“Our second baby.”
The words shattered as they left my lips. “These two men took it from me.”
The room felt smaller. Heavier.
Silence spread like poison after my confession.
Ruslan turned his head slowly toward Vasquez... then to Harris.
Rage tore across his face — not wild, not reckless, but controlled. Contained.
The expression that crossed his face was not loud rage.
It was controlled devastation.
I could see it in his eyes.
He wanted to kill them.
Instantly.
Snap their neck.
End them where they knelt.
But he forced himself to breathe.
Ruslan didn’t believe in quick deaths for men like them.
He wanted them to understand.
To feel it.
He wanted their end to be slow and unforgettable.
His arm tightened around my waist so fiercely I felt his muscles tremble under the restraint he was forcing on himself.
“You’ll have it,” Ruslan said.
His voice was low. Deadly calm.
“Every scream. Every cut.”
“You’ll watch.”
His eye shifted back to me. “And you won’t look away.”
Vasquez struggled against his restraints, muffled sounds of protest bursting through the tape on his mouth.
Ruslan ignored him.
He guided me forward again.
The enemy mansion stretched around us as we walked.
It was vast.
Opulent. Cold.
