Chapter 162
Evelyn's POV
The shot should have taken him center mass. Should have dropped him. But Nikolai moved. So fast I barely tracked it. The bullet caught his shoulder instead. Barely slowed him down.
"That was your free shot," he said. His voice was conversational. Almost amused. "I gave you one. Because I trained you to never hesitate. Now we see what else I taught you."
Then he was on me.
It was like fighting a ghost. Someone who knew every move before I made it. Because he'd taught me those moves. Had drilled them into me for five years until they became instinct.
I tried a disarming technique. The same one I'd used on the operative minutes ago. Nikolai countered it effortlessly. Because he'd taught me that technique. Knew exactly how to defend against it.
I switched tactics. Went for a joint lock. He blocked it. Countered with a strike to my solar plexus that drove the air from my lungs.
I staggered back. Gasping. He didn't pursue. Just watched me with those cold eyes.
"Everything you know, I taught you," he said. "Every technique. Every counter. Every instinct. You can't surprise me, Evelyn. You can't beat me. Because you're fighting yourself."
I tried again. Drew on every technique Vorkuta had beaten into me. High kick. He blocked it. Elbow strike. He deflected it. Sweep. He saw it coming. Stepped over it.
His counter was brutal. Precise. A punch to my kidney that sent agony shooting through my body. I dropped to one knee.
"You're good," Nikolai said. "Better than I expected. Better than any operative I've trained. But you're still my student. And a student can never defeat their master."
I forced myself to stand. My body was screaming. But I couldn't stop. Couldn't give up.
I attacked again. Faster. More desperate. Combining techniques. Trying to create openings.
But Nikolai countered everything. Every strike. Every feint. Every combination. He knew them all. Had taught them all.
His hand shot out. Caught my wrist. Twisted. I felt something pop. Pain exploded up my arm. My weapon clattered to the floor.
He swept my legs. I hit the ground hard. Before I could recover, his boot connected with my ribs. Once. Twice. I felt them crack.
I tried to roll away. To gain distance. But he was faster. His hand closed around my throat. Lifted me. Slammed me against the wall hard enough to crack plaster.
"You were supposed to be perfect," he said. His face was inches from mine. Those ice-blue eyes burning with cold fury. "My masterpiece. The culmination of everything I built. And you threw it all away for him?"
His grip tightened. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.
I clawed at his hand. Tried to break his grip. But he was too strong. And I was too weak. Too injured.
He released me suddenly. Only to deliver a vicious kick to my chest.
The impact lifted me off my feet. I flew backward. Crashed into the nightstand. Felt more ribs crack. Hit the floor in a heap.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Blood filled my mouth. I coughed. Spat it out. More blood came.
Something slid out from under my shirt. The silver cross. My mother's cross. It caught the red emergency light. Gleamed against the dark floor.
Through the haze of pain, I saw Nikolai walking toward me. Slow and deliberate. A predator approaching wounded prey.
This was it. This was how it ended.
Not in some glorious last stand. But broken and bleeding on the floor. Unable to protect the man I loved. Unable to even protect myself.
"You were a disappointment," Nikolai said. His voice was flat. Final. "But at least your death will send a message. No one betrays Kholod. No one—"
He stopped.
His eyes had fixed on something. The silver cross lying on the floor beside me. Gleaming in the emergency lighting.
His expression changed. The cold mask cracked. Something like shock flickered across his face.
"Where did you get that?" His voice was different now. Rough. Almost strangled.
I stared at him through the blood and pain. Didn't understand the question. Didn't understand why he'd stopped.
"Where did you get that necklace?" He was louder now. Almost frantic. "Answer me!"
I spat blood at his feet. "None of your fucking business."
His hand shot out. Grabbed the chain. Yanked it up. The chain tightened around my neck. Cutting off my air. He pulled me up by it. My hands clawed at his wrist. Trying to relieve the pressure.
"I asked you a question," he hissed. His face was inches from mine. Those ice-blue eyes were wild now. Desperate. "Where did you get this necklace?"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't answer. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision again.
"Tell me!" His voice was rising. Breaking. "Tell me where you got it!"
"It's her mother's." Julian's voice came from across the room. Weak but clear. "The necklace belonged to her mother."
Nikolai's head snapped toward Julian. His grip on the chain loosened slightly. Just enough for me to gasp in a breath.
"Her mother," Nikolai repeated. His voice was strange now. Hollow. "What was her mother's name?"
I stared at him. Confusion cutting through the pain. Why did he care? Why did any of this matter?
"Answer me!" Nikolai shook me. The chain tightened again. "What was your mother's name?"
"Maria," I gasped out. "Maria Valentine."
The chain went slack. I collapsed to the floor. Coughing. Gasping for air.
Nikolai stood frozen above me. His face had gone white. His hands were shaking.
"Maria Valentine," he whispered. The name seemed to break something in him. "Maria..."
He looked down at me. Really looked at me. His eyes traced my face. My features. The ice-blue eyes that matched his own.
"How old are you?" His voice was barely audible.
"Twenty-five," I said. My throat was raw. Every word hurt.
Nikolai staggered back a step. His hand went to his mouth. His eyes were wide with something that looked like horror. Or recognition. Or both.
"Bozhe moy," he breathed. My God. "The timing... Maria was pregnant when she left Moscow..."
He looked at me again. And this time I saw it. The recognition in his face. The terrible understanding dawning in his expression.
"No," I whispered. "No, that's not—"
"You're my daughter," Nikolai said. His voice was filled with disbelief. With shock. With something that might have been anguish. "You're my daughter."
The words hung in the air between us. Impossible. Undeniable.
I stared at the man who'd trained me to kill. The man who'd just tried to murder me. The man who was apparently my father.
And I didn't know whether to scream or laugh or simply let the darkness take me.