Chapter 27 Nadya #2
“You lied to him,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “And you used Katya just like you’re trying to use my son.”
Anya laughs. “You’re delusional.”
“Is this why you came in here?” I say. “To have a nice little chat?”
Her eyes narrow. “What did you do with my brother?” she snaps, voice cracking. “Where is Viktor? Why can’t I reach him?”
I rise slowly, placing my body between her and Nikolai. My lips curl as I tilt my head, studying her like she’s something rotting on the deck.
“Is that what you call him?” I say quietly. “Your brother.”
Her expression doesn’t flicker.
I take a step forward, heartbeat hammering in my chest, voice calm, deliberate. “You take your brother to your bed?”
There it is—just a flicker of something behind her eyes. Disgust? Shock? Shame? I can’t tell. But it’s enough.
She doesn’t deny it. Just glares at me with murder simmering under her skin.
“That’s twisted,” I say. “Even for your family.”
“You don’t know the first thing about my family,” she hisses, stepping forward like she means to scare me.
“You’re right,” I say, not backing down. “I don’t.”
I glance past her at the men behind, unmoving, silent, like they’re waiting for someone to give the kill order.
“But I know enough about Viktor,” I continue. “He didn’t have a sister until he was twenty-one. Not a single record. Not a single photo. Not until his entire family—his father, his stepmother—were found stabbed to death in their estate.”
Anya’s jaw tightens. Her silence is louder than anything she could say.
“I’m assuming that’s when he made the deal with you?” I add, each word measured. “Clean up your mess, help you vanish, and in return, you get to wear the pretty mask and play sister. That sound about right?”
I watch her eyes narrow as I continue, “That’s what you Veles do, right? You slip in, clean up your mess, rewrite the story. But you never make things personal.”
Anya doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. I see the crack ripple through her composure.
“Or maybe,” I murmur, “you’re just the oddity.”
Her mouth tightens.
“First you fixated on Viktor. Turned him into something he was never meant to be. Until you found someone better. Someone stronger.”
I take a step closer, slow, controlled.
“My husband.”
Her glare burns.
“You wanted Konstantin to be your king,” I say, voice low. “But he didn’t fall in line, did he? He had a mind of his own. A family. Me. And that ruined your plans.”
Her lip curls. “You think too highly of yourself.”
“No,” I reply, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “I just think too little of you.”
Anya doesn’t answer this time. Her gaze flicks to the men behind her.
“Enough,” she snaps. “I’ve played long enough with my food. I’m bored now. Take the boy.”
“No—” I lunge, but they’re already crossing the room.
“Mommy!” Nikolai screams, his voice ragged, broken.
Something inside me shatters. It’s not thought, not instinct—it’s older than that, primal and all-consuming.
I reach for the blade at my hip and slash upward, the edge catching the nearest man’s thigh.
He roars in pain, rifle swinging wide. I duck under it, elbow another in the gut, but the third grabs me by the arm and hurls me into the wall.
My shoulder cracks against rusted metal. Pain blooms, white and furious.
Still, I move.
I tear free, throwing my full weight against him. The knife sinks into his side. Blood gushes warm onto my fingers. He howls. I rip the blade free and swing it toward Anya, but she’s already backing up, untouched, smug.
Anya lunges at me, nails like claws. We grapple, teeth bared, breath short, my body screaming in pain, but I shove her off with everything I have.
“Mommy!” Nikolai’s voice is louder now. Terrified.
My shoulder screams, my legs burn, but I don’t stop. I grab Nikolai, hoist him into my arms.
And I run.
Boots thunder behind me as I scramble through the narrow passage, ducking wires, stepping over rusted beams, blood trailing from my arm. The deck is up ahead. I grit my teeth and scale the iron stairs two at a time, clutching Nikolai to my chest.
A gunshot cracks through the night.
Fire explodes in my thigh.
I scream, stumbling. Pain slices through me like a blade dragged through muscle. My leg buckles. I almost go down, stumbling, but catch myself at the last second. I can’t afford to fail tonight. I shift Nikolai higher in my arms and keep going, dragging my body forward with sheer will.
Blood pours down my leg, hot and sticky, pooling into my boot.
“Mommy—” Nikolai sobs, clutching my shirt, his face buried in my neck.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
Behind us, shouts ring out, metal clangs under heavy boots. They’re gaining, closing in fast, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop.
The edge of the ship rises ahead, the deck sloping slightly, the shadows broken by the flicker of broken floodlights. I throw my weight forward, nearly crawling now, lungs heaving, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
Just a little more. Just a little farther.
I don’t let myself think about the wound. About the men behind us. About the way Nikolai is shaking in my arms.
I only think about moving forward.
Because if I stop now—we die.