40. Chapter 40

The mouth-breathing Russian that pointed the gun at the back of Alexi's head downstairs now ushers us into a large empty room.

I say empty, but that's not exactly true.

There are so many people that we might as well be throwing a rave, except I'm not sure even I could dance in a room filled with this much tension.

As my gaze zeroes in on Deacon, who's tied to a chair with a swollen and bleeding cheek, every other person in the room simply fades away.

Everything around him goes dark and all ambient noise is drowned out by the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears—one that's rapidly increasing with fear … and pure feminine rage.

As the smelly Russian releases me, probably to usher Alexi into the room using the gun that I have no doubt is bigger than anything else he's packing, I use the opportunity to rush over to Deacon.

Taking his face into my hands, I gently run my thumb underneath the rapidly swelling bruise that surrounds the split skin on his cheek.

Somebody hit him with something.

My gaze quickly takes stock of the rest of him, but thankfully, I don't see any other injuries, at least not on the surface .

"Why the hell did you come here?"

he asks in a whisper that's half anger, half desperation.

He stares up at me with those blue eyes, and I know the anger is only a mask for the desperation.

I don't know if he was afraid before I entered the room but he is now.

Considering how thick he is, I'm sure it's fear for me instead of for his own life.

"Don't be a fucking idiot.

Of course, I came."

My voice softens, and I add quietly, "Do you think I'd let you die before telling me you love me?" I shake my head slowly.

"You're not that lucky.

Now, tell me who hit you."

He opens his mouth to respond at the exact same time that something akin to a growl sounds from a few yards away.

Slowly turning my head, I see Dante kneeling on the floor, supported by only one leg.

The other seems to be hanging on by a thread and I mean that literally.

Good, it'll make what I'm about to do a lot easier.

I have no doubt in my mind that he's the one that tied Deacon up and beat the shit out of him.

Well, karma's a bitch.

Without a second thought to the consequences or anything else going on around me, I turn and launch myself at him.

Closing the short distance at record speed, I tackle him at full force.

The momentum, combined with his injury, prevents him from being able to brace himself, though by the time he realizes my intent, it's already too late anyway.

He falls backwards with a cry of pain, likely because the half of leg beneath his obliterated knee is now folded beneath him.

Straddling his waist, I apply my full weight and press down hard, remembering all the times he called me fat or told me that no one else would ever want me because of how big I was.

Well, enjoy suffocating to death.

As he screams in pain, I rear back my arm, punching him in exactly the same spot as the bruise Deacon now sports. There's a sickening crunch, and I'm not sure if it comes from his face or my knuckles, but either way, it evokes a rush of satisfaction and even more adrenaline as his head whips to the side.

"That's for putting your hands on what's mine, you piece of shit!"

I spit in his face.

He lifts his arms, most likely to go for my throat, but that proves to be a mistake on his part.

Leaving himself wide open, I land another blow, this time to his ribcage.

With a grunt, his hands quickly change course, aiming to guard himself instead of attempting to overpower me.

It doesn't do much good.

If he blocks an area, I just go for another.

The more pain I cause him, the more my rage builds, compounding on itself until I'm practically frothing at the mouth: every slight, every injury, every sexual assault, every night of torment flashes before my eyes.

The screams continue, but it isn't until strong hands grip my biceps and wrench me away that I realize there's one scream that echoes above all the rest, and it's coming from me.

It's a purging of every ounce of emotion this man ever evoked—lust, infatuation, and love.

Humiliation, degradation, and pain.

Fear, doubt, and loathing.

I internalized all of those emotions, projecting the nastiest of them on myself.

It wasn't until I met the man currently strapped to a chair and bleeding, that I started to see my own worth. Not because he saw value in me but because he made me believe in its existence in the first place.

It takes several pairs of hands to drag me off and away from Dante.

Once the red haze clears from my vision, I begin to register more of what's going on around me.

It's pandemonium.

Deacon is yelling and fighting desperately against his bonds.

Alexi is cursing in both English and Russian but hasn't moved and seems content to let me murder Dante with my bare hands.

Unfortunately, I don't get that privilege as I'm dumped unceremoniously at the feet of a man whose presence I'm just now noticing.

As I look up from the floor, he stares at me like I'm a venus fly trap, kept under glass to be studied.

It's a good analogy, actually.

Because if he or any of his men come too close, I'll bear my teeth and fucking eat them.

As he continues his perusal, I stare right back, refusing to be cowed by another man ever again.

Even one that could potentially end my life here and now.

Instead, I push my sweat-slicked hair from my face and force my shaky legs to cooperate as I stand, brushing something invisible off the remnants of my ripped gown before facing the old man in front of me.

Despite the evil emanating from him, he's not much taller than I am, especially as he leans slightly on a long black cane. He's dressed immaculately, but a designer suit on this man is the equivalent of wrapping a bow around a paper bag full of dog shit right before you light it on fire and leave it on someone's porch. The two just don't go together.

In a tone that bleeds curiosity, the old man opens his mouth to speak and, Jesus Christ, what the Hell is wrong with his teeth?! "I can see why they're so infatuated by you.

There's fire in your veins.

I bet you can still feel it, can't you? The ecstasy that accompanies the dispensing of pain."

He sounds almost … aroused.

I can only thank the Lord that I'm no longer eye level with his crotch.

"As much as I enjoyed that little show, dikaya koshka , I'm afraid I need Dante alive for the moment." Turning in the general direction of his son, he says something in Russian.

Alexi replies in English.

To piss his father off or because he wants us to know what's being said? "Yes, I know you've been looking for me, which is precisely why I've been so difficult to find.

There's nothing to discuss.

I'm not coming back."

Ilya Kapranov's eyes narrow and his gaze jerks to meet Alexi's, flitting away just as quickly.

Instead, Ilya seems to be focus on some spot over Alexi's right shoulder.

Tracking his gaze, I don't see anything.

Why won't he meet his son's eyes? Is it because of guilt or fear? In English this time, he says, "We'll discuss this after I take care of my business here."

Alexi takes a step forward, and several guns are drawn upward and pointed at him by the guards.

However, I also notice that many of them look uneasy on their feet and make no move to protect their master.

Interesting.

Alexi slowly turns his head towards the men, and one by one, they lower their weapons until only one or two are left.

Holy shit.

Looking into Alexi's face, I understand completely why they're afraid.

It's as if a mask has come down over his already stern expression.

This face is terrifying, much more so than the old man who sired him.

As he stares at the remaining two guards, he speaks to his father, "I don't care what you do with Gaspari but the other two are off limits."

At his words, the men around us look back and forth between each other, and I'll bet no one has ever dared talk to their boss that way before and lived to tell the tale.

Meanwhile, Ilya's nostrils flare, and he slams the end of his cane on the floor beside him with enough force to chip away a small hole in the wood.

"Know your place, boy!"

He's seething, and his face is turning more and more red by the second.

He doesn't like being embarrassed in front of his men; that much is clear.

It's also clear that this isn't the first time he's been challenged by his son.

Finally facing his father again, Alexi replies cryptically, "I do know my place, father.

I also know that if I wanted it, I could take it at any time."

His words are simple enough but there seems to be some hidden meaning in them.

The two men are locked in a staring contest now, except again, Ilya isn't quite looking Alexi in the eye.

Finally, he grits his teeth, turning and waving toward the two remaining men with their firearms still pointed upward.

Immediately, they lower them as if they already desperately wanted to do so, but only sheer force of will kept them from cowering under Alexi's gaze.

Ilya takes several steps closer to Dante, who has now managed to get himself up and into a sitting position.

Towering over the other man, Ilya says, "Tell me where it is, Dante.

And don't try to lie because we both know that you already outed yourself earlier.

I know you have it, and you know that you won't leave this room alive if you don't hand it over."

Spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the floor directly next to one of Ilya's shiny leather shoes, he says, "I don't have it.

I sold it."

His dark eyes brighten slightly as he glances slyly over at Deacon.

That is, until Alexi casually walks over, pulls a switchblade from his pocket, and flips it open, cutting Deacon's zip ties.

None of Ilya's men make a move to stop him.

With the sight of Deacon, now unrestrained, combined with the imposing figure of Ilya Kapranov hovering over him, Dante has to realize he's fucked.

So, naturally, he plays the only card he has left.

"What if I could point you in the direction of who has it? Would that information save my life?" he asks.

Cocking his head to the side as if in contemplation, Ilya finally says, "I'll consider it."

What a crock.

Even I can tell he's lying straight through his gross black caps.

Dante takes a second to make his decision before probably coming to the conclusion that he doesn't have much of a choice.

He's out of options, and he knows it.

My heart kicks wildly in my chest, and the air around me grows thin.

I know what he's about to do because I know who has the diamond.

Once he gives voice to the words, no amount of pleading with this old man will be able to undo them.

This is all my fault.

I dragged Deacon into this mess.

Yes, he was after the diamond long before he found me at that auction, but if he hadn't saved me from Dante's home, he'd never have any reason to hold a grudge against him.

It would've been a simple business transaction, and sure, maybe Ilya still would've come after the diamond anyway, but the trail would've died with Dante because if there's one thing I've learned about Deacon, he wouldn't have left any breadcrumbs behind for Ilya to follow.

As fate finally catches up to me for what will probably be the last time, Dante lifts his hand, pointing the finger at Deacon before saying, "I sold it to him .

Then he repaid me by stealing my woman."

The last sentence is thrown across the room like acid.

Deacon's jaw clenches, but he doesn't say anything.

He wants to kill Dante but knows that if he moves, Ilya's men will shoot him.

Ilya looks to Deacon with the expression of a man who's finally found the right spot for the last piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

The picture is now complete.

"Ah, so that's why you were here, bound and bloody, when I entered.

Tell me, Mr.

Taylor, do you have the diamond on you right now?"

His words are deceptively soft, but there's a deadly undertone, warning him of the consequences of lying to him.

I don't think Deacon has the diamond on him, but if he does, I don't want him to have to give it up.

I know what it means to him, what it would've meant to his mother.

"No, I don't have it with me.

Otherwise Gaspari would've just taken it, killed me, and run like the coward he is."

I can practically see that earlier acid that Dante tossed his way being thrown right back.

Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Ilya removes a gun, pointing it directly at Deacon between one blink and the next.

I release a yell of surprise and terror, reflexively stepping between Deacon and the loaded gun.

Before he has a chance to push me aside, I move out of his reach and closer to Ilya until the barrel of the gun is flush with my chest.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was how it would play out, and I've resigned myself to my fate.

I escaped one monster only to trade myself to another.

But instead of letting my head run away with the fear and anxiety of what I know is to come, I remember Deacon's words from the night he made love to me for the first time.

Don't think, just feel.

Looking over my shoulder, I make eye contact with him.

His blue eyes blaze with emotion.

As a single tear slips down my cheek, my voice doesn't make a sound when I mouth, I love you .

His nostrils flare and he attempts to take a step forward but the sound of the gun pressed to my chest being cocked stops him in his tracks.

Steeling myself, I give him a small nod of reassurance and resignation before turning back to face the old man.

In a voice barely above a whisper, I say, "Please don't.

Take me instead.

Let him go and I'll serve you, in any way you desire.

Any way ."

I have no idea where I got the nerve to consider myself as valuable as a giant blue jewel.

But I've gotta shoot my shot, no pun intended.

If there's even a minute chance that I can get Deacon out of this building alive, I have to try.

We stand like that for several seconds, him studying me, his gun cocked and aimed at my heart.

I barely breathe and hope against hope that the stuff Amelia and Merrick have relayed to me about this man and his penchant for breaking women is true.

I'm counting on that sadistic streak to tempt him into making a deal with me.

Deacon speaks up from behind me, but I don't turn around to face him.

I can't.

"Siren, what the fuck do you think you're doing? There's no way in Hell I'm letting you walk out of this room with anyone but me."

I ignore him.

It's not up to him.

This is the only way to save his life.

For a moment, I wonder if Ilya will accept Deacon's words as a challenge, which would ultimately help my case.

However, after several moments of contemplation, he says, "As tempting of an offer as that is, dikaya koshka , I'm going to have to pass.

There's no reason to prolong the inevitable if he doesn't have the diamond.

I'll simply kill you all and then track it down myself."

My stomach pitches, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my chin from quivering.

Without warning, the warmth of a large body hovers behind me.

Two hands grip my biceps, pulling me back into a familiar chest.

One I've traced the contours of late at night in the dark.

The smell of sea and earth envelops me, and I close my eyes, waiting for Ilya to decide he wants to pull the trigger, killing two birds with one stone.

Instead, shock has my eyes popping open again when Deacon speaks, his voice coming from directly behind my head.

"Let us go, and I'll bring you the diamond,"

he says.

"On one extra condition."

"Go on,"

says the Russian, and my heart sinks.

Try as I might, I can't prevent the tears from sliding down my cheeks.

I don't want this.

I don't want him to give up one of the only things that have kept him going since his mother died.

The only two things keeping him alive were the search for the diamond and revenge against his father.

Now his father is dead, under circumstances that I'm still not clear on.

And he's prepared to offer the diamond in exchange for my life.

Despite my newly discovered confidence and the value with which I now see myself, I know I'm not worth this.

It's a bad trade, but Ilya seems to be entertaining the idea.

Suddenly, a hand reaches around, placing two fingers on my chin, turning my head around.

Meeting Deacon's eyes, I shake my head.

"Don't.

It's not worth it,"

I say quietly.

"You still don't get it, do you, brat? The diamond is my past.

You are my future."

He looks back to the old man and says, "I'll give you the diamond if you let us walk out of here and … she gets to be the one to kill him ." His gaze flicks to Dante's still-sitting form.

Hatred blazes in his eyes but he can do little about it considering he can't even stand.

At Deacon's words, my head whips back around in shock.

"What?" I demand.

"He owes you a debt.

You never needed me to save you.

You saved yourself,"

he says.

I glance down, but those same two fingers dip under my chin, tipping my head back up to bring my eyes to meet his again.

"Go be your own savior," he says.

After a moment, I nod, turning back to face Ilya who looks at me with a kind of sick amusement on his face.

He's enjoying all of this like it's his favorite soap opera.

As the old man thinks about Deacon's proposal, we wait with bated breath.

Finally, he says, "How can I trust you'll deliver the diamond once I let you leave? What's to prevent you both from simply disappearing? Not that I wouldn't eventually find you, but I'm getting too old for hunting."

He pauses, and I just know that at any minute, he's gonna give his men the "okay" to shoot all of us.

But after a moment, a sinister smile tips up the corners of his lips, and he says, "I'll agree, but I have a condition of my own." I should feel elation at his words, but instead, all I feel is trepidation.

What else does he want? We don't have to wait long for the answer.

Uncocking the gun that's been aimed at me this entire time, he lowers it to his side and, using his black cane to do a half-turn, faces his son.

"You'll deliver the diamond to me. At home."

I'm already shaking my head when Alexi looks over at us.

He can't go back to Russia.

There's a reason he left, and it's clear that he hates his father.

There's also the matter of the search for his wife.

If he returns to Russia, he'll most likely be giving up that search.

As he looks back at me, his mismatched gaze shows a sad sense of resignation.

With full knowledge of the Hell he'll be walking back into, he still gives a single nod and says, "Done."

The epitome of smugness, Ilya turns back to me, lifting his hand and holding out the gun.

I can see Dante begin to squirm backward from my peripheral vision.

As I take the gun, testing its weight in my hand, I notice that it's very similar to the one Alexi gave me downstairs.

With one last reassuring squeeze, Deacon releases my arms.

I grip the gun in my right hand, finger already hovering over the trigger.

Am I really about to do this? Both times before, my actions were in the heat of the moment, my fight-or-flight response on high alert.

This time, I'll be killing a man in cold blood.

Do I have it in me to do that? Fuck yes, I do.

As I walk towards Dante, he finally seems to find his voice, "Sirena, you don't know what you're doing.

You've tried this twice before, remember? It didn't take because you never really wanted me dead.

You and I are destined to be together.

You need me.

You'll be lost without me! "

Glancing back at Deacon, I say, "Not if I keep sight of the stars."

He looks at me with eyes that have gone a little glassy and a small smile on his face.

He gives me a nod of encouragement.

Without another word, I turn back to Dante and lift my arm, aiming directly at his face.

Without a second thought, I pull the trigger, the bullet hitting him right between the eyes.

The force of the shot blows him backward, and what's left of his head makes a large thump as it hits the hardwood floor, blood immediately pooling around it.

Not even affording him a backward glance, I walk back to Ilya, handing him back the gun.

With Deacon by my side, I look over at Alexi.

He nods and says in a stoic tone, "Good girl."

Ilya steps into the line of vision between Alexi and me, effectively interrupting our quiet conversation.

Addressing his son, he says, "You have one month to get your affairs in order here, then you'll come home.

With my diamond."

Alexi stares at his father with a blank expression, and I can practically see the life draining from his eyes.

I'm hit with a pang of guilt so strong that it actually hurts.

" Soglasovannyy ."

The switch to Russian when addressing his father seems significant, though I don't know why.

Ilya motions to three of the guards standing alongside the far wall.

Once they've stepped forward, he gestures to the bodies of Dante and Deacon's father.

"Clean up this mess."

And without another word, he turns and walks from the room, taking the remainder of his men with him.