Wicked Savage: Chapter 50

The pounding of approaching footsteps sends a jolt of dread through me. I struggle against the tight restraints biting into my wrists, the cold, unforgiving floor beneath me offering no comfort. The thick hood obscuring my vision keeps me trapped in darkness, unable to see anything but the emptiness around me. A muffled whimper echoes nearby.

Tatiana? Gregory? I can’t tell.

The uncertainty fuels my panic, but I force myself to stay still. Fear is a weapon in their hands. I refuse to give them that satisfaction.

The hood is ripped away, and harsh light sears my retinas. I squint, blinking rapidly as my surroundings come into focus: an industrial warehouse, steel beams rising like prison bars, shadows swallowing the corners.

Then I see him: my father.

“Moya Dinarochka,” he says, the mockery laced in his tone as chilling as the ice in his eyes. He pats my cheek with a cold hand, his expression twisted in disdain. “So good to see you again. You made beautiful bride.”

I jolt back, the shock and knowledge that he was actually there hitting me hard.

I knew it! I knew I saw him.

“How? Cillian, he checked the cameras.”

“I had help. Easy to sneak in with catering company. Your husband should do better job keeping you safe, lubimiya.”

Anger coils in my stomach, the smugness in his eyes making me want to claw them out.

I glare, swallowing down the nausea curling in my stomach. “Where are they?”

Whatever he’s done isn’t important right now. Getting Tatiana and Gregory out of here is the priority.

“They’re safe,” he replies, his mouth thinning. “Don’t worry about them.”

I scan the space, desperate for a glimpse of them, but they’re nowhere in sight.

He chuckles. “Is better you worry about you right now.”

I meet his gaze without flinching. “I’m not afraid of you, Papa. Do what you want to me. You’ve always been a coward.”

A cruel smile stretches across his face before he strikes, the butt of his gun crashing into my chin and snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes through my jaw, the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth. I refuse to make a sound, even as the sting radiates down my spine.

“Still so defiant. You never learn.” He tilts his head, as if I’m some disappointing experiment. “That’s not how you speak to your father.”

“You were never a father to me,” I spit, blood dripping onto my lap. “To any of us.”

He laughs, dark and mirthless. “You were never worth my time.”

The words should cut, but I feel nothing.

He’s wrong about one thing, though: I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve spent my life knowing exactly what kind of monster he is.

His expression shifts, cold calculation replacing amusement. “Your siblings, however…still time for them. Once you’re dead, I make them stronger. More loyal than you ever were. They won’t be under Konstantin’s thumb anymore.”

“You never deserved our loyalty.”

I don’t even care if he hurts me again. What does it matter? I’m already dead, aren’t I? Trapped in this nightmare, dangling on the edge of an end I can’t outrun. Even if Konstantin knows where we are, it might not matter. He might be too late.

Then it hits me, sharp and unforgiving: the thought of never seeing Cillian again. Of never hearing his voice, never feeling his touch.

Of never telling him I love him.

The regret is a blade, cutting deeper than any wound my father could inflict. I should have said it. Should have given him the truth instead of waiting. But now…now, he may never know. I swallow back the sob clawing its way up my throat.

No. I refuse to let this be the end.

I force myself to breathe, to focus, to stay alive. If there’s even a sliver of hope, a chance that someone—anyone—can save us, I have to hold on.

“That was always problem.” My father crouches before me, slow and deliberate, his presence suffocating as he presses the cold barrel of a gun beneath my chin. His dark eyes gleam with cruel satisfaction. “You were never on my side.”

“Never.” I meet his gaze, refusing to flinch, though fear coils tightly in my chest.

I won’t let him see it. I won’t give him the pleasure.

“Go ahead!” My voice rings out, sharp and unwavering. “Shoot me. You’ve been waiting for this moment, haven’t you?”

But instead of pulling the trigger, he curls his lips into a chilling smile. He straightens, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the idea.

“No… I don’t shoot you.’ His head tilts to the side as he gestures to someone just beyond my line of sight. “He does.”

Confusion flickers through me. Until I see him: my brother Roman.

My stomach twists as he strides forward, dragging Tatiana with him, her sobs breaking through the heavy silence. Behind them, one of their men grips Gregory, my little brother’s tear-filled eyes darting between us.

Terror slinks through my veins like ice.

“So, you brought your little lapdog to do your dirty work?” I sneer at Roman, ignoring the way my body screams in pain.

He grins, a twisted, mocking expression. “Moya sestra.” His head tilts. “I was almost sad when I thought I killed you in that car crash.”

The words hit like a freight train. My vision tunnels.

The accident. The weeks of recovery. It was him.

My stomach lurches, but I manage a cold laugh. “Of course you failed. You always do.”

His smile vanishes. In an instant, he lashes out, his boot slamming into my ribs. Pain rips through me, white-hot and consuming, but I don’t scream. Even as my siblings cry out for him to stop, even as he kicks me again and again, I stay silent.

“Hvatit,” my father commands. Enough.

Roman halts instantly, panting, fists clenched. I struggle to lift my head, my vision blurred and spinning.

“Go on.” I lock eyes with my big brother. “Shoot me, then. But it won’t make you any more of a man.”

Tatiana sobs harder. “Please, Papa, stop!”

But my father merely sighs, shaking his head. “Oy, Moya Dinarochka. You misunderstand. Roman does not kill you.”

Dread curls through me, cold and sharp. “What?”

When he faces Gregory, my blood turns to ice.

My father places the gun in my little brother’s trembling hands. His small body shakes violently, his chest heaving with silent sobs.

“No,” I whisper, my throat closing. “Don’t do this to him.”

“I don’t do anything to my son. Unlike you, he loves his father. Has been on my side whole time. Haven’t you?”

My head spins, unable to understand any of this. What does he mean?

A violent tremor rolls through Gregory’s body as he looks at me, and I see the truth there.

No. No, this can’t be true. He’s lying.

“You know what to do, Gregory,” our father says against his ear, the grip on his shoulder firm, possessive. “Now is chance to prove yourself. To show you are man, not boy.”

I can’t let this happen. I can’t let him do this to Gregory!

Tatiana’s cries grow louder, desperate pleas spilling from her lips, while my mind struggles to catch up, to piece together the nightmare unraveling before me.

My father’s gaze shifts back to mine—dark, venomous. “She is traitor. You know what we do to traitors, don’t you, my son?”

“No!” My head snaps toward Gregory, his shoulders shaking, his eyes cast downward as if afraid to meet mine. “Don’t listen to him, Gregory! This isn’t you. You don’t have to do this. You don’t want to be like them. I know you. I love you! Please, don’t do this!”

Silent cries wrack through him, but our father only tightens his hold.

“Oh, he will. This has been plan all along.”

I blink, heart pounding against my ribs. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. “You thought you could take my son from me? You thought you could keep him away?” He scoffs.

The room tilts, the walls closing in around me. Nothing makes sense.

“Gregory…what is he talking about?”

Laughter, dark and triumphant, echoes through the space. “I’ve always been one step ahead, dochinka.” Daughter. “I had someone very useful helping,” my father taunts. “It was only reason I was able to reach my boy and talk to him all these years.”

A sharp inhale sticks in my throat. “Who?” My pulse pounds violently. “Who helped you?”

His smirk deepens. “You don’t worry about it.” Then he turns back to Gregory, his tone deceptively gentle. “Now, son. Do what must be done. End her.”

A sob shudders through Gregory’s small frame as he lifts the gun, his hands unsteady. And then his eyes find mine.

Everything inside me shatters.

Because the little boy I once knew, the one I swore to protect, is gone. And I don’t know what he’ll do next.