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I will flay that fucking right-hand man of yours, cut him up into dozens of tiny little bits, and scatter them to the wind.
I will take your sister, solder a collar around her neck and cuffs on her wrists, and she will spend the rest of her life spreading her legs for me and carrying my bastards.
And as for that pretty little fiancée of yours? I will give her the death I once reserved for you after I’ve fucked her to pieces. She will scream so loud that no matter where you are, you’ll hear it.
But don’t worry, my friend: I won’t kill you.
I’ll just make you wish I did.
I pass the note over to Dima and Mila and they read it together. Dima’s face twists with disgust. Mila’s is iron, but I know her well enough to see less stoic emotions churning beneath the surface.
As ironic as it is, something about Benedict’s letter calms me. Maybe it’s the fact that of all the people he mentioned, Taylor wasn’t one of them.
If only the bastard had a fucking clue.
“He certainly has a flair for the dramatics,” Dima calmly says, crushing the letter in his fist once they’ve read it.
Mila looks at me. “He’s going to be a threat to all of us until he dies, Ilarion.”
“I know,” I assure her. “Which is why he’s going to die. Soon.”
75
TAYLOR
I race up the stairs, but when I get to the medical ward, I pause. My hand trembles over the doorknob before I finally bully myself enough to push it open.
They don’t realize I’m there at first. Dad’s hunched back obstructs Celine’s face. He’s clasping her hand in both of his and murmuring something in that soft, calm voice he used to use when we were kids.
It’s amazing how quickly that voice transports me. Back to a time when I still had a mother. Back to a childhood when there were no secrets between my sister and me.
Long before I carried her future husband’s baby in my belly.
Dad’s scent is still cotton and soap, despite the fact that he’s in new clothes that are definitely not his. They’re too fitted, too bland.
But he smells like my father, and that’s all that matters.
“Dad?”
He doesn’t hear me. He just goes on talking to Celine, so I try again.
“Dad.”
Cee hears me first. As she frees her hand out from underneath Dad's, I frown, wondering what I just walked in on. There’s a look in her eyes that bothers me.
He catches on a moment later. He swings around and leaps up, almost toppling the chair he’s sitting on. “Taylor! Thank God—you’re okay!”
“Of course I’m okay,” I say. “Are you okay?”
He sighs and his hands go limp on my shoulders. “I’ve been better.”
It’s not like Dad to admit something like that, no matter how true. I look past him to my sister. The motorized bed is helping her sit upright. She’s lost weight, same as Dad, but unlike him, she’s wearing a smile.
“Heya, kiddo,” she croaks through a voice dusty with disuse. “Where’ve you been?”
I lunge over to take the seat Dad just vacated. “Hi,” I breathe, taking Celine’s hand and holding onto Dad at the same time. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you’re awake. Are you okay? How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been sleeping for a hundred years,” she jokes. “But Dr. Baranov says that’s just the drugs.”
