Davina

Chapter Twelve

Davina's POV

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"Little overdressed for a cell, don't you think?"

"Shut the fuck up, Alfredo."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd hear that irritating voice speak my name again. Still have the same attitude as you did..." he trails off, trying to recall the series of events that occured seven years ago, "how long ago was it? When I was sure I'd ended you which, clearly by the sight of you here, I didn't do the best job," he pouts.

God, if I had my knife right now—"

"So tell me, Davina," he makes himself comfortable on the chair that I didn't even notice was brought in after him, "how did you get here?"

"I'm sure your shithead of a son has already given you all the details," I blurt out, my eyes never leaving him. For the most part, he looks the same. Although I've tried my absolute hardest to erase his unpleasant image from my memory, I haven't been able to do that.

There's a round spot on the center of his head that has less hair than the surrounding areas. The surrounding areas contain more greys than I remember. A little more in the middle area of his body, and I notice that he now has to use both hands to support his body when he sits down, and I'm assuming he does the same when standing.

"Yes, he told me quite a bit," he leans back, "but I want to know what happened after I had you stabbed. What happened later that night? I'm curious."

Flashback

I've never felt more weak, maybe because I've never been stabbed with a knife before. If I'd known a Russian man was gonna stab me and leave me on the side of the road, I would've asked for it to be in the heart. But of course, Alfredo would've wanted a slow death for me, in his mind it's what I deserve.

The sudden sight of bright headlights somehow make me feel even weaker. They get bigger and brighter, then suddenly small when the vehicle stops in front of me, not properly parked.

The door closest to me opens, and a man exits. An unfamiliar man, I might add. I don't inspect his face straight away as my eyes and quality of vision are not allowing me to do so right now. Instead, I let my almost limp body relax in his arms as he carries me off the ground and into the car he came in. He shuts the door immediately and lays me across the back seats, facing up with my head comfortably in his lap.

He yells something to the person behind the wheel, and I feel the vehicle suddenly move at a high speed, making a series of sharp turns. I couldn't make out exactly what he was saying, but by his tone, I can tell he's panicked in some way, which is understandable. It's probably not everyday that you find a child on the side of the road with a steel knife sticking out of her side.

With each raise of his voice, the car's speed increases.

He opens a compartment underneath the seat and pulls out something I can't see, but I'm guessing it's either another deadly weapon or something to treat my injury. Is this even fixable?

I feel applied pressure around the knife, though the actual knife, the man has left alone.

My eyelids slowly close, and I start to lose consciousness. The man's voice raises but it begins fading in my mind as I drift off...

End of flashback

I stare at the man in front of me, not wanting to answer. He doesn't need to know every detail of my life. He wanted me dead because he wanted me gone. Well I've been gone. I've been out of his life and out of his way for the past seven years. Why can't he just leave it at that?