I have to bring him back to the mansion.
Putting my arms under his arms, I push him up. He feels heavy, like physically too fit for me to carry, but I have to try. It takes all my strength to lift him up from the ground and drag him away.
Only then do I notice the line of blood painted on the ground.
Fuck, he really needs help.
I don’t know how, but with some kind of inhuman strength or will, I manage to pull him toward his car and place him on the backseat. Then I run over to the front seat and start the engine. I hit the gas and turn the wheel, making a U-turn.
As I drive back to his home, hoping I’m still on time, I can’t help but think to myself. I’m stupid, insane, and a liar … but I’m going back to the mansion I swore I’d never to step foot in. Again.
Chapter 10
Alexis
I run to the mansion and bang on the doors. “Winston!”
After a while, he opens the door. “You’re back.”
“You have to help me. Viktor’s hurt,” I say, grabbing his hand and dragging him outside.
He stumbles after me as I bring him to Viktor.
“Oh, no,” he mumbles as he immediately reaches for his lifeless body. “Quick. Help me get him up.”
We both grab a leg and drag him out of the car until only his head is on the backseat. Then we pick up his arms and lift them over our shoulders. Even with two people, he’s still heavy to carry, and we’re both panting as we take him back to the mansion. After much struggling, we manage to lay him down on the couch inside.
“Be right back. I’ll gather some supplies,” Winston says, and he runs out, leaving me alone with Viktor.
I sit down beside him, hook my fingers under his shirt, and pull it over his head so I can look at the gunshot wound. As I throw it to the floor, I can’t help but stare at his ripped chest. He’s fucking chiseled like a rock, and huge, and … wow.
Scars cover the entire left side of his body, running all the way down to the V and all the way up to his neck, disappearing under the mask.
I wonder what his face looks like.
Bits and pieces of the right side of the mask have broken off, exposing a part of his skin and one eye. I know I shouldn’t do this, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull off what’s left of the mask.
It drops from my hand the moment I see him.
My hand immediately covers my mouth to stop the gasp.
The left side of his face … It’s completely covered in scars, slashes, and burns.
Fuck.
It looks bad.
Now, I understand why he hides behind the mask.
It must’ve felt terrible for him to look like this and to have people staring at him. I can’t imagine what he must’ve gone through. And now, I’m starting to wonder how it all happened. He wasn’t born this way, that’s for sure, because the other side of his face is bold and … handsome.
Wild, light-brown locks cascade down his chest to frame his face and back, the hair much longer than mine is. With his full lips, square jaw, and scruffy beard, he looks really rough and sexy, and for some reason, it surprises me.
I have to admit, I haven’t looked this closely at him before, but I can’t stop looking either.
“What are you doing?”
My face immediately turns toward the sound of Winston’s footsteps rushing back in with a small bucket. I grab the mask and attempt to cover his face with it again.
“You didn’t see anything,” I say, giving him a lopsided smile.
“No use for that thing anymore then, I guess,” Winston says, sighing as he walks toward us with the bucket.
“Sorry … I couldn’t help it.”
“I know; you’re a curious one. That’s why he’s so enamored with you.”
“Enamored? With me?” I repeat, raising a brow.
Winston places the bucket on the table next to the couch and dips a washing cloth into the water.
“Yes, it’s also why he gets so angry.”
“Yeah, I have that effect on people,” I muse, muffling a laugh.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He wrings the cloth. I hold out my hand, and after gazing at me for a few seconds, he hands it over to me. I gently remove the mask again and wipe his forehead a bit, hoping it will wake him up.
“What happened?” Winston asks as he inspects the bullet wound.
“I tried to get a ride from a dirty cop. He tried to …” My throat clamps up. “Fondled me. Pulled my skirt down.”
“I’m … sorry,” Winston says.
I smile gently at him. “But Viktor rescued me before he could do anything.”
“So the cop shot him?”
I nod, trying not to think about the fact that a cop did that. A cop, out of all people … Someone who’s supposed to protect.