Page 71 of Conquer
“What were you thinking, coming out here without me? Are you okay? Magda! Say something.”
But she’s silent, even though—physically at least—she seems to be okay. I draw her into my arms anyway, squeezing so tightly I think she’d protest if she weren’t in shock. Soon any anger I may have felt turns to a crippling, overwhelming sense of guilt. I stroke my hands down her back, my voice soothing. “It’s okay, honey. You’re okay…”
But she isn’t.
“What the hell?” Red splotches mar her left arm, noticeable only when I start to pull back. Alarm shoots through me like a lance. They don’t look like a rash or a harmless reaction to the water. They’re scratches. As if someone grabbed her there. Brutally.
“Honey…” I force her to face me. “Tell me what happened.”
I’ve never seen her like this. Dazed. Distant. Much like Vadim in his very worst of mind states. When it seems like nothing short of screaming can reach him. When his past has all but consumed him.
I snatch Magda into my arms and carry her back into the house, my heart pounding. I wrench the sliding glass door shut and lock it. Then I race to the cutlery drawer and grab the biggest knife I can. Brandishing it in one hand, I curl my free arm around Magda—though she’s clinging to me so tightly on her own.
At first glance, nothing looks out of place. The kitchen is as pristine as always, the dining table cleared of dishes or dust for that matter. The heightened sense of unease that has me scanning the corners could be attributed to paranoia.
But then I hear it. Laughter. Faint and distant, it comes from the direction of the terrace. I whip around to find a beautiful blond lazily skirting around the pool. In her hand is a pistol, aimed squarely at the glass door.
There isn’t time to panic. I just run, barreling upstairs before I even process why. In Magda’s room, I rip her from me, crouching down to her level.
“Get your cell phone, honey,” I tell her, making my voice as stern as I can. “Call your dad and hide. No matter what, stay hidden, okay?”
She nods, and some twisted semblance of relief eases my fear. I stroke her hair and then close the door, returning downstairs. It’s stupid. I should be hiding too. Running in search of a guard or wait for Vadim.
But deep down, I know in the pit of my gut that nothing I do will deter Irina for long. She doesn’t want a chase.
She wants a fight.
The kitchen is her battlefield. She sits at the dining table amid a sea of shattered glass—remnants of the sliding glass door. She eyes me from above her neatly folded hands, the gun out of sight.
“You’ve called him already, I’m sure,” she says, her lips parted into a beautiful smile. Her outfit this time is a ruby red dress that enhances her curves, playing off the gold in her hair. “Good. It’s best we keep this quick—”
“Keep what quick?” I counter, adjusting my grip on the knife. I stride toward the counter, putting it in between us, my eyes on her hands. If she goes for her gun, I might be able to duck quickly enough to avoid the first bullet.
But the longer I keep her talking, the more time Magda has to hide.
“You don’t want your daughter,” I point out, cocking my head with a confidence I don’t feel. “You already had the chance to kill me, and you didn’t take it. What now?”
“Now?” She giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Youwere never a factor,” she tells me. “Just a toy. A diversion. And Magdalene, while I may have no use for her, she does serve one purpose...”
“Vadim,” I croak. “You know he’d do anything for her. So why try to drown her?” Anger makes my voice tremble in a way I’ve never heard it before. I barely recognize this woman.
But embodying her gives me an insight I’d never have before my brief introduction into Vadim’s world.
“You didn’t,” I say, changing my opinion as Irina’s eyes darken with disgust. Annoyance.
And then it hits me. The red marks. Magda’s fear. It all paints a horrifying picture—rather than let her mother drag her away, she jumped into a pool, knowing she couldn’t swim. Or, even more chilling, she made the most noise she could, trusting me to hear her. Save her.
“Do you think Vadim will really allow you to hold her life over him?” I ask incredulously. “He’ll kill you.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugs, but in a fluid, graceful motion, she snatches the gun from its hiding place on her lap and aims it squarely in my direction. “Or, he may be too distracted by grief at your death. I’m curious to see it. Something tells me that he’ll get over you quickly.” She smiles wickedly, her eyes gleaming. “Magdalene or no, he could have a flawless child to dote over soon enough.”
It takes everything I have in me to let the barb go unchallenged. Distracting me is what she wants. Instead, I try to read between the lines, finding the meaning in what sheisn’tsaying.
“You must be desperate for money,” I decide, honing in on her clenching jaw.Bingo.“To come crawling to him after a decade. What? Did the amount you blackmailed from Hiram run dry?”
Her eyes narrow; I’ve caught her off guard again. “Hiram. You say the man’s name as if you know him. But you don’t, do you? No. And neither did Vadim.” She stands, still aiming the gun, though she twirls it by the handle, around and around—a twisted game of roulette.
“Hiram was too smart for his own good. So smart, he accepted the challenge set down by a monster—help him preserve his toys so that he could make more whenever the mood struck him. Children that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of buying on the black market, stealing or smuggling. Homegrown stock. I don’t think the old man knew the full extent of what he’d signed up for,” she acknowledges with a shrug. “I’m sure he couldn’t face his shame before his perfect little Dima. That he was the one behind the program that saw him strapped down, his essence ripped away. And for what? A broken little girl child so genetically flawed, she carried on his curse.”
