Page 74 of Savage Saint
From behind the fallen guard, an older man steps into frame. Jerzy. He says something to Kasia, his face twisted with disgust.She's bleeding from her nose, her lip, but she struggles to her feet.
He hits her across the face, a casual backhand that snaps her head to the side.
She takes it. Like she's used to it. Like it's just another fucking Monday at the office.
Jerzy hands her a gun, gestures off-camera toward something we can't see. Despite her injuries, despite the blood dripping down her chin, she straightens her spine and limps forward, raising the weapon.
The feed cuts out.
"Fuck."
"Did you watch the video?" Arrow's voice sounds grim.
"Fucking bastard." My knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of my desk.
Red-hot rage burns through my veins, not directed at the woman sleeping in my bed, but at the monster who calls himself her father. The man who turned his own daughter into a weapon, who beat her when she couldn't fight anymore, who—
I slam my laptop shut, unable to watch another second. My breath comes in short, harsh pants as I struggle to contain the fury threatening to tear me apart from the inside.
I know what I just watched. I recognise it with bone-deep familiarity. The blank stare, the automatic responses, the way she just... Stopped. Took the punishment like it was expected. Like it was deserved.
Trauma response. Conditioning. The systematic breaking and rebuilding of a human being into something useful.
I reopen the laptop, forcing myself to look through more files. Each photo feels like another knife twisting in my gut. Kasia at different ages, always with weapons, always with that empty look. One image makes me physically ill. Kasia, couldn'tbe more than seven or eight, fighting a grown man in some kind of ring. Blood on her face. A crowd watching.
My stomach heaves. Even I wasn't put through that kind of hell that young.
"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
I know exactly what her father was trying to create. A perfect weapon. A soldier who follows orders without question. A killer who doesn't flinch.
Just like me.
But he went too far with her. Way too fucking far. The child in that photo shouldn't have been fighting for her life. She should've been playing with dolls or whatever the hell normal little girls do.
My little Butterfly. My fucking Butterfly had to endure all of that.
I look up at the security feed again. Kasia has settled. Her breathing steady now. Something fierce and protective unfurls in my chest. A decision crystallises, sharp and clear.
She's never going back to Jerzy. Not as long as I'm breathing.
I grab the device from my desk, turning it around.
"Hypothetically," I say, "if someone found something. Military grade little black box. Red blinking light. What could it be?"
There's a pause, then Arrow's voice comes through, suddenly animated. "Oh shit, are we talking about secret tech? Because that could be anything. Neural transmitter? Trigger mechanism? Some kind of bomb? I'd need a proper look."
I freeze. "What's a neural transmitter?"
"Mind control, basically," Arrow says, their fingers audibly tapping away at a keyboard, "Popular with certain organisations. The light indicates it's active. Why? Did you find something cool?"
"No reason," I lie smoothly. "It's all hypothetical. Can you keep this between us, Arrow?Allof it."
"Your brothers will need to know about her," Arrow says, suddenly serious. "If she's who these files say she is—"
"Not yet," I cut them off. "I'll tell them when the time is right."
"She's dangerous, Angelo." Arrow's voice drops lower, urgent. "You saw what she can do."
