6. Kirill
Chapter 6
Kirill
I end the call, my entire body vibrating with rage.
I can't believe what he's done. The man who has haunted my entire life with his sick and twisted presence has gone too far this time. I never believed I could take his life, because to do so would mean coming up against the entirety of his organization. In recent years, though, that organization has changed. Some of his men have been lost to war, and others have been lost to my father's own carelessness. He sent them into fights they could never win, and in doing so, while he consolidated his power, he also devastated the number of men he had at his side.
The ramifications of what I want to do are huge, but I can't let him ruin Mackenzie's life as well as mine.
I hate myself for what I said about her. All I can imagine is her face, as she believes I would betray her. I would never do that, but I know my father only too well. If he believes I'll cry and beg, he's much more likely to keep pushing and pushing, doing ever more sick and twisted things. He might be clinically insane, but he's also predictable. After so many years in his orbit, I know how he operates. It means I understood immediately threatening to kill Mackenzie if he soiled her with his touch would actually make sense in his sick mind.
For some reason, he wants us to have a baby. I don't know what deranged thought process is fueling him, but that's the outcome he's focused on. If I let him think that touching Mackenzie means that will never happen, I do believe he’ll leave her alone until I get there.
Guilt hits me. I should tell Tino and Dom, but I know if I do, they'll insist on coming with me. Or worse, they'll follow me. My father's threats are not empty.
If I don't go alone, he will kill Mackenzie.
I must do this by myself and somehow buy some time. There will be a way out of this for us both; I just need to figure it out. Hell, I really believe that if he thinks we're going to give him an heir and get married, my father will probably let us go. He'll think this is an amusing story about how we met. He'd probably tell it at our wedding, and everybody will think it's some sort of bad taste joke, but we would know it was the truth.
The sick and disgusting truth.
The legend within our family goes that my grandfather kidnapped my grandmother. They say he saw her at a dance, fell head over heels in lust, and when her family said no to his initial overtures, he decided to simply take her. He parked by the side of the road when he knew she’d be walking alone and waited until she passed by before throwing her in the back of his car and driving her to his home. She never saw her family again except for organized visits, where he had his entire armed guard on alert in case they tried to take her back.
If that's how his parents met, no wonder my father has a warped idea of what romance is.
I need to get Mackenzie out of there, and then, when she’s safely back here, I’ll do whatever it takes to put my sperm donor in the ground. He’s lost all rights to call himself my father, and he’s going to fucking pay for this.
I tear the paper from the notepad and shove it, crumpled, into the pocket of my jeans. I grab my phone and my wallet and push them into my pockets, too.
Before I leave, I pause. Should I take a gun? He said not to, but fuck, that leaves me and her exposed. I drop to the floor and reach under my bed, pulling out a lockbox. Inside it is a Glock 22. It’s an American gun—one their police use—and I always figured if it was good enough for an American cop, it was good enough for me.
I hover with it in my hands, desperate to slide it into the back of my pants but knowing my father’s men will search me the minute I arrive. Perhaps I can put it in the vehicle with me? Leave it where they won’t find it? At least then I’ll have access to it if we manage to escape. I decide that’s what I will do. That way, I won’t have it on me when I get searched, but I will have it close by. If we escape and we can reach the vehicle, we can get the gun, and it gives us more of a chance.
For now, I stuff it behind my waistband and cover it with my t-shirt. Opening the door, I poke my head out and make sure there is no one around.
I really don't need to run into Dom or Tino right now. They’ll most certainly want to talk, and the minute I do, they're going to figure out there's something seriously wrong. Instead of walking down the hallway to the main stairs, I turn right and sneak down the back way, toward the service entrance.
Once I'm there, I slip into the kitchen and loiter around where the dishes are being stacked. Just beyond here is a door leading into a pantry.
I know on the wall of the pantry there's a set of keys, which belong to a truck that's always parked outside, unless it's on a run to fetch more vegetables and fresh produce, that is.
I wait, trying not to look suspicious, and hoping no one will question me, until the dishwashers have all gone to collect more plates to wash. When there's no one around, I slip into the small pantry space and grab the keys.
I press the latch on the door to the outside and open it. The bright sunshine of the day hits me as I step outside. It’s disorienting after such a bizarre phone call.
The world somehow doesn’t seem real. I shake my head and try to focus. The small truck is parked only a couple of meters away, and I jog to it, climbing in and starting the engine before I peel off down the drive.
No one will stop this vehicle at the gates because it comes and goes sometimes up to three times a day. Still, my hair stands out and the security guards will know me.
Crap, I hadn't thought of that. Slowing the vehicle to a crawl, I glance around and sigh in relief when I see the baseball cap on the seat next to me. Again, I thank God for seemingly being on my side right now.
I grab the baseball cap and pull it down tightly over my head. I tuck the strands of hair sticking out under the cap and pull it low over my brow. When I get to the security gates, I keep my head down and just jerk a brief nod at the guards.
If I lift my head and they see my nose ring, it might give me away. Luckily for me, the guards seem to be in a world of their own, and they wave me through without even looking.
I drive like a possessed man to get to the cabin where my father has taken Mackenzie. It’s over an hour away, and I swear that hour is the longest of my life. It feels even longer when I’m forced to leave the main road and take a narrow mountain track, slowing my progress. The trees seem to close in around the truck—oak, maple, and birch, their leaves beginning their turn to oranges and reds—and every so often their branches hang so low that they screech across the roof of the vehicle like nails on a chalkboard.
With every second that passes, I torment myself with the thought of my father and Mackenzie. I have no doubt in my mind that he would take her against her will. The picture in my head of him holding her down and forcing her makes me want to pull the truck over and vomit onto the side of the road. How would she ever recover from that—physically and mentally? Our little doll would be broken, and now I realize just what stupid games we’ve been playing. We never truly meant to break her, not like that. Even Dom would never have wanted to see her hurt in such a way.
I wonder if the others have noticed I’m missing yet. What will they think? I’m fairly sure they’ll piece things together quickly enough. They will know I’ve gone after our Duchess, and since I’m the one who’s gone, I’m sure they will put two and two together and realize my father is the one behind all of this.
The road grows even narrower, and I bump and jolt inside the tin can of a truck, my knuckles white around the steering wheel. The gun presses against my lower back, where I’ve wedged it into my waistband, and I try to plan what my actions will be when I arrive. A part of me—the biggest part—wants to go in shooting. I want to kill every single motherfucker who has so much as looked at Mackenzie. But I hold myself back. If I start shooting, my father will hear the gunshots and decide to put a bullet in Mackenzie’s head before I reach her.
It feels as though no matter what choice I make, I will lose.
And so will she.
I check my location and realize I’m close. I stop the truck, and, knowing it is for the best, I look around behind me. There are a few crates, and some have food in them—a perfect place for me to hide the gun. I clamber over the seat and stuff it down into a crate of oranges. Then I get back into the driver’s seat and face forward, my hands on the wheel for a long moment as I brace myself for what is coming. My heart beats faster, and I force myself to slow my breathing. I can’t go in there raging, as much as I want to. I need to be like him —cool, controlled, unemotional.
It’s the only language he understands.
I get moving again, and finally, the dirt road opens. A clearing in the trees reveals a large, double story log cabin. I kill the engine, though I’m sure my approach will have been heard already. I sit behind the wheel for a moment, watching for movement, but there is none. That doesn’t mean they aren’t perfectly aware of my presence, however. I remember my father’s threat of cameras and drones to make sure I came alone, but there’s nothing obvious. Maybe he was bluffing.
I draw a shaky breath and open the driver’s door. I climb out and look around the area, but there’s no one around.
With no other choice, I approach the front door and bang on it with my fist.
It opens, and a man I don’t recognize stands in the doorway. He must be one of my father’s new additions.
“Arms out,” he says.
He’s going to search me, and I’m grateful I didn’t try to get away with the gun.
He searches me thoroughly and steps back with a smirk. “Good boy.”
My teeth clench, and for just a moment I wish I’d come in guns blazing.
Movement comes from behind him, and my gaze travels past this man’s shoulder to land on Igor. That son of a bitch.
“It is okay, Rufus,” Igor says. “I can take it from here.”
Rufus and Igor switch places, and Rufus retreats deeper into the cabin and out of sight. I set my attention on Igor. This fucking bastard is the man I loathe more than anyone else, other than my father. I stare at him, hatred pumping through my veins with more ferocity than venom.
“Are you going to let me in,” I spit, “or should I just wait here while you figure out a way to get your tongue even farther up my father’s ass?”
Igor ignores my comment.
“You came,” he says as if surprised. “Thought you’d be too scared, but then again, she is a prize piece of ass, and if your father shoved his frankly freakishly massive cock in her, he’d ruin her for a young man like yourself. He’d stretch her wide open, and you’d never satisfy her again, so I can see why you rushed.”
There’s a rock to the side of the door and it’s out of Igor’s eyeline. His leering grin makes me seethe and, without thinking, without letting my mind run through the consequences and acting purely on an autopilot of sheer hatred, I bend down and pick it up. Igor looks confused as I straighten. I smile at him and then swing my arm and smash the rock into his face.
He staggers back with a yell and clutches his face. Then he falls to the side, rolling to his left and groaning.
“You’ve had that coming for a long time.” I spit on him in disgust. Fucking bastard. “I do wonder, too, how come you’re so well acquainted with Daddy Dearest’s cock. Does he shove it down your throat on the regular?”
The sound of a gun cocking to my side is no surprise. But I don’t care. I wanted to show Igor how much I hated him, and I have. I didn’t break Father’s rules and shoot anyone, and I doubt he’ll murder Mackenzie over me smashing up Igor’s face.
I’m also fully convinced now that my father uses Igor for more than just security. I shudder, not wanting to imagine my father that way with anyone, never mind the man I hate so much.
It hits me then that I could end my father’s life without raising a fist to him. If he really is doing something with Igor, and something about the way Igor looks at him and that last comment has clicked into place for me, then that would be enough for them to be killed in the patriarchal world they are from.
Could I get Tino to do some of his magic and find out if he can spy on my father? If I can make him think Mackenzie and I are going to do his bidding and buy us time, can I work with the other two to bring him down?
Now, though, I must appease that bastard by whatever means are necessary to get me and our Duchess out of here alive.
“Take me to my father,” I say to Rufus.
He nods and jerks his gun toward a door at the end of the hallway. “Down the stairs.”
I walk toward them, my heart pounding as I descend the stairs into the basement. My fucking father and his love of basements.
But my fear of the dark and small places is eclipsed by what greets me.
Mackenzie is on her knees, locked inside a large cage. She’s naked from the waist up, collared, and chained by her throat to the bars. There’s a bandage around her upper arm, and dark blood spots seep through the white.
My soul breaks in two.
I stare at her, and she looks up at me. All I see is despair. I hold her gaze, trying to show her with my eyes that I love her so fucking much.
Something else catches my eye. Inside the cage with her are two metal bowls.
The sight of them propels me back in time, to when I was a child and it was me in that cage. The impact on me is so strong, it’s as though someone’s just shot a syringe of adrenaline into my heart. The dank basement seems to pull away for a moment, and, for one crazy moment, I think I might pass the fuck out. I fight to control my breathing and regulate my heartbeat, and gradually I come back fully into the room.
I’m not a child anymore. I’m a grown man, and I need to handle my shit for Mackenzie’s sake.
I want to go and cover her, but I can’t show even a hint of weakness to my father. He’ll kill me if I do, and then he’ll fuck Mackenzie himself.
“Igor is indisposed,” I say to Grigoriy as he regards me coldly.
The guard, Rufus, has also followed me down the stairs. He has his gun on Mack, not me.
My father raises an eyebrow. “You got here quickly. You really hate the idea of your old man touching your woman that much, huh?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “She’s mine, not yours.”
“Fine.” He jerks his chin. “Then fuck her. Make her have your child.”
“She’s on birth control,” I say.
He gives a sly smile. “Not anymore.”
So that’s what the bandage is for. The son of a bitch cut out her implant. He’s a fucking monster.
“It could still take weeks for her to get pregnant,” I say incredulously. “People will be looking for us.”
“Breed her, or I fucking will. Then you will marry her as soon as I can get a priest here. Once you and she are married, no one can put a stop to it, or do anything about it. It’s the way things work in our world. You know that.”
I stare at him in horror.
My father laughs. “Now, I see you think I am sick. Maybe I am, but not so sick I want to watch my son fuck his little kitten. I’ll leave you with Rufus here, and Vadim.”
I turn to see a second man has entered the room. Vadim is one of my father’s most dangerous guards. His soul is pitch black and his anger management non-existent. When I was younger, I thought there was something supernatural about him because of the paleness of his eyes.
“If my son fails to mount his kitten,” my father commands them both, “feel free to shoot him and let me know so I can do the job properly.”
My father stands and slaps me on the back.
“Have fun, son. She’s a gorgeous little pussy cat.”
Then he leaves the basement, and I turn to face Mackenzie, dread balling in my stomach.