Chapter 16 Sage
SAGE
The sound of the warehouse settles around me like dust, thick, gritty, and impossible to swallow.
Hope sits tied to a metal chair a few feet away, duct tape stretched across her mouth, her eyes swollen from crying.
Every time she tries to move, the ropes dig into her arms, and I watch the pain ripple across her face.
Seeing her like that makes my stomach twist until it feels like I can hardly breathe.
Thomas stands between us, calm as if this is nothing more than another chore he needs to finish before the day ends.
Shadows from the overhead lights stretch across his face, pulling him even farther from the man I once held onto in my memories.
If he ever cared about us, I can’t find even a trace of it now.
My voice trembles, but I force the words anyway. “I need to understand this. All of it. How did you convince Isaak you were dead? How did you just vanish for eighteen years?”
Thomas folds his hands behind his back, the posture almost casual. “People disappear every day, Sage. Some do it poorly. Some do it well.” He strolls closer, his shoes echoing softly across the concrete. “I chose the second category.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.” My throat tightens. “You let us grieve you. You let Mom die thinking you were gone forever.”
He studies my expression with an indifference that makes my skin prickle. “Your mother understood the world she married into more than you think.”
My jaw clenches. “She spent years waiting for answers. You never gave her any.”
“She wasn’t the priority,” he replies in a tone so light it steals my breath. “Survival was.”
I stare at him, trying to find something familiar in his features. The strong dark brows, the lines around his eyes, and the sharp cut of his cheekbones are pieces I recognize. But the expression sitting on them belongs to someone else entirely.
“How?” I whisper, though part of me wishes I didn’t want the details. “How did you fake your death without Isaak noticing it was staged?”
A faint hint of pride curves his mouth. “I had assistance. Two Barinov enforcers owed me. They arranged the vehicle, the body, the burned wreck. Enough resemblance to accept at a glance.”
The chill that runs through me tightens every part of my body. “So the coffin, the funeral Mom held… all of that was built on a lie.”
“Funerals are for the living,” he replies, unbothered. “I had no use for one.”
Hope lets out a soft sound behind the tape, something between a plea and a warning. Her breathing turns quick and uneven, the way it does when she’s close to spiraling. I step toward her without thinking, but Thomas lifts a hand, halting me.
“Stay where you are.”
“She’s scared,” I argue, heat rising in my voice. “And she’s been tied up who knows how long. She needs her meds.”
“Her condition is inconvenient,” Thomas replies. “But not unmanageable.”
My stomach twists with cold anger. “She has epilepsy, not an attitude problem.”
“She is leverage,” he counters simply. “Nothing more.”
The word crushes something inside me. Hope isn’t leverage. She’s my baby sister, the person I’ve been protecting my entire life. The person who still crawls into my bed during thunderstorms. The one who calls me her safe place.
I swallow hard, pushing the burn behind my eyes back where it came from. “Why are you doing this? What could we possibly give you that is worth all this?”
A slow smile touches his face, sending a chill over my arms. “Revenge,” he answers plainly. “Isaak tried to have me eliminated. Luka inherited his father's sins. My daughters inherited the cost.”
The words feel like acid. “Cost,” I repeat, the word slipping out in a whisper. “That’s all we are to you?”
“You were useful for a time,” he adds with a shrug. “Less so now.”
Hope kicks at the floor, her chair scraping loudly. She’s trying to say something behind the tape, but the sound is muffled and frantic. Her pupils look too large, and her face is pale. Panic surges in my chest.
“She needs her medication,” I insist as I inch toward her. “Untie her, let me give it to her.”
“No,” Thomas answers without hesitation. “We’re not finished.”
His refusal hits me in the gut. “Do you hear yourself?” I ask, stepping forward another inch. “You’re talking like one of the men you used to warn me about.”
Thomas’s eyes sharpen. “I warned you about the Barinovs. I didn’t warn you about myself.”
I freeze at the honesty in his voice. It doesn’t come from care. It comes from certainty.
The man who tucked me into bed at night. The man who lifted me onto his shoulders at the county fair. The man who let me fall asleep on his chest during movies. That man is gone. I don’t know when he disappeared. Maybe the day he faked his death. Maybe earlier. Maybe he never existed at all.
Footsteps echo from the far side of the warehouse before I can respond. One of Thomas’s men jogs into view, his boots slapping loudly against the concrete.
“Pakhan,” he calls out, breathless. “We got confirmation from the lot. The information’s final.”
Thomas turns with a slow pivot. “Which information?”
“Ray,” the man answers. “He’s dead. They found the body.”
Hope jerks at the name, her eyes widening behind the tape.
Thomas’s expression twists into a colder version of what I thought possible. “My brother,” he mutters. “Useless to the end.”
My heart stutters. “Ray… Ray is dead?”
Thomas turns his gaze back to me. “Your uncle served his purpose. Luka handled the rest.”
A strange wave of relief and terror knocks through me. Relief that Ray can never hurt Hope again. Terror that the only barrier between us and Thomas just disappeared.
Thomas exhales through his nose, a simmer of anger riding underneath the sound. “Everything I built. Everything I planned. And he ruined the order of it.” His eyes land on me again, colder, harder, and crueler. “But I suppose you and your child can make up for the inconvenience.”
My breathing turns shallow in an instant. “My what?”
His mouth curves with icy satisfaction. “I know you’re pregnant. Surveillance works both ways.”
Hope screams against the tape, her body trembling.
My hand flies to my stomach without thought, covering the small flat space that holds a life I haven’t fully understood yet. A life Thomas wants gone.
“You’re out of your mind,” I tell him, my voice shaking. “My baby has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me,” he replies with a terrifying calm. “It is Barinov blood. It cannot be allowed to continue.”
My knees weaken. “You’re talking about killing your grandchild.”
Thomas’s lip twitches. “Do not use that word. The child is a threat. That’s all.”
Hope lets out another muffled cry, her chair rattling as she fights against the ropes. Her fear pulls something fierce and bright through me. I step in front of her before I even realize I moved.
“You’re not touching her,” I tell him. “And you’re not touching my baby.”
Thomas lifts a hand, signaling to his men. “Take them to the back room. Both of them.” He narrows his gaze on me. “I’ll decide the final steps shortly.”
Two guards close in with their hands out, and one slices through the ropes binding Hope, the cut barely finishing before her body slumps to the side in the chair.
In that instant, the fear, the years of taking care of her on my own, the new life growing inside me, and the memory of Luka’s hands on my shoulders promising she would be found all collide at once, rising into a single surge of pure instinct.
I wrench my arm free from the guard’s grip and lunge toward Hope before she hits the floor, catching her just in time.
I peel the tape from her mouth in one quick motion, and her breaths rush out in fast, uneven bursts against my shoulder.
She folds into me as if her bones can no longer support her, her body pressing against my chest while panic climbs into my throat so quickly I struggle to swallow it back.
Her skin burns under my hands in a way I recognize far too well.
She is slipping toward a dangerous point I have seen before, and every instinct inside me screams to keep her here with me.
“Hold on,” I whisper to her, though I can barely hear my own voice over the pounding in my ears. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”
The guard nearest me reaches out again, his hand closing around my arm. The pressure is rough enough to bruise, and a tremor of fear rushes through me, but a stronger force pushes back. I twist to yank free, my shoulder burning with the effort.
The guard curses under his breath and lunges forward again. My elbow brushes a solid metal box mounted on the wall, the red one I noticed earlier. The fire alarm. A jolt of instinct runs through me. I don’t think or plan, I just slap my palm against the lever.
The alarm erupts with a shriek that slices through the warehouse like a blade made of sound.
The lights flicker overhead, and a second later, water bursts from the sprinklers in a sudden downpour.
Cold drops smack against my face, clothes, and shoulders.
The water falls in sheets, soaking everything within seconds.
Cries of confusion echo through the warehouse as Thomas’s men lift their arms to shield themselves, shouting over one another. The guard gripping me loses focus for just a breath, and I shove him away with every ounce of strength I have.
Thomas turns sharply toward me, water streaming down his face, his expression tightening with fury.
“Enough!” he snaps, his voice rising above the alarm’s howl. “Grab them.”
Two men rush toward us, their boots sliding on the wet floor. I pull Hope against me, trying to keep her upright, her face buried in my shoulder as she struggles to breathe through panic and exhaustion. The water drips from her hair into her eyes, making her blink rapidly.
“Hope,” I murmur, brushing the wet strands away from her forehead. “Focus on me. I need you to hold on.”