Page 72 of Conquer
“You mean you couldn’t sell her,” I snap, my voice shaking with anger. “To his family. That’s the real reason why you gave birth to her, isn’t it?”
She raises an eyebrow, and I know I’ve hit a bullseye. “His family... Do you even know a hint of their reputation? I think not, or you wouldn’t mention them so cavalierly.” Smug once more, she cocks her chin, a smirk playing over her red lips. “So what if I aimed to give them a child? They would have welcomed Dima back into the fold then. He might have thanked me.”
“But Magda was a girl,” I point out. “So, you blackmailed Hiram for money instead.”
“Hiram, Hiram.” She sadly shakes her head. “A poor man, so wracked with guilt and fear of what his poor Vadim would do if he knew his savior contributed to the hell we lived through. He was pathetic.”
Or he was human. A human who loved a man like his son, enough that he’d do anything to protect him the only way he knew how.
“Why now?” I demand. “Why come back now?” But then I remember something Vadim voiced, his own suspicion. “Your sick little sex ring is in jeopardy? You need more money. How disgusting.”
“You areverymouthy,” she spits, her eyes flashing. “It seems even Dima fed you tidbits to keep you quiet. Though you still have no idea, do you? His world. The crimes he’s ingrained himself within. The darkness that lurks inside of him. One day, he’ll give you a real taste—but I don’t think you’ll enjoy it much.”
She pivots to face me, her expression cold. “You will never know him. No matter what lies he spins to placate you, you will never know the full extent. Money? That man commands more than money—”
“Power,” I finish for her. “Is that it? You want protection.” She flinches, and I know I’ve hit a sore spot. Like a shark sensing blood, I latch on, caution be damned. “The little boy you used and threw away now runs the world. But he doesn’t even want you. He’s had plenty of time to seek you out. Plenty of resources. He’s used them to claim his daughter, but never you. Why?”
She flicks her wrist, pointing the gun at me once more. “Should I kill you quickly?” she muses, tilting the barrel toward my head. “Or slowly?” She turns her attention to my chest and licks her lips. “Slow, I think—”
“Mommy!”
God, no…In slow motion, I turn to the foyer, helpless to stop a tiny figure from racing into the room. Shouting, I lunge from behind the counter, but she’s too fast. As I watch in horror, she runs up to her mother…
And throws her arms around her waist.
“Mommy,” she wails plaintively, her face in Irina’s hip, her tiny hands fisting in her skirt. “Mommy…”
It’s a display that shouldn’t sting nearly half as much as it does. Doubt creeps in, stealing away my resolve. Could I truly fight this battle with Magda as a bystander? Especially if—instead of fearing—she actually loves her mother?
The answer is simple—no.
And well aware of that fact, Irina faces me, her gaze alight with triumph. She lowers her free hand toward her daughter’s head, her fingers unnaturally stiff. Then she flinches and shoves her off so violently her tiny body goes flying into the row of counters with a sickening thud.
“No!” I run to her, wrapping her in my arms, using my body as a barrier between her and our assailant.
“Little bitch,” Irina hisses, swatting at her side. “Enough of this game—”
She aims her gun, heedless of the child in view—and I push all concern for myself out of my brain. Pushing Magda out of range, I pivot on my heel and lunge, swinging with the knife recklessly. Sheer surprise works to my advantage. I catch her off guard, knocking her against the table. The gun flies from her hand, but she lashes out, swiping her nails through the flesh of my cheek.
Growling, she kicks me back and scrambles for her gun. But before she can grab it, she staggers. Falls. Convulses, her eyes rolling.
A monstrous shout resonates from the foyer before I can even process what’s happening. A heartbeat later, Vadim races into the room, Maxim hot on his heels. He takes one look at Irina and then me, his posture tense.
“Get the gun,” he snaps to his brother—an act of trust so startling that I don’t think he even realizes what he’s done. His sole focus is on his daughter, overriding even a decades’ long feud. He lunges for her over the sea of broken glass, stopping short only when he notices me. “Are you alright?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
With that, we both turn to Magda, and my heart sinks. She’s hunched on the floor, staring blankly.
Vadim tentatively takes a step toward her. “Magdalene?”
She inclines her head toward him, but her blue eyes are fixated on her mother’s body, watching as the woman’s limbs contort uncontrollably. A brief stint of binge-watching medical dramas gives me a vague clue as to what’s happening—she’s seizing.
“She’s not shot,” Maxim declares, his tone cold. He’s standing over Irina, scanning her body with a predatory intensity that makes me shiver. Meeting Vadim’s gaze, he extends her discarded gun.
Vadim steps forward and takes it, hissing in disgust. “What the hell happened—”
I have no idea why or how—but in response to Vadim’s concerned frown, Magda lifts her hand. In it is a tiny syringe, and a horrible explanation for Irina’s state becomes clear.
