Page 30

“Tea,” I mouth silently. We skirt around the unconscious men, giving them a wide berth. Anya stares, her little body tensing beside me.

“Are they dead?” she whispers, voice barely audible.

“No, sweetheart. Just sleeping,” I assure her, squeezing her hand gently. “Like in Snow White.”

The comparison seems to satisfy her, though the reality is far darker than any fairy tale. These men aren’t innocent victims, and I’m certainly no prince with a kiss to wake them. They’re Mikhail’s dogs, and given the chance, they’d drag us back to their master by our hair.

The unmistakable sound of the back door slamming open. A roar splits the stillness, primal and furious. Igor.

I spin just in time to see him crashing down the steps, blood trickling down his temple where the fire extinguisher connected.

His eyes are wild and murderous as he scans the yard, his massive frame silhouetted against the smoke still seeping from the house.

The blow to his head wasn’t enough—he’s conscious and furious, and he’s spotted us.

“Go!” I hiss at Fallon, pushing her forward with one hand while still holding Anya with the other. “Take them and go!”

“I can’t—” Fallon starts, her voice catching. Mila begins to cry harder now, sensing the spike in tension.

“You can. Follow the path down to the creek. Don’t look back.” She goes to say something when I force Anya’s hand in hers.

“The creek leads to the back of your grandmother’s property,” I continue urgently, my eyes fixed on Igor as he runs toward us, moving with surprising speed despite his injury. “Wait there. Leone will come for you.”

The name falls between us like a stone in still water, ripples of recognition spreading across Fallon’s face. Her eyes dart between me and the approaching Igor. Anya clings to my leg, whimpering softly. Both girls are crying now, their small bodies trembling with fear and confusion.

Fallon’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the girl I left behind all those years ago. Only she’s older now. Hardened.

There are so many things I wish I could tell her. Like thank you for saving Emma and helping raise her when I couldn’t. For being a good daughter to her father.

Instead, all I say is, “I’ll be fine,” the lie bitter on my tongue. “Now go.”

Igor is closing the distance with each lumbering step. There’s no more time for goodbyes, for explanations, for the lifetime of conversations we should have had.

I give Anya a gentle push toward Fallon. “Go with Fallon, sweetheart. Run fast and quiet, just like we practiced.”

The little girl’s bottom lip trembles, but she nods and moves to her side. Fallon gives me one last look before she turns and flees deeper into the forest with the girls.

I watch them for one precious second, memorizing the sight of their retreating forms, before I turn to face Igor. He’s close now, close enough I can see the rage contorting his features, the blood matting his hair, the promise of violence in his eyes.

And I run straight at him.

We collide in the dirt, and it hurts, god, it hurts. He’s twice my size and full of rage so I use it. The impact jars every bone in my body, knocks the air from my lungs in a painful whoosh. Igor’s momentum carries us both to the ground, his weight crushing down on me.

I twist beneath him, finding leverage where there shouldn’t be any.

My knee drives upward, missing its target and connecting with his thigh hard enough to make him shift.

That slight adjustment is all I need. I slam my elbow into his throat, not a direct hit, just enough to make him gasp and loosen his grip.

“Fucking bitch,” he chokes out, his accent thickening with rage. Blood from his head wound drips onto my face, warm and copper-scented. “You’re dead. All of you.”

I don’t waste breath responding. Instead, I dig my nails into his eyes, not scratching, gouging, pressing with every ounce of strength I possess.

He rears back with a howl, hands flying to his face.

I use the moment to squirm from beneath him, scrambling backward in the dirt like some desperate animal.

My palms sink into the soft earth, pine needles and fallen leaves sticking to my wet clothes. Every instinct screams at me to run, to follow Fallon and the girls into the safety of the trees. That will get them caught, they need more time.

Igor recovers quickly, too quickly. He lunges forward, grabbing my ankle and yanking me back toward him. My chin hits the ground, teeth snapping together with enough force to make my vision blur. The taste of blood fills my mouth; I’ve bitten my tongue or my cheek, I can’t tell which.

He flips me over roughly, straddling me again. His face is a mask of fury, eyes red where my nails got him, blood still seeping from the temple wound. I try to twist away, and he pins my arms with his knees, the pressure sending bolts of pain shooting through my shoulders.

“You think you can take what belongs to him?” Igor snarls, his spit landing on my face as he leans close. “The girls are his. You are his. No one leaves.”

I spit in his face, my saliva tinged pink with blood. “They were never his,” I hiss. “And neither was I.”

His hand connects with my cheek, the slap so hard my head snaps to the side. Stars burst behind my eyes, and for a moment, the forest tilts and spins around me. I can’t pass out. Not yet. Every second I keep Igor occupied is another second Fallon and the girls get further away.

Through the ringing in my ears, I hear him snarl something in Russian—too fast for me to catch. He shifts his weight, reaching for something at his belt. A knife, maybe. Or worse, his phone to call for backup.

I slam my knee between his legs with every ounce of strength I can muster. This time, I don’t miss.

Igor doubles over, a strangled sound escaping his throat. I shove him sideways and scramble to my feet, adrenaline masking the pain shooting through my ribs, my face, my shoulders. He won’t stay down long. Men like him, men who make their living with violence, they know how to push through pain.

I have maybe three seconds to decide: run toward the girls and risk leading him straight to them or run in another direction entirely.

There’s no real choice. I snatch up his phone, and start sprinting toward the road, away from the creek path where Fallon and the twins disappeared.

My fingers fumbling to punch numbers in I know by heart.

I make it perhaps twenty yards before a weight crashes into my back, sending me sprawling face-first into the dirt.

Igor is on me again, flipping me over, with a rage I’ve never seen before—not even from Mikhail.

This is personal now. I’ve humiliated him.

Injured him. And in his world, that can only be answered with blood.

“For that,” he pants, “You’ll pay.” I twist seeing the cracked phone screen and the call connected.

“The red door, check the red door,” I scream, praying his ear is on his phone.

Igor’s hands close around my throat, thumbs pressing into my windpipe.

The pressure is immediate and terrifying, my body’s panic response kicking in as my oxygen is cut off.

I claw at his arms, his face, anywhere I can reach, only it’s like attacking a brick wall.

Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

I jam my thumb into Igor’s injured eye, pressing hard and twisting.

He screams, his grip loosening just enough for me to suck in a desperate breath when he jerks his face away.

My fingers scrounge for any part I can gouge when my pinkie meets his teeth.

The scream that leaves me as he breaks it with his teeth, grinding through the flesh is deafening.

His hand clamps around my throat again, harder this time, furious at my continued defiance when I feel him bite completely through it, he spits it back at me. Something has changed in his eyes, a flicker of confusion, perhaps even fear.

“What is the red door?” he demands.

I almost laugh despite the pain, despite the pressure crushing my windpipe. “Go fuck yourself!” The realization must show on my face because Igor’s expression darkens further. “What did you do?” he growls, easing the pressure on my throat just enough to let me speak. “What the fuck did you do?”

I smile at him, feeling blood from my split lip smear across my teeth. “You’re all dead,” I whisper.

His hand tightens again, choking off my words, my breath, my consciousness. The world around us dims, colors fading as oxygen deprivation takes its toll. I don’t fight it now. I’ve done what I needed to do. Fallon and the girls are gone, heading toward Leone, toward safety. My part in this is done.