Page 121 of Savage Saint
"Done?" He laughs, but there's nothing human in the sound. "You're done when I say you're done. When you're dead and in the ground, that's when you're done."
"Then kill me." I spread my arms wide. "Go ahead. Put a bullet in me right now. Because I'm not going back. I'm not killing the Santoros. I'm not killing anyone else for you."
"Posluchaj mala zdziro, jak ci mówie ze masz nowa misje to masz nowa misje!" The Polish explodes from him like venom.
The familiar words cut deep.Listen, you little whore, when I tell you you have a new mission, you have a new mission. But this time, instead of cowering, I stand taller.
"Nie," I respond in kind. "Juz nie jestem twoja zabawka."No. I'm not your toy anymore.
"You dare?" His voice drops to a whisper, more terrifying than any shout. "You dare defy me and use my words against me?"
"They're my words now. Like my life is my life."
"Your life?" He circles the desk again, a wolf scenting blood. "You have no life without me. Everything you are, I created. Every breath you take is because I allow it."
"Not anymore."
"Because of them? Because of the Santoros?" He stops directly in front of me. "You think they care about you? You're a curiosity to them. A broken bird they can nurse back to health. The moment they learn what you really are—"
"They already know," I interrupt. "I told them everything. Every mission. Every kill. Every horrible thing you made me do."
His face contorts with rage. "You told them about Berlin? About the ambassador's daughter?"
"Everything," I repeat, though my stomach churns at the memory. "And they still—"
"Still what? Love you?" He spits the word like a curse. "No one loves a monster, Kasia. They might pity you, might find you useful, but love?" He shakes his head. "You're more naïve than I thought."
"Maybe. But I'd rather be naïve and free than wise and chained."
"Chained?" Something dangerous flickers in his eyes. He moves back to his desk, and I tense, ready for him to go for a weapon. But his hand goes to a different drawer. One I've never seen him open before.
"You want to talk about chains?" His voice has gone deadly quiet. "Let me tell you about chains, little girl. Your mother—do you even remember her? No? Let me refresh your memory."
He pulls out a photograph, yellowed with age. A woman, gaunt and hollow-eyed, standing next to a younger Jerzy. There's a little girl at her feet. Me.
"Katarina Volkov. Whore. Addict. Mother of the year." He tosses the photo at me. "Sold you to me for ten thousand dollars and a fix. Didn't even haggle. Said you were too smart, too willful. Her exact words were, 'Take the little bitch before she gets me killed.'"
"You're lying." But my voice shakes. The woman in the photo is not the woman I saw in my memories. Of that, I'm sure.
"Am I? I keep all my receipts." Another document lands at my feet. "Bill of sale. Signed and dated. She even threw in your birth certificate for free."
I don't look. Can't look. But I can't not look either. The signature at the bottom is shaky but clear. Katarina Volkov. The document looks legitimate. But anything can be forged these days.
"She died three months later," Jerzy continues conversationally. "Overdose. I had to identify the body. Want to know the funny part? She had my money still on her. Every penny. Never even bought the drugs. Just wanted you gone that badly."
"Stop." The word comes out broken, but it's the rage that has me shaking. The rage at his lies. He killed my parents in front of me. Made me watch. And when he realised I repressed the memories, he must have created all this just to have another thing he could torture me with.
What he doesn't know is—I remember everything now. When my memories came back, they all did.
"Stop? But I thought you wanted the truth. Thought you were done with lies." He pulls out another paper. "Your first kill. Remember? You were seven. The man who touched you during training. You slit his throat while he slept."
"He was—"
"A pedophile, yes. Also, my dear friend." Jerzy shrugs. "But you did it so beautifully. So cleanly. I knew then what you could become."
"A monster."
"A masterpiece." He pulls out something else. Not a photo or document this time. A small device. Black metal, red button, the wolf symbol etched into its surface.
