24. Mikhail #3
“Shut your mouth.” The knife presses harder against my throat. “You were supposed to take over. Do you understand that? You were the one I chose. Not Lev, not anyone else. You.”
What?
He narrows his eyes. “Do you know what they do to men like you in Russia?”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer with the knife pressed this hard against my throat.
“You know exactly what they do,” he says, his face inches from mine. “You have already seen what happens.”
“We’re not in Russia,” I manage to rasp out.
“No, we are not.” His eyes burn into mine. “But I did not leave my beliefs behind when we left. You know what this family stands against, what I have taught you since before you could walk. You spent your entire life hearing what I thought of men like that, and still you chose this.”
He grins, and there’s something cruel in it, something satisfied. “I should have done this to Alexei the moment I found out about him and that vet.”
That’s all he says before he sinks the knife into my stomach.
My eyes glance down, and the pain hits immediately, white-hot and consuming.
Blood leaks down quickly, soaking through my shirt, and he pulls the knife out.
My hands come up instinctively to press against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but he grabs me by the collar and slams me back against the wall.
“Papa—”
“Do not call me that,” he says, his brown eyes burning into mine with revulsion. The same eyes that watched me take my first steps. The same eyes that taught me how to ride a bike, how to fix a flat tire, how to throw a proper punch.
He brings the knife down to my stomach and stabs me again.
The blade sinks in deeper this time, and my legs almost give out beneath me. I gasp, trying to pull air into my lungs, but everything hurts too much. Blood pours from both wounds now, warm and sticky, spreading across my stomach and soaking into my pants.
“You could have had everything,” he says quietly, almost sadly. “And you threw it all away.”
He pulls the knife out to stab me again, but the entire staircase creaks beneath us.
Then everything explodes.
The windows blast outward in a shower of glass and the building shakes so violently I lose my footing.
He looks at me, confused, his mouth opening to say something, before another blast goes off somewhere below us.
The force of it throws him sideways into the concrete wall, and I fly to the other side, my head slamming into the metal railing so hard my vision goes black.
My eyes blink open, but everything is blurred, shapes moving without definition.
It takes three blinks to get my vision back, and even then it’s swimming. Screaming echoes from the other room, high-pitched and terrified, and gunshots go off, multiple ones firing in rapid succession. The fire alarm is so loud that everything is muffled.
The knife sits on the floor a few feet away from me, and I crawl toward it, one hand pressed against my stomach where blood is still pouring out.
He is sprawled out on the floor, unconscious, blood leaking from his head where he hit the wall.
I crawl over him, my body screaming in pain with every movement, and wrap my fingers around the knife handle.
I look down at him, and his eyes snap open.
His hand shoots up and catches the knife before I can sink it into him, his grip strong. He stares at me, confused, like he can’t process what I’m doing. Something inside me snaps completely.
I try to drive the blade down, but he kicks me sideways, hard enough that I lose my balance.
He rolls on top of me, weight crushing down on me, and slams the knife down toward my throat.
I catch his wrists, both hands wrapped around his, muscles screaming as I hold him back.
The tip of the blade hovers inches from my neck, shaking with the force of both of us pushing against each other.
His face goes red, veins bulging in his neck. “I should have drowned you when you were born,” he screams, spit flying. “Worthless fucking disgrace.”
The blade inches closer. My arms are shaking, the stab wounds in my stomach burning like fire. I twist hard to the right and throw him off balance, shoving him sideways. He hits the concrete, and I scramble on top of him before he can get up.
His fist connects with my face, knuckles cracking against my cheekbone. Pain explodes through my skull and my vision blurs, but his other hand loosens on the knife. I rip it free from his grip and drive it into him.
The blade sinks in between his ribs. His mouth opens, blood bubbling at the corners, and his hands come up to grab at my arms, but they’re weak and shaking.
I pull the knife out and stab him again.
He gasps, his eyes going wide with shock. I pull it out and stab him again, the blade sliding between his ribs. Blood sprays across my face, hot and metallic.
I drive the knife down again, into his stomach this time, twisting it before ripping it back out. Again. The blade sinks into his shoulder, his chest, his throat.
Blood splatters everywhere, covering my hands, my face, my shirt that’s already soaked with my own.
His hands come up, weak and trembling, trying to push me away, but I knock them aside and stab him again. The knife plunges into him again, and I feel it scrape against bone.
Pulling it out, I drive it back down, over and over, the wet sound of metal piercing flesh filling the stairwell.
I keep stabbing long after he stops fighting, long after his hands fall away and his body goes limp beneath me. Blood pools under us, spreading across the concrete in a dark lake.
My breathing comes in gasps, and every movement sends white-hot pain exploding through my stab wounds, but I can’t stop.
The knife slips in my grip from all the blood, and I tighten my hold, bringing it down one more time into the center of his chest. It stays there, buried deep, and I finally let go.
Blood covers everything, and his brown eyes stare up at nothing, empty and lifeless.
The door swings open, and it snaps me out of it.
Daniil stands there in complete shock, eyes wide and locked on the body beneath me. Blood drips down his forehead from a cut above his eyebrow. He’s not moving or reacting, just staring like his brain can’t catch up to what just happened.