Alpha Loren novel Chapter 197

The next morning, we drove back to Venezuela and I soon found myself back in the first house, Andrea had taken me to.

I shuddered as I entered the bedroom, the memories seizing me. The sheets had been changed and were fresh and neat, hiding evidence of my struggle but it was still alive and well in my mind.

"It won't be long before the effect of those pills have set in," Andrea said, "Then we will celebrate our marriage."

His words sickened my stomach. Four days had passed since he last forced himself upon me and I'm not sure I could survive it again.

"Anyway," he began taking his shirt off. "I'm going into Caracas to deal with the last of Richardo Gonzalez's cockroaches that avoided my little birthday gift to him. I will be back late this evening."

By 'birthday gift' of course, Andrea meant the bomb that blew up Gonzalez's entire house, all his friends and his body which had been strangled only two minutes before.

"Chico will be here," he added putting on a new shirt. "And I have told him to make sure you take that pill this evening. Don't you dare cause any trouble, okay?"

I nodded.

"Adios, Señora," he said, kissing my cheek. 

"Bye," I replied quietly as he left the room, "...hope you get shot..." I added when I was sure he was out of earshot.

When I heard the front door close, I instantly ripped the ring off my finger and threw it onto the nightstand unable to look at it for any longer. It felt good to be rid of it but I was still in this room which his scent overwhelmed so strongly.

So I made my way down the hall in search of a fresh room to sit. One Andrea clearly hadn't spent much time in. 

My first thought was a library. He was clearly an intelligent man but he didn't strike me as much of a reader. But surely a man as rich as him would have a book or two?

And he did. A whole room full. And in a room that was free of his scent. I ran my finger along the spines of the books, scanning for something to read. Sure enough, they were all in Spanish but there was also a Spanish-English dictionary and that combined with my pre-existing Latin and Italian knowledge, I was able to sit down and slowly decipher a Latino thriller. Although continually having to pause and refer to the dictionary which somewhat destroyed the suspense, I found myself getting completely engrossed in the book. I also considered how much I hoped Andrea hadn't read it. The main character was a serial killer with some fairly creative habits and the last thing Andrea needed was any inspiration.

At about 7 o clock in the evening, a knock on the door sounded.

"Yes?" I asked and the door opened to reveal Chico.

A warm, spicy smell also floated in through the air.

"I made chilli con carne. You should come eat and take your pill," he said.

I nodded and followed him down to the kitchen.

"So you're bodyguard, driver, cook and babysitter now?" I asked as he handed me a plate of food.

"I do anything the boss desires," he replied. "Tonight, that is making sure you swallow this," he added handing me a plate with just one of the singular pink pills on it and a glass of water.

"Anything he desires?" I asked with a wink.

He almost smiled before turning back to the pot of chili. 

"Eat with me," I said.

"No, gringa. I don't fraternise with the prisoners," he replied.

"Please. And I'm not his prisoner. I'm his wife," I said patting the table opposite him.

"Really?" he asked. "I don't see no ring."

I smiled awkwardly and put my hand under the table.

"Fine," he said. "I will eat with you but you better put that ring back on before he gets home."

He then sat down opposite me and didn't say another word as we ate.

Just as I had finished, a car pulled up outside, it's wheels screeching on the drive.

The car door then promptly slammed and multiple sets of fast footsteps came to the door before if flung open and five or six men flooded in.

Andrea was at the front with his arm around a man who's head hung low and was being dragged, his feet scraping on the floor by him and another man on the other side. The others followed quickly behind as blood poured onto the floor.

"Shit," I cursed. 

Andrea began barking orders to the men in fast, deep Spanish as they brought the casualty who I could now see has a gaping wound on his side to the kitchen table. Blood gushed out and had instantly covered the table the floor and I could see that Andrea's shirt was already entirely red.

"Move the plates, Blanca," he said to me and I only had a few seconds to get mine and Chico's plates out of the way before the man was laid down on his back on the table.

He let out a deep groan as people rushed around him.

A bucket of water was brought over and a pile of rags which Andrea held on the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. 

I watched dumbstruck as his shirt was cut off him and his head lolled backwards.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He was shot," Andrea replied lifting up the rag to look.

"Don't do that," I said quickly. "You need to keep the pressure on it or he'll bleed out in minutes."

He looked up at me briefly before nodding and putting the rags back down.

"Push down hard to stop the bleeding," I said. "But try not to crush the ribs because they're right there," I added pointing to just above the wound. "And that could cause internal bleeding."

He nodded again and did exactly what I said.

"The woman is in charge," he told his men. "La Mujer esta a cargo, si?"

They all looked from Andrea to me hesitantly but nodded, knowing better than to question him.

"I need a clean cloth," I added looking at the man's paled face. "And somebody put some antiseptic or salt in that water."

Andrea repeated in Spanish and his men began scrambling around and soon enough I had a new cloth in my hand and the water was being sterilised.

I brought my ear to his chest and listened to his heart and then his breathing.

"Fuck," I cursed.

His head was flopped to the side and his eyes half closed as he let out a hoarse croak.

"What?!" Andrea said.

"He's stopped breathing," I replied tilted his head back.

"Then do something-" he began stepping forward.

"You just keep the pressure on the wound and let me deal with it, I know what to do," I shouted.

He immediately shut up and just held the rags on the man's side as I glanced down his throat. As far as I could see, there was nothing so I brought my mouth to his and began to breathe for us both.

Andrea watched as I inflated his lungs three times before listening to his chest again and repeating.

"Is he conscious?" he asked.

I shook my head, "He's lost a lot of blood and has been starved of oxygen."

"Will he live?" he questioned.

"I don't know yet," I replied. 

The fourth time I gave him mouth to mouth, his chest finally contracted and he took a huge breath of air.

I allowed my self to let out a sigh of relief for a few seconds but my work wasn't done yet. 

"How much blood did he lose?" I asked.