Chapter 49
Roxy
My head throbs from slamming into the window, but I force myself to stay calm.
Giving in to this desperation won't help anyone, and when I look at the man in front of me, at every scratch and bruise covering his body, I steel my face into a mask of indifference.
I know what she wants, leaving me here tied to this chair facing him. She wants me to see him broken, destroyed.
I don't know how long we drove. Maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour.
Time lost all meaning somewhere between the abduction and now.
But we're in some kind of old warehouse now, all rusted metal beams and crumbling concrete.
The air reeks of rusted metal and mold, thick with the stench of decay. It burns my nostrils with every breath.
The space is cavernous and empty, our breathing echoing off distant walls.
A few bare bulbs hang from fraying wires overhead, casting harsh shadows that make everything look even more nightmarish.
In the corner, I can make out what look like old shipping containers, stacked haphazardly and covered in graffiti.
"Ah, sorry to keep you waiting. I had to handle some logistics."
The woman who took us, Damien's mother, says this while placing her hands on his shoulders. I stare at where her skin touches his, every muscle in my body screaming to rip these ropes apart so she'll stop touching him.
"It's quite remarkable, really. That someone could love him."
She studies me like I'm bacteria under a microscope, her brown eyes cold and analytical. There's no warmth there, no humanity. Just calculation.
I meet her gaze without flinching, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my fear. "You wouldn't understand love if it was explained to you in crayon."
Her lips curve into something that might be a smile on someone else. On her, it looks predatory.
A second later she turns and signals to a man standing a few yards away. He approaches and, without a word from Marzena, hands her a syringe.
All the blood drains from my face.
"No," I breathe out, the word barely audible. "Don't—"
Before I can take two breaths, before I can beg or bargain or do anything, the needle plunges into Damien's neck. His sound of agony rips through me, tearing at something fundamental in my chest.
"Easy there, sweetheart. Just a little adrenaline so you stay awake for the show." She strokes his hair like he's a pet, her fingers carding through the dark strands with mock tenderness. "Can't have you passing out on us. Where would be the fun in that?"
"Get your claws off him!" The words tear out of me, raw and furious.
I don't know everything this woman did to him, but I know enough to understand how her presence alone will destroy him. And right now, all I want is to protect him from the wave of emotions about to crash over him.
"Spunk. I like it. If Elena had the same fire, maybe she'd still be wasting oxygen on this planet."
I freeze at the name that just left her mouth.
Before I can ask how she knew my mother, Damien's eyes fly open. Even though it's only for a split second, I see the panic swimming in them.
I try to signal to him with my eyes that I'm okay, that nothing happened to me, but his breathing becomes ragged, and she notices too.
"How many times did I explain that weaknesses must be torn out at the root?
" She moves back to stand behind Damien, her hands resting on his shoulders again.
"Same with Berna. I suppose it's how the Universe balances things.
Made you good at cutting into flesh but terrible at managing basic things like feelings. "
"Let her go, Marzena. She's not who you need." Damien tries to straighten in his chair.
I look at his mother with her ash-blonde hair twisted in a knot at the nape of her neck, pearls in her ears, red manicure flawless. You'd never guess this woman abused both her children. Never imagine she's capable of such cruelty.
"Oh, but I do need her. Because you're going to resign your position and transfer all your votes to me, son. Otherwise, your precious wife will discover where you learned all your talents with a blade."
I look into his eyes and shake my head slightly. He won't do this. Not for me.
"You won't let her go regardless of whether I comply." Damien's voice carries resignation.
He knows this woman better than anyone, and now that I look at her, he's right. She'd never keep her word.
"Oh, you're right. But it depends on you—how beautifully you beg forgiveness for your betrayal seventeen years ago determines whether I torture her for hours or not. Because I have all the time in the world, Damien. The GPS signal from her ring has been jammed for thirty minutes now."
At her last sentence, a tremor runs through Damien's body and he drops his head.
"Tell me what you want to hear."
"Do you know what it was like having my own son steal the position I fought for years to earn?
" Her voice rises, fury bleeding through the controlled exterior.
"Any idea how many secrets I had to buy with my own body just to get permission to speak in front of the Council?
Your father never understood that ambition.
Then again, he didn't understand much by the end. "
She starts pacing, her heels clicking against the concrete in a steady, maddening rhythm.
"Always content to be just another soldier, another sheep in the flock, never wanting to be the one giving direction. Not you, not Berna, not him. None of you understood what I sacrificed to get where we are."
I have to bite my tongue to keep from calling her insane. Because she is. She sacrificed her family for a taste of power. Wasted years of her life on something she'll never have.
Vasili told me once that the Council votes would never go to a woman. Her secrets only buy safety, not the throne.
She opens what looks like a case and pulls out a thin, sharp blade.
"Remember the first place I taught you to sink a blade?" she asks Damien, her voice almost conversational now.
His eyes narrow, jaw clenching.
The implication makes my stomach turn.
"TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR, BUT LEAVE HER ALONE!"
His roar echoes through the warehouse, bouncing off metal and concrete.
"Don't raise your voice at me, boy!" She spins on him, all pretense of civility gone.
Her heels click on cement as she approaches my chair, each step deliberate. I force my eyes to stay on the man in front of me, to anchor myself in his gaze rather than the monster moving behind me.
"Damien, close your eyes, baby," I say softly, keeping my voice as steady as I can manage.
His eyes glisten as he shakes his head no, the movement almost violent in its desperation.
I force a smile onto my face because I'd give anything, endure any pain, so he wouldn't have to watch this.
Wouldn't have to see another person he cares about get hurt.
But I can't stop this lunatic right now.
"Please. For me." I whisper, pouring every ounce of love and reassurance I can into those words.
And then I feel her move behind me, feel her presence like a cold shadow.
His eyes narrow on her hands as she brushes my hair off my shoulders, the gesture almost gentle. The contrast between the tenderness of the action and what's about to happen makes it even more horrifying, but I try to mask any fear from my features.
"I'm going to peel your skin off, I swear to God!" Damien shouts, trying to break the restraints holding him to the chair. I hear the scrape of metal on metal, see the way his muscles strain and bulge with effort.
The next second, sharp pain tears through the flesh between my shoulder and neck. A scream burns up my throat before I can stop it. It's agony exploding through every nerve ending, white-hot and consuming, making my vision blur at the edges.
I wish I were stronger. I wish I could swallow the pain, deny her the satisfaction of hearing me scream.
But my body betrays me as the blade splits the muscle in two.
It's like someone poured acid on raw flesh.
Each heartbeat sends fresh waves of pain through the wound, and I feel blood streaming down my back, soaking through my dress in hot, sticky rivers.
"STOP!" Damien's roar fills the space, primal and desperate, and I hear ropes breaking.
The next moment, his body crashes into Marzena, pulling her away from me even though he still has a piece of metal embedded in his leg.
I can't see what happens between them—only hear the soldier's rushed footsteps from the corner. He hauls Damien off her and drives a fist into his stomach, putting him back on his chair and securing him.
"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" I scream, but my voice breaks, shattering into something desperate and helpless.
I feel the monster rise behind me, hear her brush off her clothes, then the sound of blades again.
"Since you interrupted my moment without permission, I think it's time to see how your wife's manicure looks without one nail. Or two. Or all of them." Her voice drips honey.
Damien's face turns crimson.
"TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME! DO ANYTHING TO ME YOU WANT! SINK ANY BLADE, LET ME BLEED ON THIS CEMENT UNTIL THERE'S NOT A DROP LEFT, BUT LEAVE HER ALONE!"
His broken, vulnerable scream fractures something in my chest.
Because right now, the man in front of me isn't the head of the Polish mafia. He's not the playful man, not the one who threatened to burn down two churches if the priest delayed our ceremony. He's that twelve-year-old boy with the bandage on his hand, so utterly lost.
I don't remember everything from that night, but I know what I noticed first. How lost he seemed when he looked at me.
And something in me knew I wanted to see him smile.
Wanted to see his face light up, even for a few seconds, because he looked like a ghost. No child should look so haunted by their own existence.
"Would you get on your knees for her?" she asks.
Before Damien can answer, I cut in.