Page 121 of Twisted Tyrant


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NATASHA

Luka whirls around and slams his fist against my father’s jaw. He stumbles backward from the force of the impact and trips over his feet before crashing into the wall next to the door.

“I will kill you if you hurt her,” Luka growls.

My father spits blood at Luka’s feet, his facial features twisted into a hideous mask of horrors. When he speaks, blood pools between his teeth and drizzles out of the corner of his mouth.

Bile rises in the back of my throat. I gag against the tape. I slam the chair against the floor over and over again, my eyes flooding with angry tears.

This man I adored, this man I idolized. How could he be this person? Was he always? And how the fuck could I have been so oblivious to it all?

“You’re a fucking punk,” my father sneers, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he straightens up. “You think you can save everything, right? Save everyone? Look around, Luka. They’re all right here. And you’ll never save any of them. You know why? Because you’re weak. Why do you think you’re still alive? Dima didn’t think things through. He was too short-sighted. I knew he’d eventually become a liability, too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Luka yells.

“I’m talking about my plan to take over the Malikov empire. I had Dima eating out of the palm of my hand when he heard how much money we stood to make together if we were aligned. And I didn’t have to do much convincing. He was smart enough to see that nobody would challenge us if our families partnered. But he knew you’d be trouble. That’s why you took the fall that night and ended up in prison. We needed time to put our plans in place, and he didn’t want you fucking things up.”

My father steps toward Luka, his voice low and menacing. “Why do you think he wanted to marry my daughter? It wasn’t revenge, it was business. Alliances being created. That’s why I didn’t put up a fight when you took her. It was unfortunate when Dima was killed, too, but it worked to my advantage. I’d like to personally thank the shooter for that because it saved me the trouble of killing him myself and taking over everything. I guess fate knew I’d have an easier time controlling you once you married my daughter and she got half of your empire.”

Luka’s face turns red to the point where he’s almost purple and that vein in his neck throbs so hard, I’m afraid he might have a stroke. He lets out a primal roar and tackles my father to the floor.

The guy next to Tori points his gun at the ceiling and fires off a shot.

“Don’t do it, Luka,” the guy grunts. “Next time, I’ll fire a shot between her eyes.”

“That’s right, Luka. Remember, you may have your killer instinct, but we have loaded guns.” My father smirks when Luka stops dead. “And you know what else we want. It’s the reason why you’re all here right now. The list. Hand it over and you walk out of here. Keep it from me and you all die. It’s very black and white. No room for gray. I don’t have time for gray.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luka says. “What the fuck list are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what list I’m talking about. Don’t think I didn’t see the look on your face out in the hallway when Dmitri mentioned it. I know your father kept it under lock and key. Your friend Boris confirmed that before we smashed his head in. But the stubborn fucker wouldn’t tell me where it is. Since you were so desperate to talk to him…something else we learned from tailing Tori and Natasha…I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d get my hands on it.” He holds out a hand. “Give it to me and live. Or keep it and watch me put a bullet between the eyes of everyone you love.”

“What the hell do you want with it? He’s gone now. What does it matter?”

My father raises an eyebrow. “Because that information can compromise all of my plans. Dima was supposed to get to it but died before that could happen. So now you’re going to give it to me so I can solidify my place and my power. That’s why Tori is here. I’m sure you don’t want to be responsible for losing another sibling, do you?”

An uncontrollable shiver rocks my upper body, my teeth chattering behind the tape. I want to clutch my aching stomach because the vileness of his words assaults every cell in my body, every fiber of my being.

This is my father, the man who above all else, is supposed to love, nurture, and protect. But all he’s interested in is causing suffering, chaos, and death.

I struggle against the bindings, trying in vain to pull apart my wrists and ankles. Because even if Luka gives him that list, I know he’s dead. And I’ll be dead without him.

“You will never get a fucking dime from my family, you sick fuck.” Luka looks down at Boris again and my gaze follows.

My chest heaves, my head woozy from the lack of oxygen. Did he just move again? Or am I so petrified that I’m imagining seeing the unconscious, and possibly dead, man shift?

I gurgle, a knot of tears choking me. I swing myself back and forth in the chair, my only objective to free us all from my father’s evil spell. I can’t just sit here. I have to act. I have to act for all the times before that I didn’t know I needed to.

I kick myself off the floor and swing myself and the chair in Boris’s direction. The crash of the wood against the floor shatters my ears. I cringe at the searing pain that slices through my arm when I hit the hard surface.

I crack open my eyes which I squeezed shut on impact. Then I see it again. Boris moves, slowly pulling his hand from under his chest. In a split second, a black gun slides across the floor and hits the tips of Luka’s sneakers. He bends to grab it, and I can barely blink before he plugs the guy behind Tori. The guy fires a round of shots in retaliation.

Bullets pepper the wall behind Luka and my father. Taras and Nikolai run toward Tori. They yank her chair out of the line of fire. Luka fires off another shot to the guy’s head and he goes down, the remains of his brains splattered against the framed photo hanging behind him.

And my father…

I turn my head toward him, where he lies a few feet away, and see the gun on the floor next to his left hand. Blood pools under him, draining from his body like the mess of complicated emotions does from mine.

Remorse for believing he was one of the good ones and being proven so very wrong.

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