Mikhail’s body screamed in protest as he struggled to move. Every nerve in his body was raw, burning. The impact against the tree had rattled his bones, but pain was secondary.
Makayla was still there—still fighting.
His vision blurred for half a second, but when it cleared, his father’s face loomed above him, that cruel smirk still stretching across his lips. Gino crouched down slowly, almost like he was mocking him, his predatory gaze piercing through the darkness.
“Tired already?” Gino’s voice was almost gentle, but it was laced with something else—something dangerous.
Mikhail clenched his teeth, his fingers curling into the dirt beneath him. Every ounce of restraint he had left was burning away, replaced by something dark, something primal.
Rage.
Makayla was gasping for breath a
