Chapter 16 #3
Danger simmered beneath it. “Did they... touch you in a way that—”
“No.”
I cut him off quickly.
Too quickly.
I swallowed. “They didn’t violate me this time.”
His jaw tightened—but he kept listening.
“I killed one of them instead.”
His fingers stilled slightly against my skin.
“The masked man who hurt me before.”
“Hargrove.”
Saying his name tasted like poison.
Ruslan’s eye widened for half a second.
Not with horror. Not with shock.
But with something darker.
Recognition. Understanding.
Then—
Pride. Fierce.
Possessive.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound low and almost animalistic.
“Good.”
It was validation.
Then his voice softened—barely.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
His gaze shifted toward the hallway.
“And then we decide what to do with these two bastards.”
He slid his arm around my waist again.
Steadying. Supporting.
As we turned toward the door, my steps faltered.
I stopped abruptly.
“Wait.”
Ruslan paused instantly.
His attention snapped back to me.
My eyes locked onto Vasquez.
He was now kneeling. Zip-tied. Gagged.
But he was watching me.
Not with fear. With hatred.
The same hatred that had once disguised itself as control and power over me.
Tears clouded my sight as I stared at the man who was once my father — who had loved me with a devotion so strong it felt unbreakable.
Until something shifted.
Until that love turned into something unrecognizable.
My breath hitched violently.
I pressed my palm to my stomach instinctively.
“Our second baby.”
The words shattered as they left my lips. “These two men took it from me.”
The room felt smaller. Heavier.
Silence spread like poison after my confession.
Ruslan turned his head slowly toward Vasquez... then to Harris.
Rage tore across his face — not wild, not reckless, but controlled. Contained.
The expression that crossed his face was not loud rage.
It was controlled devastation.
I could see it in his eyes.
He wanted to kill them.
Instantly.
Snap their neck.
End them where they knelt.
But he forced himself to breathe.
Ruslan didn’t believe in quick deaths for men like them.
He wanted them to understand.
To feel it.
He wanted their end to be slow and unforgettable.
His arm tightened around my waist so fiercely I felt his muscles tremble under the restraint he was forcing on himself.
“You’ll have it,” Ruslan said.
His voice was low. Deadly calm.
“Every scream. Every cut.”
“You’ll watch.”
His eye shifted back to me. “And you won’t look away.”
Vasquez struggled against his restraints, muffled sounds of protest bursting through the tape on his mouth.
Ruslan ignored him.
He guided me forward again.
The enemy mansion stretched around us as we walked.
It was vast.
Opulent. Cold.
Marble staircases curved downward like frozen rivers.
Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, shattered in places from the chaos of battle.
My legs shook violently with every step.
Days without food. Days without rest.
Days without movement.
My muscles had weakened to the point where each stair felt like climbing through water.
Ruslan noticed instantly.
He shifted his grip.
One arm remained locked around my waist.
His other hand moved under my elbow, lifting more of my weight without making it obvious.
He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t dragging me.
He was carrying me through the aftermath carefully.
Protectively.
I leaned into him more as exhaustion threatened to pull me down.
He adjusted.
Never complaining. Never hesitating.
His presence made the world around me feel smaller.
Safer.
Even though we were walking through enemy territory.
Even though death still lingered in the air.
He lowered his head slightly near my ear.
“I won’t let anyone take anything from you again,” he murmured.
The promise was a declaration.
We descended past the bodies.
Dozens of them.
Vasquez’s soldiers—men who had once walked through these halls with arrogance, weapons strapped to their chests, believing loyalty and fear made them untouchable—now lay scattered across the marble floors.
Some were slumped against walls.
Others had collapsed halfway down staircases.
A few were draped over banisters like discarded uniforms thrown aside.
There were no gunshot wounds.
No visible blood spray from explosives.
No scorch marks.
No shattered bones from violent combat.
Just foam crusted at the corners of their mouths.
Eyes open.
Glasslike.
Limbs frozen in unnatural positions—the way bodies fall when life is stripped away suddenly and silently.
It looked peaceful from a distance.
But up close, it was disturbing.
Wrong.
“How...?” My voice barely escaped my throat.
Ruslan kept one hand steady around my waist as he guided me down the final steps, carefully steering me around another corpse so my bare feet wouldn’t brush against dried blood.
“We didn’t give them the war they expected.”
His tone was calm.
Almost clinical.
“No loud shootouts. No bombs detonating through the walls. No bribed informants betraying us at the wrong moment.”
He nudged my shoulder gently, directing me past a soldier collapsed face-down near the stair landing.
“We compromised their chefs.”
My brows knit together.
“Chefs?”
“Simple access. Easy infiltration.”
He continued guiding me through the carnage.
“A tasteless neurotoxin—colorless, odorless—slipped into every meal prepared inside this house over the last forty-eight hours.”
My stomach flipped.
“Forty-eight—?”
“Slow onset,” he said matter-of-factly. “Symptoms started with dizziness. Numbness. Then weakness. By the time they realized something was wrong, half of them were already too impaired to lift their weapons.”
He glanced down at a man sprawled beside the hallway fountain.
“The rest died quietly.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Peacefully, even.”
My throat went dry.
“Food poisoning...”
It sounded too ordinary for something that had wiped out an entire armed force.
Ruslan’s lips curved into something that resembled a grim smile.
“Exactly.”
He stepped over another body without slowing.
“They believed they were protected behind concrete walls and assault rifles. They forgot the most basic rule.”
He stopped briefly, looking down at a man whose fingers were still curled around an empty gun.
“Everyone has to eat.”
A cold silence stretched between us as we moved forward.
Outside, the heavy double doors opened.
Night air rushed in.
Cool. Salty. Clean.
It hit my skin like a blessing after being trapped in decay.
A black SUV waited at the entrance, its engine idling quietly under the dim estate lights.
Ruslan opened the passenger door for me.
He helped me inside carefully, making sure my legs cleared the frame.
Then he walked around and slid into the driver’s seat himself.
No driver. No convoy.
Just us.
The doors shut with a heavy thud.
And instantly—
The enclosed space made my reality unavoidable.
The smell of me filled the cabin.
It was humiliating.
Rancid sweat. Urine.
Blood.
The scent of days spent trapped and unwashed.
I shrank deeper into the seat.
“I stink,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself like I could contain the odor. “You should—”
“Elena.”
His voice cut through my shame.
He started the engine.
His eyes stayed forward as the car pulled away from the estate.
“You were pregnant.”
The words landed like a blow.
“And you didn’t tell me.”
My chest constricted.
Fresh tears welled immediately.
“I didn’t know,” I rushed out. “I swear to you—I didn’t know.”
My voice cracked.
“I only realized after they started hitting me. After the pain got worse. My body started reacting... differently.”
My hands trembled in my lap.
“My father—he must have been watching. He knew before I did. He saw the signs.”
My throat closed.
“I lost our baby again.”
The confession shattered me.
“Just like before.”
“Just like the first one.”
Ruslan’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
His jaw worked.
I saw restraint.
I saw anger. I saw guilt.
“And I caused it again,” he said quietly.
The admission surprised me.
His voice wasn’t defensive.
It was self-blame.
“I left you.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No.”
He glanced briefly at me in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t defend me.”
His gaze returned to the road.
“I should never have left you unprotected.”
“You offered to take me away,” I said quickly, reaching across the console.
My blood-crusted fingers covered one of his hands.
He didn’t pull away.
“Over and over,” I continued. “I was the one who refused. I was scared to leave California. Scared to uproot Daphne. Scared of change.”
My voice softened.
“None of us could have predicted this.”
Silence filled the car for a few seconds.
Then—
“When you’re stronger,” Ruslan said calmly, “you’ll watch your father die.”
My breath caught.
“Slowly.”
His voice lowered. “Painfully.”
He turned his head slightly, eyes meeting mine through the reflection of the mirror.
“Exactly as you asked.”
A dangerous promise.
He looked at me again.
Always checking. Always observing.
As if he needed visual confirmation that I was still breathing.
The rest of the drive passed in silence broken only by my quiet, uneven breathing.
I stared through the window at the coastline blurring past under the dark sky.
The ocean reflected faint lights from distant buildings.
Calm.
Unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded.
My thoughts drifted unwillingly.
Prison.Violation. Stillbirth. Kidnapping. Hargrove. Harris.
Another pregnancy ended in violence.
Another child lost before I could even whisper a name.
What kind of woman survives this?
What kind of mother carries this much loss and still stands?
The question echoed painfully inside my chest.
I didn’t notice the car slowing until it rolled to a stop.
The estate gates opened silently—security already informed.
Ruslan stepped out first.
He walked around to my side.
The door opened.
Without hesitation, he reached inside and lifted me out.