Chapter 31
SONYA
Sudden light wakes me out of my doze. I'm exhausted after hours of constant fear and barely any sleep. I finally forced myself to get some rest because I know the twins need me at my best. And if I'm going to get us out of here, I'm going to need some strength to do it.
I blink at Genevieve as she hurries over to the bed, wondering if this is some sort of torture or psychological punishment, keeping me up at all hours.
“Come on,” she says conversationally, as though she didn't just burst into my room in the middle of the night. “We have to go.”
“Go where?” I struggle to sit up, my brain still fuzzy.
“Something's up. It's time to move you. I don't want anyone taking my babies away from me.”
I nearly snap but hold my tongue. I hate to admit how scared I am of this woman's psychotic side. I don't know how she'd react if I talked back to her, and I don't want to find out.
Genevieve unties the bindings holding me to the bed. I sit up slowly to prevent a rush of blood draining from my head and making me dizzy, rubbing my wrists where the rough material abraded my skin.
“Hurry up.” There's urgency in Genevieve's request, but I just glare at her.
“You're going to have to give me a minute. If you want the twins to be healthy, you'll let me do what I need to. Do you know what happens if I get stressed?”
Genevieve peers at me as if to decide whether I'm telling the truth or not. “What?” she finally asks.
“Stress affects babies in any number of ways, including low birth weight and other issues. If I get too stressed, I could go into preterm labor, and these babies are way too young to survive outside the womb, just like the doctor told you yesterday. So I suggest you let me do what I need to do if you want them to be healthy.”
Her lips thin. She’s not happy to comply, but she will anyway, because she doesn't want to risk the children.
I wonder why Genevieve Mancini even wants children.
She can't possibly need something to love—in fact, I'm pretty positive she's incapable of loving anyone but herself, just like Samson.
So why does she want children so badly that she's willing to kidnap me, hold me hostage, and steal them from me, killing me afterward?
I hear noises. Faint but sharp, confusing and worrying. Genevieve shifts from foot to foot, her gaze darting between the door and me. The way she's trying to rush me tells me something else is going on.
When I glance out the door, I see no sign of the men who have guarded me nonstop since they brought me here.
“Help me up.” I hold my hand out to Genevieve, hoping she doesn't realize I can move fine on my own.
My gamble pays off, because she comes closer, her mouth still a thin line of annoyance. When she grabs my hand, I lock hers in both of mine and pull as hard as I can. With a shout of surprise, she goes down as I come up, and I hit the ground running.
I'm almost to the door when she grabs the back of my sweater, nearly knocking me off my feet as she jerks me back.
“No, you don't, bitch. You aren't going anywhere with my children.”
She spins me around and attempts to slap me, but I step in instead of away.
The movement surprises her enough that I'm able to jab a palm up under her chin, snapping her head back before bringing my knee up between her legs.
She goes down with a wheezing cry as I look around for something I can use to defend myself.
Her leg snakes out, and I tumble over it, falling to my hands and knees.
I'm running entirely on adrenaline now, desperate not to lose this one chance of getting out of here alive with my children.
I crawl toward the side table with the lamp.
My fingers just brush the porcelain when, with a screech, Genevieve grabs my legs and hauls me back.
“I'm going to put you in a fucking coma so you'll stay quiet for the rest of this pregnancy,” she shrieks.
My hand misses the lamp, but I’m able to close my fingers around the power cord, and I use the momentum of being dragged backward to pull it from the wall.
The lamp follows the cord with a crash, and I reel it in frantically, flopping over just as Genevieve straddles me, a frightening, triumphant smile on her face.
“You're not gonna be trouble any—”
The sound of the porcelain lamp shattering against her head interrupts whatever she was about to say, and she slumps forward.
It takes me a moment to scramble out from under her dead weight, and I'm breathing hard when I look back to make sure she's actually unconscious. She isn’t moving, blood oozing slowly from a nasty gash at her temple rapidly turning purple.
“They’re my children, you crazy bitch,” I say, even though I know she can’t hear me.
I’m about to head toward the door when I hear shouting and running feet. The only other way out is the window, which looks out on another roof. It's not exactly safe, but I don't have any other choice.
The window casing is old, and it takes a few tries before I’m able to open it.
I'm halfway through, straddling the sill and ready to duck out when a hand grabs my hair and arm and pulls me back inside with such force, it feels like my hair is going to rip from my scalp and my shoulder is going to pop out of its socket.
I'm slammed against the wall so hard, stars explode in front of my eyes from the pain in the back of my skull. Samson's furious face hovers mere inches from mine.
“Think you're going to escape, bitch?”
Every word drips with venom and frenzied anger. The look of homicidal rage in his eyes is so terrifying it brings instant tears to my eyes.
My sweater balled up in his fists, Samson flings me toward the bed.
I can't keep my balance and fall to my hands and knees again.
It's all I can do to scramble up as he stalks after me, each footstep like a death chime.
He hauls me up again and pushes me back against another wall, but this time, he wraps his hands around my throat.
“Samson, don't,” I manage as he cuts off part of my air. “If you kill me, you kill the twins.”
“Like I give a fuck. Genny's the one who wants kids, not me. I wanted to see the look on Matvei's face as I forced him to watch me kill you and take everything away from him. Just like he and that fucking bastard of a father we share took everything from me.”
“Samson, don't—” I try again, but I can't speak anymore as his hands tighten, tighter and tighter, threatening to crush my windpipe.
I fight against his hold, thrashing and scratching at his hands, trying desperately to pull them away.
My lungs begin to burn and my ability to fight grows weaker until my vision tunnels.
Everything inside me is focused on getting the air Samson is starving me of.
“I knew I should have done this from the start. You've always been too much trouble. I'll find Genny some kids somewhere else. Kids that don't look like my asshole brother, so I won’t have to stare at his face for the rest of my life after I kill him.”
My heartbeat is so loud in my ears, I can barely hear what Samson is saying.
Suddenly, Samson howls, his hands falling away from my throat. I begin to fall but someone catches me, and all I can do is lean on them, coughing and gasping air back into my starved lungs.
“Are you okay? Sonya! Talk to me!”
Kelly is there, pushing my hair back from my face and stroking my head as she holds me close.
All I can do is nod and stare at the fire poker she used to spear Samson in his shoulder.
He's bleeding, but it's not severe enough to take him down for long.
He straightens with a snarl, his palms red with blood, and starts toward us, reaching for the gun in his waistband.
Before he gets to us, a figure in black crashes into him, and they both fall in a tangle of flying limbs and thrashing bodies. Two guns skitter away across the floor.
They grapple, rolling until Matvei comes out on top, channeling all his rage at his brother into the blows he rains down on his head and face.
Samson is no slouch, though. I remember when he told me he was proud of the fact that he learned to fight dirty.
He grabs a shard of the porcelain lamp lying on the floor and strikes out with it, slashing his brother across the arm.
Matvei hisses, and his blows stop long enough for Samson to flip him off and go on the offense, crashing back into his brother with a rebel yell.
“We have to get out of here.” Kelly pulls me to my feet, but I don’t budge.
“I'm not leaving him.”
“He's here to get you out. Out, Sonya. Let's go.”
A sudden shriek pierces the air. None of us noticed Genevieve had woken up, and she launches herself at Matvei like a rabid animal, screaming, biting, and clawing until it's all he can do to fend her off.
Kelly makes a noise low in her throat, and I see something in her eyes I've never seen before as she throws herself at Genevieve. She grabs her by the shirt, swings her around, and lands two quick punches—one to her jaw and one to her stomach that doubles Genevieve over.
It’s just enough of a distraction that Samson sweeps Matvei’s leg, then falls on him, a knife in his hand. As strong as Matvei is, he’s injured, and Samson is putting his entire body weight behind the weapon, the blade growing closer and closer.
I know Matvei wants me to run, to escape while Samson and Genevieve are occupied, but I can't. I can't let Matvei die here; I need him in my life. I need him in our lives. I grab my own shard of broken porcelain and stab it down with all my might into Samson's back.
He bellows, arching and grabbing frantically for the thing between his shoulder blades. Matvei grabs Samson’s hand holding the knife, and with a swift scissor kick, knocks his brother off him.
There's a loud thump as Genevieve crumples again and doesn’t get up. Kelly is holding her weapon, which she used to smash the side of Genevieve’s head.
“Matvei!”
Kelly throws the gun to Matvei, which he snatches out of the air just as Samson gets to his feet and launches himself at his brother with a roar of blind rage and pain.
Matvei fires at point-blank range, the bang so loud I scream. The impact of the bullet slams Samson backward. He’s still as soon as he hits the floor, and I jerk my head away from the fact that half his face is missing.
And then there’s silence.
Nobody moves. My breath rasps in my throat. The sounds outside have stopped, replaced by the distant wail of police sirens.
Kelly steps up to Matvei and holds out her hand for the weapon. “Give me the gun. Let’s all get out of here alive and free.”
Matvei hands her the weapon without argument, and something passes between the two of them as their eyes meet. My sister wipes it clean before impressing Samson’s hand and then her own on it, erasing any sign that Matvei used it.
They’re both composed, but I’m shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.
Matvei engulfs me, and I’m crying. He kisses me desperately, checking to make sure I’m okay, murmuring things in Russian I don’t understand but want to.
“I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.” I repeat the words over and over, as much for him as for myself.
Because I am okay and so is Kelly, Matvei and the twins. It’s over, and I’m in Matvei’s arms, and that’s the only thing that matters.