound as his burst tore through the brutish bodyguard, dropping him to the ground before he could even make a sound of protest.
“Francois!” I screamed, grabbing him as our friend got to his feet, his rifle aimed at Svetlana. I looked at the woman, who dropped to her knees in fear. “No! Help me with Francois!”
The Romani had no idea who Francois was, he had only known him as Nicolae, his Romani name, but he understood the words 'no' and 'help,' and he lowered his rifle, running over to sling Francois over his shoulder in a fireman's carry while I grabbed Felix by the hand. “We've gotta go.”
Felix paused, looking back at the sobbing blond Russian, who reached out to him with one hand beseechingly. Felix blinked, then shook his head and looked at me. “Lead the way.”
We took off, running as fast as we could. While our rifles were silenced, Svetlana's bodyguard's pistol hadn't been, and we were sure that the shot had attracted attention. Thankfully, Felix kept up, even helping the other man when he tired of carrying Francois. I couldn't see where he'd been shot, but as the Romani talked into the radio to pull our forces back, I could see that a lot of Francois's back and side had already turned shiny and black from the blood soaking into his clothes. “Set him down, he's bleeding out,” I said, reaching a clearing. “Come on, we have to do something.”
Felix set his brother down on the pine needle carpet of the forest, and I reached for Francois's shirt, pulling it open. I didn’t know much, but if we could try and stop the bleeding, it would have to help. Slapping my hand over the hole in his chest, I yelled at our guide. “Get me a bandage!”