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“Now, little Kitten, we wait.”
Chapter 6
Kirill
I end the call, my entire body vibrating with rage.
I can't believe what he's done. The man who has haunted my entire life with his sick and twisted presence has gone too far this time. I never believed I could take his life, because to do so would mean coming up against the entirety of his organization. In recent years, though, that organization has changed. Some of his men have been lost to war, and others have been lost to my father's own carelessness. He sent them into fights they could never win, and in doing so, while he consolidated his power, he also devastated the number of men he had at his side.
The ramifications of what I want to do are huge, but I can't let him ruin Mackenzie's life as well as mine.
I hate myself for what I said about her. All I can imagine is her face, as she believes I would betray her. I would never do that, but I know my father only too well. If he believes I'll cry and beg, he's much more likely to keep pushing and pushing, doing ever more sick and twisted things. He might be clinically insane, but he's also predictable. After so many years in his orbit, I know how he operates. It means I understood immediately threatening to kill Mackenzie if he soiled her with his touch would actually make sense in his sick mind.
For some reason, he wants us to have a baby. I don't know what deranged thought process is fueling him, but that's the outcome he's focused on. If I let him think that touching Mackenzie means that will never happen, I do believe he’ll leave her alone until I get there.
Guilt hits me. I should tell Tino and Dom, but I know if I do, they'll insist on coming with me. Or worse, they'll follow me. My father's threats are not empty.
If I don't go alone, he will kill Mackenzie.
I must do this by myself and somehow buy some time. There will be a way out of this for us both; I just need to figure it out. Hell, I really believe that if he thinks we're going to give him an heir and get married, my father will probably let us go. He'll think this is an amusing story about how we met. He'd probably tell it at our wedding, and everybody will think it's some sort of bad taste joke, but we would know it was the truth.
The sick and disgusting truth.
The legend within our family goes that my grandfather kidnapped my grandmother. They say he saw her at a dance, fell head over heels in lust, and when her family said no to his initial overtures, he decided to simply take her. He parked by the side of the road when he knew she’d be walking alone and waited until she passed by before throwing her in the back of his car and driving her to his home. She never saw her family again except for organized visits, where he had his entire armed guard on alert in case they tried to take her back.
If that's how his parents met, no wonder my father has a warped idea of what romance is.
I need to get Mackenzie out of there, and then, when she’s safely back here, I’ll do whatever it takes to put my sperm donor in the ground. He’s lost all rights to call himself my father, and he’s going to fucking pay for this.
I tear the paper from the notepad and shove it, crumpled, into the pocket of my jeans. I grab my phone and my wallet and push them into my pockets, too.
Before I leave, I pause. Should I take a gun? He said not to, but fuck, that leaves me and her exposed. I drop to the floor and reach under my bed, pulling out a lockbox. Inside it is a Glock 22. It’s an American gun—one their police use—and I always figured if it was good enough for an American cop, it was good enough for me.
I hover with it in my hands, desperate to slide it into the back of my pants but knowing my father’s men will search me the minute I arrive. Perhaps I can put it in the vehicle with me? Leave it where they won’t find it? At least then I’ll have access to it if we manage to escape. I decide that’s what I will do. That way, I won’t have it on me when I get searched, but I will have it close by. If we escape and we can reach the vehicle, we can get the gun, and it gives us more of a chance.
For now, I stuff it behind my waistband and cover it with my t-shirt. Opening the door, I poke my head out and make sure there is no one around.
I really don't need to run into Dom or Tino right now. They’ll most certainly want to talk, and the minute I do, they're going to figure out there's something seriously wrong. Instead of walking down the hallway to the main stairs, I turn right and sneak down the back way, toward the service entrance.
Once I'm there, I slip into the kitchen and loiter around where the dishes are being stacked. Just beyond here is a door leading into a pantry.
I know on the wall of the pantry there's a set of keys, which belong to a truck that's always parked outside, unless it's on a run to fetch more vegetables and fresh produce, that is.
I wait, trying not to look suspicious, and hoping no one will question me, until the dishwashers have all gone to collect more plates to wash. When there's no one around, I slip into the small pantry space and grab the keys.
I press the latch on the door to the outside and open it. The bright sunshine of the day hits me as I step outside. It’s disorienting after such a bizarre phone call.
The world somehow doesn’t seem real. I shake my head and try to focus. The small truck is parked only a couple of meters away, and I jog to it, climbing in and starting the engine before I peel off down the drive.
No one will stop this vehicle at the gates because it comes and goes sometimes up to three times a day. Still, my hair stands out and the security guards will know me.
Crap, I hadn't thought of that. Slowing the vehicle to a crawl, I glance around and sigh in relief when I see the baseball cap on the seat next to me. Again, I thank God for seemingly being on my side right now.
I grab the baseball cap and pull it down tightly over my head. I tuck the strands of hair sticking out under the cap and pull it low over my brow. When I get to the security gates, I keep my head down and just jerk a brief nod at the guards.
If I lift my head and they see my nose ring, it might give me away. Luckily for me, the guards seem to be in a world of their own, and they wave me through without even looking.
I drive like a possessed man to get to the cabin where my father has taken Mackenzie. It’s over an hour away, and I swear that hour is the longest of my life. It feels even longer when I’m forced to leave the main road and take a narrow mountain track, slowing my progress. The trees seem to close in around the truck—oak, maple, and birch, their leaves beginning their turn to oranges and reds—and every so often their branches hang so low that they screech across the roof of the vehicle like nails on a chalkboard.
