Page 88 of Cruel Submission

The joke sits wrong. Too light for what we both know.

“It’s been nearly a month,” Yanis continues, voice dropping. “Debra’s still in your house. Let’s expect Father to make his move.”

There it is. The dread I’ve been carrying since I pulled her from that cellar. Father seeing Debra as property he lost. Something to reclaim. Something to punish me with.

“Security’s tight.” I keep my hands moving—disassemble, clean, check. Ritualistic. “Armed men at every entrance. Cameras covering every angle. Motion sensors in the gardens. Three perimeter sweeps per shift. No one gets near this house without me knowing. Mirabel and Debra are safe here.”

“And when they leave?”

“They don’t. Not without protection.”

“Arkady—”

“I’m not locking them up!” I bark. I stop, force myself to breathe. To not crush the firing pin I’m holding. “I’m keeping them alive. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” His eyes pin me down. “To me this still sounds like you’re making decisions for them. Same shit Father does.”

I want to argue. Want to explain that Father controls people to break them, and I control situations to protect them. But the distinction feels thin. Meaningless. Just different flavors of the same poison.

“You’re falling for her. Debra,” I say instead.

Yanis doesn’t flinch. “So what if I am?”

“So she’s vulnerable. Traumatized. She needs—”

“She needs someone who sees her as more than broken.” He cuts through my bullshit. “Someone who trusts her to know what she can survive.”

The words land where he aimed them. Right in my hypocrisy. Because isn’t this exactly the war I fight with Mirabel? Wanting to lock her away where nothing can touch her versus trusting her to make her own choices, live her own risks.

I finish with the second Glock. Chamber-check. Set it aside. Start on a third.

“Just don’t hurt her,” I finally say.

“I won’t.” Yanis stands, moves toward the door. “But she’s stronger than you think. Stronger than Father tried to make her believe she wasn’t.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

I’m alone with my weapons and my thoughts. Neither particularly comforting.

My phone vibrates against the workbench. Mirabel’s name lights the screen.

I answer immediately. “Zaychik.”

“Arkady.” Her voice sounds thin. Stretched tight over something sharp underneath. “Something’s happened.”

Every nerve ending in my body fires warning signals. I set down the gun I’m holding, giving her my full attention. “Tell me.”

“It’s my dad.” A breath catches in her throat. “He’s back in the hospital. The cancer… it’s taken a turn for the worse. They’re running more tests, but the doctors sound…” She swallows loudly enough that I hear it over the line. “They’re worried, Arkady. He’s in the ICU, and… and I need to see him. Before it’s too late…” She trails off.

I’m already on my feet. Already calculating hospital layouts, security weaknesses, whether I need to deploy men now or if I have time to get there myself.

“When are you going?” My voice comes out flat. Controlled. The tone I use when I’m one wrong answer away from violence.

“Tomorrow. As soon as the doctors are done with the tests.” Pause. “Debra will want to come with me.”

Everything in the room sharpens.

“Together.” I keep my voice level. “You’re taking Debra to see your father. Who doesn’t know she’s alive.”