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Could grief really kill a man? He was about to find out.
Roman had never felt like breaking until now. His sister robbed of life in her prime. She’d been engaged to be married, had sent him twenty pictures of wedding dresses only a week ago to get his opinion. Every time he closed his eyes, Roman saw her smiling face as she posed in the dresses. His heart ached for the brother in law he’d never get to enjoy, the memories she’d never get to make.
His shoulders hung, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He’d never struggled with tears or an ache like this in his heart. He’d never experience this ripping, shattering grief. Shoving his hands hard into his front pockets, he started walking, not even sure if he was headed in the right direction. He didn’t know anything right now except that he had to get away. Far, far away.
“Hey man, wait up.”
Trevor trotted up to him, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder as they walked side by side. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was actually soothing. Too many people had been filling the space with empty words. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted people to stop saying what they thought he wanted to hear.
Trevor took a breath and then hesitated. “I don’t know what to say.”
Roman looked straight ahead. “Then don’t say anything.”
His voice snapped, and he immediately regretted it. He was the level-headed one, the one who stood guard over everyone else when they needed it. Fuck with his friends, and you’d better watch your back because he didn’t take disrespect toward those he loved. Yet, he couldn’t control his emotions around his best friend, even when they caused him to be an asshole. Trevor bumped lightly into his arm, let the contact linger before breaking it. It wasn’t a word, but it spoke loud and clear, and it was precisely the right thing to say.
He'd known Trevor for what felt like a lifetime. They’d bonded in high school, and after Trev’s parents were charged with child neglect, he’d come to live with Roman and his family. Stephanie had been close to both of them, yet Roman felt her loss to his bones as if his own flesh had been ripped from his body. Did Trevor feel that way, too?
He was too scared to ask.
They kept walking.
They had a few hours until their flight left yet, so Trevor had suggested they find a pub and grab a drink to kill time. But Roman’s aimless wandering led them down narrow alleys that turned into a maze. He didn’t mind. The more walking, the better. It soothed his mind, sort of calmed the raging beast inside.
Finally, Trevor stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Look, I know how close you and Steph were. I loved her, too. And I have to say this, Roman; I have to say it.”
Silence stretched between them. “Say what?”
“You’re my brother in all the ways that matter, Roman. Please don’t forget that. You always have me.”
Roman didn’t respond, just nodded in acknowledgment. Speaking wasn’t something he could do easily. Not without the threat of tears finally winning and reducing him to a raging, crying mess. He thought maybe they should hug it out or something, but that would be awkward, so he put his head down and kept moving.
“Let’s go this way.” Trevor pointed down a dimly lit street made of cobblestone. A collection of water had pooled in certain places, and both Roman and Trevor had to jump to avoid stepping right through them.
The glow of the yellowy, murky street lamps created a reflection off the puddles that shimmered in the street. If Roman wasn’t such a mess, he might enjoy the cozy and quaint feel of this charming little side street. He loved being adventurous, traveling to new places. Usually, he counted his blessings and was grateful for the opportunities to see the world and play music at the same time. Right now, he was just ready to find that pub and down a couple before they needed to get back to the airport.
Suddenly, the little hairs stood up on the back of Roman’s neck. His senses were sharpened, alerted. The sensation was unexpected. Considering how numb he was inside, he was surprised he could notice anything through it. He halted his stride and glanced around, the sense of unease growing.
“What?” Trevor eyed him skeptically and glanced over his shoulder. “Why did you stop walking?”
“Did you hear that?”
Trevor shrugged. “Hear what?”
“That noise?” Roman quizzed.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Trevor confessed. “Stray cat or something, probably. It’s Amsterdam. Probably a prostitute lurking in the shadows waiting to get her claws in you.”
Roman didn’t acknowledge the jest. He made a circle, just to be sure something worse than a hooker wasn’t out there.
Nothing. Christ, his troubled mind was drumming up demons now. The sensitive hairs on the back of his neck still prickled, but he moved forward, one foot in front of the other. There was going to have to be a new normal in his life now; he might as well try his best to get used to the feeling of emptiness hanging inside his chest like a lead balloon.
The sound of feet rustling behind them made Roman spin. Trevor followed suit, the two of them tensing and bracing for whatever it was. Two men in all black with masks over their faces came at them. Roman glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a third man coming at them from the back like a coward. In a flash, the man had him in a bear hug from behind.
“Get the fuck off me!” Roman made a twist-spin, breaking the man’s grip. Taking a step back, Roman didn’t get far as the man grabbed him again and pressed a knife against the side of his neck. The coolness of the steel burned Roman’s skin. Slowly, he put his hands up, not daring to look at Trevor. His mind whirled to plan for the both of them to get out of this.
What the hell was happening? He’d been jumped once before, in Chicago. He’d been younger then, fast, and hadn’t been completely taken by surprise. Though every inch of his body screamed to fight back, to break free, the rational part of his brain said to take this carefully.
“Easy, easy. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Good,” the masked man behind him breathed into Roman’s ear, creating a pungent, oniony smell that made his stomach roll over. “We don’t want no trouble either,” he said in poorly executed English over a heavy Dutch accent.
The masked men started leading them down the alleyway where light faded into shadows. Roman’s heart pounded inside his chest, as a slow rage boiled deep within. His grief had been twisting itself for a while now, demanding an outlet. It was methodically taking over his rational brain.
He dropped his voice so only his attacker could hear. “I’m giving you one more warning before I literally kick the shit out of you. Get your hands off me.”
The man snorted, pressing the knife deeper against Roman’s neck as if to make a point. Fine. The guy had a knife. Roman had an insane anger inside that made him feel superhuman and self-destructive. If he got stabbed, fine, but maybe he could give his friend a chance to get away. Roman pulled away, but the perp’s grip tightened.
“I would be careful if I were you,” the man sneered.
Roman glanced over at Trevor who walked with his hands up, his eyes lined in anger. Roman’s blood boiled, his temper just begging to be unleashed. Fuck. This.
Roman drove his elbow back, using all the blunt force in his furious body, making contact with the man’s gut. A hard grunt was his reward. The man arched back but didn’t let go or drop the knife. Roman took the opportunity, jamming his elbow back again, swiveling at the same time. The blade zinged along his neck as he spun, coming face to face with the man in the mask. A flurry of activity behind him said Trevor was probably in the struggle for his life. Roman had to end this now.
He gave a swift right hook, slamming beneath the man’s chin and driving him back. Without hesitation, he gave a left hook, then a straight punch to the temple. The perp stumbled backward, the knife clanking onto the cobblestone. Roman grabbed it and shoved it in the back waist of his jeans.
Turning to Trevor, he rushed one masked man while his friend took care of the other. A flurry of fists and grunts filled the space. Roman lost count of the punches he threw; he didn’t recognize how hard he hit or how often. Not until he realized he was straddling a guy, his knuckles wet from blood that seeped from the man’s mask.
“Roman, get up.” Trevor grabbed the back of his jacket and tugged. “Get. Up!”
He stumbled off the perp, feeling like he’d had a blackout or something. His hands ached, his wrists on fire. Two of the masked men were on the ground; the other stood back with his hands held high. “Calm down, boys. Calm down.”
Roman panted hard. What had he done? His subconscious had taken over; his actions independent from his mind. The perp writhed, holding his head between his hands, moaning in deep agony. The sounds should have inflicted guilt, but they didn’t. Roman didn’t feel anything he was just, empty. Glancing around, he noted his friend had one perp at knifepoint. The other stood with his hands up. There were other people there, a small crowd that seemed to have seeped from the walls. It was deadly quiet. Too quiet for that many people. And they were all staring at him.
Still, he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of the murderous rage.
With one swift kick, Roman buried his boot-clad foot into the guy’s gut. The man roared with pain, thrashing on the wet cobblestone beneath him.
“Hey,” one of the accomplice friends cried. “He’s down. He has no weapon. We surrender, man.”
Roman leaned over the thug. “You picked the wrong damn day to mess with me. The wrong day,” he growled.
Roman went to another place in his mind where the world was warped, and there were no consequences.
Roman blinked. A crowd had grown more prominent. Young people in ripped jeans and oversized tee shirts. Old men in thick denim. A woman in a short dress and smeared mascara. The air buzzed with their conversations he couldn’t understand. Someone was on the phone, calling the police. Soon, blue and red lights flashed in his peripheral vision. The man he had beaten lay lifeless on the ground. Had he really killed a man with his bare hands? Everything was spinning out of control. It was hard to swallow, and his chest felt heavy as if his lungs might implode.
“Handen waar ik ze kan zien!” An Amsterdam officer and his teammate rushed the scene, boots clacking on the hard cobblestone. He had no idea what the man was yelling, but he couldn’t imagine it was a polite hello.
Roman had no choice but to follow the procedures and the law. He placed his hands behind his back, almost robotically. He glanced over at Trevor who was doing the same protocol. They didn’t want to add ‘resisting arrest’ to their rap sheet if they received one.
The officers pushed them past the crowd, bumping shoulders as they moved to the back of the police car. A siren wailed as they took off. It seemed as if there was going to be a bit of a set back in catching a red-eye back to Chicago. As soon as Roman and Trevor were able to explain everything to the officials, hopefully they would get out of this one, as long as the man he’d beaten was still alive.