Chapter 33 #2
Laughing, he picks up a tool from the kit he’s laid out.
Each one looks like something used by a vet to help birth calves, with a variety of knives and dildos thrown in.
He palms one of the knives and points in my direction.
“You’re a fool for thinking you could walk into my home and play grown-up games.
I always knew you’d end up here in the end, under my blade. ”
“That’s funny,” I say, with a flicker of amusement mixed with finality, “because I always knew this is how it would end, too.”
With a swift flick of his wrist, he sends the gleaming blade flying toward me, its edge reflecting the light. I’m agile and well trained, so dodging it is second nature. The steel blade embeds itself into a wooden frame behind me, that encases a nauseating painting of Yuri.
With a quick tug, I dislodge the weapon from the frame and flash a grin at him. “Thanks for the weapon.”
He rushes to grab another from the cluttered table, but I dart toward him with determination, completely exposed except for my flimsy “fuck you” panties.
Adrenaline surges through me as I kick him hard in the back, following up with a swift punch to the side of his head.
He may be aging, but he’s still a formidable opponent, easily three times my size.
Amazingly, he manages to stay on his feet, swinging a blade at me eagerly and slicing into my thigh with a sharp sting. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I lock eyes with him.
“I’m going to break you, and I’ll use Zahkar’s real brother to do it,” he taunts, a cruel sneer twisting his lips. There’s a dark, gleeful glint in his eyes that sends goosebumps rising over my skin.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Zahkar doesn’t have any real family. They were murdered. Or were they? Is that why he and Rodion fought about the results of the P.I.'s findings? Because he still has a brother out there?
“I collect people’s secrets like fucking trophies to use when the time presents itself,” he snarls, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’ve been waiting to use Andru’s to put a rift between those twins that can never be mended, but to get you at the same time is just…” He does a chef’s kiss.
“You’re lying.” A lump lodges in my throat. There’s nothing that could come between them. Nothing. They’re solid.
“I’m no liar. Andru killed Zakhar’s family and kept his brother in one of my cages to prolong his suffering.”
No. No. No.
Why the hell would he say something like that if it weren’t true and why is he only now saying something? Because he doesn’t think I’ll leave here with the information.
“You may not be a liar, but you’re fucking evil incarnate, Yuri, and like shit on a boot, you spread your sickness everywhere you go. I won’t let you hurt them with whatever secret you claim to have.”
“You call me evil as if it’s something to be ashamed of.” He swipes at a trickle of blood running down his cheek. “And it’s not a claim, it’s the truth. I’d tell you to go look for yourself but you’re not leaving this room.”
The arrogance of this man.
“Your misplaced pride won’t allow you to feel shame, I know that.
I also know that your insatiable greed for power for people’s secrets will cost you your life.
” I scrunch my nose in disgust. “It’s you who will never be leaving this room.
You’d sell your own damn heart for power if it were made of gold. ”
He narrows his eyes, his expression cold and defiant. “I don’t have a heart,” he retorts, his tone almost mocking.
“Oh, but you do, and it won’t be beating for much longer.”
I rush him, but he manages to knock the blade from my hand, so I hit him with a flurry of kicks and punches, using my ring to do damage, puncturing holes all over his abdomen.
Grasping my hair, he wraps the ends in a tight fist, and shakes me like a rag doll, dragging me over the desk and knocking all the items to the floor along with the breath from my lungs.
Pain radiates up my back and through my chest as he throws a couple of wild punches.
Fire burns over my scalp. In a moment of desperation, I slice through the end of my hair using my ring, severing his hold.
He looks surprised when his body jostles backwards, my golden locks still caught in his clenched fist.
Tripping over his own momentum, he crashes against the pommel horse and falls over it exactly how they planned to have me.
He’s breathing heavily. In that split second, I spot a pair of scissors that have tumbled to the floor.
Without hesitation, I seize them and leap onto his back like a rodeo cowgirl, my heart racing.
With a firm grip, I bring the sharp blade of the scissors down into his flesh, feeling the resistance as I pierce through skin and muscle, hitting bone.
The adrenaline surges, and I can hear the surprised gasp escape his lips as I take control of the moment.
Stab, stab, stab.
Stab, stab, stab.
Stab, stab, stab.
Wheezing and spluttering, he tries to heave himself up but fails, his arms dropping.
He’s fucking done.
“I didn’t think you'd be bound by revenge,” he wheezes, spitting blood.
Climbing off of his back, I waltz over to the donkey dick fucker whose dead eyes peer up at the ceiling. It’s a shame he couldn’t be alive for this.
Taking the scissors, I chop through the thick skin like sausage meat until his cock comes away in my hand.
“I’m not bound by revenge,” I tell Yuri, grasping a handful of his hair and tilting his head up to mine.
It’s fucking beautiful to see the light dimming in his evil, monstrous eyes.
“I’m bound by love. And that’s why you can’t fucking live.
” I shove the fatty tissue into his mouth until it’s full and he chokes his last breath on it. “But revenge does feel good.”
I walk around the pommel horse and yank down his slacks, grabbing the biggest dildo he planned to rape me with, and I shove it up his ass. I stand over his body, blood soaking my bare skin, a wild smile on my lips just as Darya walks into the room.
Shit.
Her amber eyes, so much like Viktor’s, expand and her pretty mouth forms an O.
“Well, this is awkward.” I wince, swiping my arm over my lips to remove blood.
“Alyona?” She says my name in disbelief. It has been a while since she last saw me.
“Hey, bestie.” I wave my sticky fingers.
Okay, I’m probably too terrifying, and looking too much like a bloody character from a Stephen King novel, to be teasing her like old times. Not the best timing.
“Did he hurt you?” She looks frantically around the room, and my insides feel fuzzy at her concern, considering I’m the one who is alive and everyone else is dead.
“I didn’t expect to see you here?” I admit. Darya fucking hates Yuri more than any of us. She was used in this role by him for months before her true identity was discovered.
“It’s a long story,” she says as she takes in the scene, her teeth worrying her lip. She picks up my wig and frowns.
Footfalls echo down the hallway, and Darya’s face pales. She tosses the wig behind a sitting chair and gestures for me to get moving. “Hide, now.”
Shit. Panic surges through me. I need to get out of here. I took too long drawing out Yuri’s death. Since the fucker still has my hair in his grip, I carefully collect it all and then hunt for a place to hide. I’m not leaving obvious evidence behind.
I quickly dart behind one of the heavy curtains, my heart racing. It would be a shame to get caught now. I need to survive. Keep my promise to my madmen.
To my utter shock, Darya drops to her knees near the Donkey Dick dude’s puddle of blood, and starts smacking at it with her hands. She smears it on her arms and face, too.
Yep, we’re definitely characters in a horror novel because what the actual fuck, Darya?!
There’s a large decorative mirror on the wall opposite Yuri’s desk and I can see the entire room from my hiding spot.
Darya rises to her feet, her entire front splattered and smeared with that monster’s blood, and begins trembling.
My legs turn to lead when Vlad enters the room a second later.
He was supposed to be out of town on business according to Diana.
Did she rat me out?
No way. She fucking hates Yuri too and could have ratted me out at any time.
She’s no traitor.
“Darya,” he exclaims, his voice laced with panic as he bursts through the room, his eyes skimming the chaotic scene before him. “Are you hurt?”
She gives him a shake of her head. “It’s not my blood.”
He blows out a breath of relief and says, “The housemaid is under strict instruction to inform me if my father ever requests you to come to his office. I came as soon as she told me.” I’ve never heard Vlad sound anxious about someone other than Viktor.
He had a soft spot for his brother, but not enough to stop his father from sending him away.
“He,” she begins to cry, “tried to…”
“Don’t,” he commands softly, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck as he pulls her close, letting her rest against his chest. “I thought he knew better after all this time. I’m sorry I put you at risk by asking you to come over here.
” His voice has genuine concern which is shocking to be quite honest.
“I stopped them,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper, taking the blame for their deaths.
Oh my God. Is it awful if I let her go along with this?
“I can see that Vas has taught you well.” He frowns as he looks at his father’s body. “Did you do all of this?” There’s suspicion in his tone, and I notice his reflection scowling at the position and condition Yuri’s in. Yet, there’s no sadness in his expression.
There’s blood all over her, but it doesn’t add up. Vlad’s no idiot.