These were the words of a child who never wanted to be like his father. Cold and ruthless. A child who believed that emotions didn’t make us weak—they made us human.
That’s when it dawned on me that Nial hadn’t been born a monster. He was forced to become one.
My eyes fell on another line.
“In a world of violence, death, and destruction, the weak perish. And only the strong survive.”
On another page, I saw this:
“I had my first kill today. He begged for mercy, but I wasn’t allowed to spare him. He said his wife was in labor and that he would do anything just to see his newborn. They told me he was a traitor and that traitors must die.”
My heart sank as I read this account.
“His death was swift. I made sure he didn’t feel any pain. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I hear his pleas. They said it had to be done. The men needed to know that there were consequences for their actions.”
A cold chill ran down my spine.
“I must become one with the darkness, I must fuse with my demons. It is the only way to live up to my true potential. Perhaps, indeed, emotions make people weak.”
I shook my head, knowing this was the moment the monster had been born.
The next pages were filled with Russian passages, and I had to turn about ten more before I found another entry in English.
“After twenty kills, I finally got rid of my emotions. The only thing I feel now is anger. And a fierce loyalty to the Bratva. I am a Tarasov, the youngest monster in the family.”
It appeared that I’d just skimmed through the evolution of my captor, and it wasn’t fun at all.
“Curiosity is not a sin, Miss Keira,” a familiar voice said, soft but startling.
I flinched, my hand flying to my chest in a heartbeat. “Jesus Christ!”
“…but it kills the cat.”
It was Polina, the housekeeper. She was old enough to be my grandmother, portly, with gray hair and brown eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“Polina, hi—I didn’t hear you come in,” I whispered, closing the book.
“It is rude to go through people’s private stuff without their permission,” she said, the Russian accent thick in her voice.
I hesitated, gently scratching the back of my head. “I’ll put it back.”
She stepped closer, her eyes pinned on me. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
A pause.
“I’m not—I’m not sure Iwaslooking for something in particular,” came my response.
“Then you shouldn’t be in here,” she said with a straight face.
I held her gaze for a second before returning the book to the drawer. Of course, she was mean. What didn’t surprise me? I pushed the drawer shut and rose to my feet.
She watched me in silence and didn’t say another word until I was already at the door. “Miss Kiera?”
I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face her. She was still wearing a blank expression, but her facial muscles had softened ever so slightly.
After a moment of hesitation, she said, “Never mind,” and looked away from me.
I squinted my eyes, wondering what she wanted to tell me. However, seeing that she’d made up her mind not to spill, I walked out of the study.
