37. Alexei #2
I studied him then. Really observe. The lines around his eyes sit deeper than I remember. His shoulders, still broad, still solid, carry something heavier than just the years. It’s in the way he holds himself, like he’s bracing against a weight he’s been trying to carry alone for far too long.
And for the first time in a long time… I see it. Not his years of experience. Not the authority he wields. Something closer to doubt.
To the quiet, buried kind of regret that doesn’t get spoken out loud. The kind that comes from things that didn’t go the way they were supposed to. From things that couldn’t be fixed.
My chest tightens.
Because I know that weight. And I know, somehow, he thinks part of it is mine to carry now.
I give him a small nod. “You trained me well, sir.” The word lands exactly how I intend it to.
Respect. Between a king and his director of security. Between a father and his son.
Something in his posture eases, a fraction, but it’s enough. The tension in his shoulders loosens, his grip shifting before his hand drops back to his side.
He clears his throat, the familiar gruffness sliding back into place like armor. “Take—take care of yourself, son.”
His words are quieter now. Less of a command. More of a request.
“You too, Dad.”
He pats my shoulder once more, lighter this time, before his gaze shifts past me. To Elena.
She stands a few feet away, phone pressed to her ear, her voice low, but not low enough. I catch pieces of it. Checking in one last time with Hannah before we step into something we don’t fully control. Her brow is drawn slightly, concentration etched into every line of her face.
“Her too,” he adds.
My eyes follow his. And everything else, plans, risks, outcomes, fades to the background. She centers everything.
Always.
There isn’t a version of this where she isn’t at the core of every decision I make. Every line I draw. Every line I’m willing to cross. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. Nothing I wouldn’t burn down. No one I wouldn’t end in order to keep her safe and happy.
“I will,” I promise.
And I mean it in a way that doesn’t leave room for failure.
He nods once, satisfied enough, and starts to turn away.
“Director—”
He stops, turns back, and closes the distance by a step.
“Dad,” I correct quietly, the word grounding something between us that titles never could. “Thanks… for being here.”
A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.
He nods once.
And then he’s the one who breaks it, turning, walking away, leaving me standing there with the weight of what’s coming pressing in… and the quiet certainty that I won’t let it take her from me.
Present day…
“I told you,” Oksana murmurs, her voice slipping through the space like something poisonous, “you would pay.”
My teeth grind together as I drive my weight downward, every muscle in my thighs locking, straining, pushing against the stone fused around my legs.
Nothing. The cement holds. It doesn’t crack. It doesn’t shift. It grips tighter, like it knows exactly how much pressure to apply to keep me pinned.
A low grunt tears out of me anyway.
Across from me, Wendell turns, slow and intentional. The look in his eyes lands on me and sharpens; bright, eager, wrong.
“I’m going to enjoy this.”
He steps closer.
“NO—” Elena lunges forward.
She doesn’t make it two steps.
Oksana’s hand snaps out, fingers locking around her wrist, halting her like she’s hit a wall. “Take another step,” Oksana warns softly, “and his life ends here.”
Elena stills. The fight in her body freezes mid-motion, like it’s been cut at the source.
Her eyes find mine, wide and terrified. Then they harden with fury.
I force my expression to settle, steady, controlled, pushing everything else down so she doesn’t see it. Not the pain. Not the calculations. Not the possibility sitting heavy in my chest.
It’ll be okay, I tell her silently.
The lie sits between us. I need her to believe it anyway.
Because right now, hope isn’t in this yard. It’s inside the house.
Clara should be in by now.
Posing as an employee from the gas company. Reported leak. A smile, a tilt of her head, a flash of teeth, enough to get her past a door most people don’t even get to knock on.
From there, she does what she does best. Close the distance. Blend. Lift what she needs, keycards, access, anything that opens a door that shouldn’t be opened.
Then Mitchell does what he does best. Uploads his virus, and once it’s in, it starts eating through their system from the inside. Quiet. Invisible. Giving us eyes where we shouldn’t have them.
With Mitchell’s help, Clara will leave a trail for Oksana’s security to find. Messy enough to be found. Clean and clever enough to mislead.
If everything goes right, security chases ghosts while we tear through the real target.
If.
“Guards,” Oksana snaps.
Behind me, a voice murmurs into a comm. Seconds later, the doors burst open, two more men spill out, moving fast, precise.
Elena doesn’t see them coming until they’re on her.
Hands clamp down, one on each arm, locking her in place. She twists hard, a sharp grunt escaping her as she fights, but they don’t budge.
My attention snaps back to Wendell.
He’s closer now. The arrogance in his expression shifts to something darker, settling in its place.
“Not so impressive now,” he taunts, circling slightly. “All that training. All that power.” His gaze drags over me, lingering on the stone binding my legs. “And here you are.” He smiles. “On a leash.”
My muscles coil tighter with every word. He doesn’t see it. Or he doesn’t care.
“Don’t do this,” Elena pleads.
His head whips toward her. “You dare—” His voice rises, sharp, spitting with fury. “You dare ask anything of me?” Spit flies from his mouth as he steps toward her, anger bleeding into every movement. “After everything your family has taken from mine?”
She’s buying time. I see it in the way her eyes move, quick, subtle, tracking everything. The guards. The exits. The distance. She’s waiting and hoping that our plan will work. Same as me.
“They didn’t take anything,” she pushes back.
He snarls. “They stole it,” he snaps. “They wouldn’t have given the throne to your weak, cowardly ancestor otherwise.”
His hands rise. The ground answers. It trembles beneath us, low at first, then building, rolling through the earth like something waking up.
Even Oksana stills, her eyes widening slightly.
“Now,” Wendell resumes, his voice dropping, thick with something like pride, “you’ll see what real power looks like.”
His hands turn, the wind shifting around us. It howls through the yard, ripping through leaves, bending branches until they strain and groan under the force of it.
A tearing sound splits the air.
All of us turn.
The rose bushes. What was once perfect, pristine, and preserved is now ripped free from the earth. Roots tear loose. Soil scatters. Petals rain down in a violent cascade, scattering across the ground like blood.
The branches twist and stretch as they grow larger. They don’t move like plants anymore. They move like something alive. Something hunting. The thorns on each of the branches extend, lengthening, sharpening, until they gleam in the sunlight like blades.
No, a weapon. One that is built, not grown.
Wendell tilts his head and silently calls his branch forward.
It answers.
The mass of vines slithers across the ground, coiling toward him, then past him. The branch’s aim is fixed on me. It moves slowly and meticulously. It means to be watched. To be feared.
Out of the corner of my eye, Elena struggles harder, her body straining against the guards. Her eyes are locked on the approaching vines, something shifting in them, fear, yes, but beneath it…resolve.
I meet her gaze, only for a second. This is not a goodbye. Not from me and not like this. Even if this is where it ends…I don’t give them that.
My focus snaps back as the vines reach me. They brush the cement first, testing. Then, they begin to climb. Up over my boots. Across my ankles. The thorns slice cleanly through fabric, biting into skin like it’s nothing.
The heat follows, and then the wetness. Blood slides down my leg.
I don’t react. Not for him.
“Stop,” Elena breathes, her voice breaking.
I shake my head once. Don’t.
She knows what I mean.
She does it anyway.
Her eyes slam shut. Her brow tightens, drawing in as her focus pulls inward, shutting everything else out. Her hands curl into fists so tight her knuckles pale.
She reaches for her ability. The shift is immediate.
The guards holding her jerk backward, hands flying to their faces, clawing at the air like something’s there.
But there’s nothing. Nothing I can see.
They scream anyway.
One bolts, straight for the pool, hurling himself in like it’s the only escape. The other runs. Gone. Like he hadn’t been there before.
The vines tighten around my legs. Moving faster now as they climb up toward my thighs and over my hips. Each thorn presses deeper this time, cold-blooded, puncturing skin, carving paths upward.
A sharp breath slips through my teeth.
Wendell’s eyes narrow.
“No, you don’t—Guards!” Oksana shouts.
Elena moves forward, but Oksana steps in front of her, hands rising before she can move another step. Elena grabs Oksana by the forearms in return, locking onto her elbows. This time her eyes stay open. She meets Oksana’s stare, something passing between them.
Oksana freezes, her body goes rigid, like she’s been struck by something invisible and violent. Her voice cuts off mid-command, replaced by a whimper.
“Now you feel it,” Elena emphasizes, her voice low, sharp. A lethal edge I’ve never heard from her before.
Oksana lets out an audible cry. Fear. Real fear.
Elena draws her arm back and then drives it forward. Her fist connects with Oksana’s stomach hard enough to fold her, sending her stumbling back and straight into the pool.
Elena turns and comes face-to-face with Wendell.
This look…this is one that I have seen before.