Page 122 of Savage Saint
My blood turns to ice.
"Did you really think I'd let my greatest creation walk free?" He holds it up, letting the light catch on the metal. "The chip in your brain. My insurance policy. One press of this button, and you're mine again. Body and mind."
"No." The word comes out as a whisper. "Please, no."
"Ah, there she is." His smile is cruel. "There's my scared little girl. You remember what this does, don't you? The electricity, the loss of control. Your body moving without your permission. Your mind screaming while you watch yourself kill."
"Jerzy, please—"
"You have two choices, Kasia. Take the mission. Go back to Blackriver. Kill the Santoros. Serve me as you always have." He waves the device. "Or I press this button and make you do it anyway. Only this time, you'll be awake for all of it. Watching from inside as your body murders the people you claim to care about."
"You wouldn't—"
"I killed my own flesh and blood. I've burned entire families for less than what you've done." His eyes are dead, empty. "What makes you think I'd hesitate now?"
"Because you need me," I try desperately. "You said it yourself. I'm your best—"
"Were. You were my best. But broken tools get replaced." His thumb moves to the button. "Last chance, Kasia. Yes or no?"
I think of Angelo. Of Dante and Luca, who welcomed me despite everything. Of Alessa, who's become my first real friend.
"No," I say firmly. "My answer is no."
"So be it."
He presses the button.
"NO!" The scream tears from my throat, raw and terrified, echoing off the walls as I close my eyes, bracing for the agony I know is coming. The electricity that will course through my body, seizing my muscles, stealing my control. The chip in mybrain activating, turning me into a passenger in my own body while I watch myself destroy everything I've come to love.
40
ANGELO
Irace through empty corridors, heart pounding in my ears like fucking war drums. The scream—Kasia's scream—still reverberates through my skull, raw and terrified in a way I've never heard from her before. My boots splash through pools of blood, the metallic stench filling my nostrils as I follow the trail of bodies she's left behind.
My Butterfly has been busy.
Pride mingles with fear as I count the corpses. Seven so far, each one a masterpiece of efficient violence. Clean kills, professional work, she's slipped back into the Red Widow like putting on an old coat. A guard slumped against the wall, throat opened in a precise slash. Another tucked into an alcove, single bullet hole between his eyes. Each body positioned to avoid immediate detection, buying her time to reach her target.
My girl is thorough. Always has been.
The motherfucker better not have touched her. My grip tightens on my Beretta as I round another corner, nearly tripping over body number eight, a massive bastard who probably thought his size made him invincible. The angle of his broken neck tells a different story. Kasia's handiwork, no doubt.
Another corridor, another corpse. This one's still warm, blood pooling beneath him in an expanding crimson mirror. Can't be more than five minutes dead. I'm close.
That scream plays on repeat in my head, driving me faster. Through all the nightmares and panic attacks, I've never heard her sound like that. Pure, primal terror. The kind that comes from facing your worst nightmare in the flesh.
My footsteps echo off the marble floors as I approach Jerzy's study. The massive oak door is ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. I can hear voices inside. His cultured Polish accent, dripping with condescension.
I slip inside, gun raised, ready to paint the walls with his brains.
The scene that greets me stops me cold.
Kasia stands frozen in place, her eyes squeezed shut, face contorted in anticipation of agony. Every muscle in her body is tensed, braced for pain that should be tearing through her nervous system. Jerzy stands behind his mahogany desk like a king holding court, finger pressed on a small device with a wolf symbol etched into its surface. The overhead light catches on the metal, making it gleam like a promise of torment.
He looks up at my entrance, surprise flickering across his features before morphing into a cold smile that makes my trigger finger itch. "Ah, good. You're here too."
Fucking bastard. Acting like he's been expecting me, like this was all part of some grand plan. I aim my gun at his head, the red dot of my laser sight painting a target between his eyes. One squeeze and his brains would decorate that expensive wallpaper behind him.
