Page 32

Camilla Volkov

Artur’s voice rings in my ears.

Mama, no!

He meant me. He called me mama. He screamed for me.

His eyes lead mine to a hulking, scarred beast with blue eyes and blond hair.

Feliks Volkov. The man who beat and raped me. Who laughed when I begged for death. Who watched and held me down as his men hurt me.

He shifts his smirk of triumph away from my husband’s glare and sneers at me.

Frozen in terror, I can’t move despite the parasites crawling under my skin when he grabs my nape.

He yanks me to my feet and swats my wrist. White-hot agony spears into my forearm and streaks into my shoulder. Every horrible thing he did to me replays in my mind, trapping me in a world of darkness and despair. The blade Dimitri gave me clatters to the asphalt, jerking me out of my flashback.

Feliks wraps his fist around my throat from behind, using me as a human shield as the car door bursts open.

My heart screams for Dimitri to run. To get back in the driver’s seat and race his precious children far, far away from here. To forget me for the sake of his family. To flee and never look back.

The lethal fury emanating from his clear blue eyes as he pushes Artur back and shuts the door floods me with relief.

No matter how much I need his children out of harm’s way, a small, desperate part of me begs for him to stay. I ache for my angel of death.

A cold circle—the barrel of a handgun—presses against my temple.

I watch through the bloody window as Artur climbs into the backseat. He unbuckles his siblings and moves them to the floor. Pride and worry pulse through me.

Feliks chuckles and pulls me back, flush against his front. Bile rises in my throat. His scent chokes me.

Dimitri prevents me from spinning into nightmares with his icy, smooth tone.

He speaks in Russian, but the threat is clear in his voice and the hatred in his expression as he studies his brother’s fist wrapped around my throat makes me certain his next words mean something like get your hands off my wife .

“ Uberi lapy ot moyey zheny .”

I loosen my hands at my sides and force myself to take a deep breath as Feliks laughs and tightens his grip around my throat. My head swims as he digs his fingers into my jugular and forces me to shuffle backward with him.

Shards of glass crunch under my sneakers and pieces of rubber threaten my balance.

“She was mine before she was yours,” Feliks says in heavily accented English.

He drops his chin onto the top of my head for the briefest of moments, mocking me with the movement and highlighting how much bigger he is than I am.

Dimitri snarls and steps forward. Feliks tsks and presses the muzzle of his gun against my temple so hard I wince.

“Toss your weapons toward Grisha’s feet,” Feliks demands with a tilt of his head toward the man on our left.

The bumper of a larger vehicle appears in the right corner of my periphery. A pile of weapons—rifles, crowbars, and several ridiculously long knives—sit tucked just inside the trunk. Too far away. Too big to wield quickly. Too heavy to swing one-handed.

The handle of a screwdriver sticks out of the bottom of the stack.

I force my gaze back toward Dimitri.

His handgun skids across the road. He gives his head the slightest shake, relaying his understanding, and even though I know he is warning me away from my rash idea, I’d rather die than go with his brother.

Feliks yanks me backward. My head spins and fingers tingle.

Dimitri tosses a second handgun, then two knives and what looks like a throwing star.

I swallow, shocked. I knew he was carrying weapons, but I didn’t realize how many.

It won’t do us any good if they all end up on the ground.

Sirens finally sound in the distance, but with traffic blocked, they’ll be too late, and by the nearby gunshots, the men Dimitri brought with us fight their own battles. Other travelers scream and duck for cover, some fleeing on foot down the overpass.

Dimitri holds his hands up, palms toward us. Feliks sneers and commands Grisha to frisk my husband.

I shift toward the bumper. Feliks chokes me. I claw at the back of his hand, desperate for oxygen. Milliseconds before darkness takes me over, he relaxes his fingers. I suck down ragged breaths and cough.

“I will fuck you in the back of this car soon, shlyukha , but I will kill your husband and stepchildren first. I may be twisted, but I am not a home wrecker,” Feliks mocks.

Visceral madness sweeps through me. Another person takes over.

She is the version of me who slapped a nanny for spanking her daughter. She bit and stabbed a man for touching her son. She would rather cut off her own arm than see her middle child endure a second of hardship.

“No,” I say.

Feliks scoffs.

“No what, suka ?”

I meet Dimitri’s crystal-clear blue eyes and smirk. His expression darkens and his entire body tenses.

I tilt my head back and quirk a brow at my tormentor. He scowls. The pistol slips off my temple, but I aim my haughtiest glare deep into his wretched pale eyes.

“You’re the only one getting screwed today,” I snarl.

With every ounce of power in my body, I lunge, yank the screwdriver out of the pile, and twist. A gunshot blasts through my skull, but I swing harder, leaning on the one self-defense session Loretta gave me. The metal punches into Feliks’s stomach. I drive it deeper.

Crimson rains down on me. It coats my hands, soaks my clothes, and sprays my face.

Feliks slams flat on his back on the concrete. A gash cuts through his throat. Half his face is gone, replaced by gory bullet holes. I spit into it and watch with detached amusement as the glob oozes down what used to be his temple.

An iron band wraps around my stomach and lifts me off my feet.

I kick and flail until I catch Dimitri’s reflection in the side of the SUV as he hauls a blood-soaked woman in one arm and fires his pistol with the other.

He opens the back door and tosses me in before slamming it closed and jumping into the driver’s seat.

My brain slams into overdrive as he shifts into gear.

“The kids!” I yell as I grab for the door even as he swerves forward and parks beside our wrecked vehicle.

“Get them, so?lnyshka ,” he snarls before hopping out.

I already have the door open and one foot on the ground.

Artur wields his knife at me.

“We have to go. Now. Capisci?” I demand as I reach for him.

“Mama Camilla?” he asks.

Right. I’m covered in blood.

“Yes. I’m okay, and so are you. Let’s go. Hurry,” I urge.

He pushes Maksim toward me and wraps Zoya in his arms. I don’t care how big or heavy Maksim is, I scoop him up and carry him to the SUV.

Dimitri slams the back hatch closed.

Artur offers me Zoya. I sit her in the same seat as Maksim, closer to the center of the car, and snap the seatbelt around them both while Artur climbs in.

Gunfire continues to pop through the air, but Dimitri leads them away by ducking behind a nearby car.

Artur curses and grabs the back of the front seat as though to move behind the wheel.

“Buckle in and brace an arm across their laps,” I snap and slam the door.

With my mania riding high, I climb in, shut my door, and throw the shifter into reverse.

Nothing matters beyond getting my new family to safety.

That includes Dimitri.

My memories hold no power over me when our future hangs in the balance.

I mash the accelerator, my ass hanging off the front of the seat since whoever sat here last was a giant, then hit the brakes before I ram into the car Dimitri hides behind.

I shift into drive before I punch the horn on the steering and the unlock button on my door again and again until my husband opens the passenger door and throws himself inside. Before he shuts it all the way, I press the gas pedal flush to the floor and drive like I’ve never driven before.

Nothing exists beyond the controls of the car and the immediate area, my desperation narrowing my focus into a razor-sharp tool, eliminating all distractions as I ferry the people I cherish most to safety.

When the traffic disappears and green forests line the streets instead of buildings, I check the street signs to get my bearings and realize I’m driving us to the hospital Serenity transferred me to after I cut myself but before I went to the mental facility.

My full senses return to me in a rush and I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white.

Dimitri talks on the phone beside me. The children sit wide-eyed and silent in the back.

My reflection in the rearview mirror looks like something out of a horror movie.

Giorgio’s voice sounds through the speaker. My brain refuses to piece the syllables into words and an odd mix of urgency and relief rolls through me.

“I’m taking them to the hospital near the facility,” I say.

“We figured that out, Cams. You did good,” Serenity says through the speaker.

Her voice only slightly trembles, but it’s enough to break my control. I pull the car off the road and put it in park. When I reach for my door handle, Dimitri stops me.

A car whizzes by.

“Come out this way, so?lnyshka . Stay in the car, moi deti ,” he demands.

I follow him on rubbery limbs and lean against the back bumper as I vomit and shake.

He holds my hair back and murmurs comforting words as I expel what didn’t come up the last time I barfed in the street.

I killed a man. Two men.

The first one was in a flurry of fury and pain. I stabbed him for touching Artur.

The second was Feliks. I may not have been the main cause of death, but without my screwdriver ad-libbing, Dimitri would have never taken those shots.

It wasn’t slow or painful enough, but vicious satisfaction spears through me and ends my nausea. I spit and wipe my mouth on the tissue Dimitri offers me.

“Feliks is dead,” I say.

“Da, he is,” he replies.

“The other man was there that night, too. He’s also dead. I killed him,” I end on a manic half-laugh.

“You were glorious,” my angel of death says.

I rise and face him.

He brushes his thumb over my cheek despite the filth caking my flesh.