Page 193 of Toxic Salvation
“Stop it!” Luka’s voice cracks with terror.
With the back of her hand, Yana strikes him across the face. “You stupid child! Don’t you see I’m fighting for your birthright?”
“The only thing you’re fighting for is yourself.” I keep my body between her and Luka. “This has nothing to do with him. And fair warning: the next time you touch him, I will end you, you toxic cunt.”
Probably not the smartest thing to say to a woman holding a knife and clearly unhinged enough to use it.
But there’s only so much a person can take.
“What are you going to do?” Yana cackles, raising the blade again. “Even if you had a weapon, you don’t have the balls to?—”
“Argh!”
“Luka!”
My boy somehow wriggles free of one of his restraints and launches himself at Yana’s back, his small fist pummeling her shoulders. The impact knocks the knife from her grip, and it skitters across the hardwood floor.
“Get off!” Yana screams as she bucks like a wild horse. “Get the fuck off me!”
But Luka wraps his legs around her waist and claws at her face with desperate fury. In the struggle, the remaining rope around his other wrist snaps, fully freeing him from the bedpost.
“Enough!” Ihor bellows.
He steps forward and effortlessly plucks Luka from Yana’s back. Then, with casual brutality, he hurls my nine-year-old son onto the bed.
“That is enough!” Ihor’s face has gone purple with rage. “Luka, you will listen to your father!”
“You arenotmy father!” Luka scrambles to his feet on the mattress, standing as tall as his small frame allows.
“I have news for you.” Ihor’s sneer devolves into something even crueler. “Your mother was screwing around with me while that idiot she married tried to playpakhan. He never knew, but I am your real father.”
“No!” Luka’s gray eyes burn with defiance. “My parents are Vitalii Krayev, Kovan Krayev, and Vesper Fairfax. They’re the parents I choose.”
If I weren’t terrified for our lives, I’d be crying. This child—my child—has more courage in his small body than most grown men.
“You choose her?” Yana retrieves the knife, her movements erratic with rage. “You want her to be your mother? Then you can watch her die.”
She charges at me again, and this time, I’m not fast enough.
We hit the bed together, her weight driving the air from my lungs. I try to shove her off, but she’s stronger than she looks. Pain explodes along my ribs—either from her knee or the knife, I can’t tell which.
All I know is that I have to fight through it. There’s no way I’m letting Luka watch me die.
I flail my fist upward and connect with her nose. The cartilage crunches under my knuckles and blood spurts down her face. She grunts but doesn’t slow down. If anything, the pain only makes her more vicious.
The knife rises above me, steel blade catching the afternoon light streaming through the window.
Then it stops.
Yana’s eyes go wide with shock as she’s yanked backward with violent force.
I can’t see who my savior is through the chaos. Can’t hear anything over the rush of adrenaline and blood pounding in my ears.
But I know exactly who to thank.
I knew he would come. He promised he would keep me safe.
And Kovan Krayev always keeps his promises.
