Page 126 of Cruel Obsession

What if this is just another diversion?

The fear tastes foreign. I’m not used to being afraid. Fear makes you sloppy. Makes you miss details. But the idea of Mirabel in one of these rooms, curled on one of these beds, counting days on these walls—

Pizdets!

And then we hear it. Voices from behind a door at the end of the hallway—soft, frightened whispers. The sound of fabric rustling. Someone crying, trying to muffle the sound.

I freeze. Stefan and Yuri do the same.

For a moment, I let myself hope.

Let her be in there.

Let one of those voices be hers.

I nod to Stefan and Yuri. They position themselves on either side of the door, weapons raised. Stefan’s jaw is set, his smooth head gleaming with sweat despite the cool temperature down here. Yuri’s medical training makes him methodical even now—he checks his sight lines, ensures he won’t hit anyone behind the door.

I kick the door open.

The metal crashes against the concrete wall with a sound that’s overwhelming in the silence. The voices cut off immediately, replaced by terrified gasps and shrieks.

Ten girls huddle in corners. Young. Terrified. Some cry silently, tears streaming down faces that look too old for their years. Others stare with vacant eyes that have seen too much, their expressions carefully blank. Survival mechanism. Don’t react. Don’t draw attention.

The sharp stench of fear and unwashed bodies hits me, and I have to force myself not to recoil. It’s worse in here, concentrated by closed doors and stagnant air. I sweep my flashlight across the room, taking in details even as I search each face.

Not her.

Not her.

Not her.

“Papa!” A voice breaks through the silence. “Oh my God, Papa!”

A girl with dark hair and tear-stained cheeks rushes forward, stumbling over her own feet, clothes torn and filthy. Julia Kisinova—Stefan’s daughter. Her face is thinner than I remember, cheekbones too sharp, but her eyes are the same. Just like her father’s. Behind her, I recognize Niki Tamasky, herbest friend. Blonde hair matted, blue eyes wide with something between hope and disbelief.

Stefan drops to his knees, his massive tattooed arms engulfing his daughter. The serpent on his neck flexes as his shoulders begin to shake. Julia clings to him, sobbing uncontrollably, her fingers digging into his jacket like she’s afraid he’ll disappear.

“You came,” she gasps between sobs. “You came, you came, you came—”

“Always,” Stefan chokes out. “Always,moya doch.”

Niki stands nearby, trembling so hard I can see it from here. One of the other girls—brunette, maybe sixteen—reaches out and takes her hand. Small comfort. The kind you learn to give when comfort is all you have left to trade.

Stefan looks up at me, tears cutting paths down his face. “Spasibo, bratan.Thank you,” he mouths silently.

I nod once, sharply.

This is why we’re here. This is why I turned against my father. This is not about glory or power or money.

But while I watch their reunion, rage boils inside me. Helpless, destructive rage that burns like acid.

Mirabel is not here.

I scan the faces again, desperate now. Fuck. Maybe I missed her. Maybe she’s hiding, too scared to recognize rescue. But no. I’d know her anywhere. The way she holds herself. The curve of her jaw. The proud set of her shoulders.

She’s not here, mudak.

She’s still somewhere in this stinking hell. Still in my father’s hands. The thought of what he might do to her—what he might already be doing—sends a murderous rage through me.