Hey guys, thank you for your patience with the severely delayed upload of this chapter! My apologies again, as I said in the updates to the author's note at the end of the previous chapter, things got insanely chaotic with work and life. But I'm happy to be back and to bring you this pivotal chapter. All I'm going to say is this chapter has the biggest content warning of any I've written (even more so than the self-harm chapter), since it's extremely dark, in terms of violence, mental health, and abuse and also has the most swearing out of any chapter with 5 f-bombs (see the disclaimer section for more info). Prepare for massive feels…
Gonna reply to reviews on the previous chapter, thanks so much for the love and to everyone who reviewed!
Guest: Thank you, I hope this chapter finds you well! I did indeed take Alexei to the tomb (may not be canon but it made sense for his story as I envisioned it), read on to find out what will happen to him there ;)
ggk: Thank you, I'm glad you've enjoyed that chapter! Yes, there will be lots of cliffhangers and action coming up, which I'm glad you've been liking. Read on to find out if Alexei's father is indeed making a comeback ;)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Embassy Row series and all the characters (except for Tanner and Jordan and Alexei's Moscow friends, who are my own creations). They belong to Ally Carter. I am merely using her characters and plotline to create this fanfiction. I have no intention of profiting off the Embassy Row series in any way. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purposes and would not exist without Ally Carter's wonderful works.
The events that happen in this fanfiction are not meant to be representative of real life. Any similarities to any real-life events or fictional works is purely coincidental and not intentional (with the exception of the original Embassy Row books by Ally Carter since this fanfiction is literally Take the Key and Lock Her Up but from Alexei's, not Grace's, perspective). The character's actions may not always reflect my own opinions or views. Based on what happens or is mentioned in this chapter (spoiler alert), I do not condone parental abuse, physical violence, gun violence, death, murder, arson, forced incarceration, or decampment.
Additionally, the medical diagnoses made in this chapter are based off my own medical knowledge and clinical experiences and may differ from clinical practice guidelines in other parts of the world. They are evidence-based to my knowledge but may not reflect the latest updates to evidence-based medical practices. Please consult your local medical association for the most up-to-date, evidence-based medical practices in your jurisdiction.
CONTENT WARNING: EXTREME
This fanfiction is rated M, for explicit and suggestive themes (such as mental health and abuse), language, and violence. This chapter contains extremely strong language, explicit and graphic depictions of parental abuse, broken parental relationships, physical violence, gun violence, death, and murder, and explicit mentions of arson, mental health, forced incarceration, decampment, and internal conflict regarding darkness and humanity. Please read at your own discretion.
Chapter Thirty-Three: This Is Where It Ends
"It's so nice to see you again, son." I looked up, finding myself face to face with my father, the gun in his hand pointed right at me.
"What do you want from me?" I roared.
"Isn't it obvious?" My father smirked, tightening his grip on the gun aimed at my head. "I want your life. Don't you think it's fair? An eye for an eye? Blood for blood?"
"I've never taken a life and I never will," I snarled. No man's blood stained my hands and it never would.
"How noble of you, considering what the media has made you out to be." There was a knowing look on my father's face. With that, a second, much more pressing question came to mind. It sent a chill down my spine, as I dreaded asking it but more importantly, finding out the answer.
"Well, how much blood is on your hands?" A wicked smile played across my father's lips, an evil glint in his eyes.
"Fancy you asking me that, son," my father mused. "When you're the one who has been accused of murder this whole time."
It took everything in me not to lose my temper, knowing my father was baiting me, wanting me to do just that. "We both know I'm not the real killer here."
"Funny you would say that. Do you have any idea who the killer really is?" Suddenly, all those sketchy texts between Princess Ann and the unlisted number flooded back to me, the cold, horrible truth finally setting in. Deep down, I had known it all this time but didn't want to believe it, until now, when it was right in front of me and I had no choice but to face it.
As if on cue, that vicious smile on my father's face reappeared. I wanted to run but felt rooted to the spot by my father's cunning gaze as a cold chill ran down my spine.
"Did you kill Spence?" My voice wavered, every part of me not wanting to know the answer. My father's smile simply widened, as every cell in my brain screamed at me to run. It was that then I knew. My father hadn't just killed Spence. He had been involved from the very start, ever since the former Adrian prime minister wanted to take out Grace, and had known all along, haunting not just my life, but those of my friends, for the whole summer.
"That cadet was an easy kill. One clean shot and it was done. One of the easiest kills of my life. But of course, Ann had fucked up and it was the wrong man. So I had to kill again. I got a decent shot on the American boy, one that should have killed him, but somehow, he survived." My father shook his head.
"Anyways, that is beside the point," he said, taking a long drag of his cigarette before re-training the gun at me. "I'm here for one thing only."
"Did you kill the Adrian king?" I asked desperately, stalling for time. If I could wait until Dominic and Thomas returned, then I'd have backup. I really didn't want to be taking on my father alone, unless I had no other choice.
That same sinister smile reappeared on my father's face. "Son, I'm sure you would have figured that out by now." The phrase 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer' suddenly took on a whole new meaning, as I realized just how close the truth had been this whole time. I glanced at the gun in his hand, realizing in horror it very well could have been the same weapon used to kill the Adrian king.
"What about Mikhail?"
"It's a shame he had to be collateral damage but it was a necessary deed. He was a good friend while it lasted."
"But the car, surely you had to know about that."
"It was supposed to be an elaborate way to get rid of you and put that mess behind me."
"You didn't think it would have raised suspicions?" I recalled Megan's frantic ramblings that day, the day Mikhail died, where she had been convinced that the Russian embassy was behind everything. As it turned out, I really should have listened to her because she wasn't that far off from the truth.
My father shrugged nonchalantly. "It's easy to write off a car accident, easier than murder."
"What, so you could write off the death of your son and your friend in one easy incident?"
"Mikhail volunteered to drive you. I wasn't going to say no," my father said casually. A pang of longing and hurt, accompanied by a new anger, pierced through my heart. Mikhail had walked right into his death, doing what he thought was right to help me. He really had given up his life for me, so I could still be alive today. And my father let it happen, knowing what the end result would be.
My control snapped, the anger coursing through me. "How could you let your own son be framed for murder? Your own son? And how could you kill your friend?"
My father shrugged, taking one last drag of his cigarette. "I did what was necessary."
"For what gain?"
My father just shook his head, throwing his still lit cigarette butt into the old guardhouse. "You wouldn't understand." Almost as if caused by the cigarette, a plume of smoke shot out of the alcove. I jumped, knowing that where there was smoke, fire was bound to follow. I wondered where Dominic and Thomas were, since they said they wouldn't be long. I hoped everyone would be okay. I pulled out my phone to call the fire department, just as Dominic had instructed.
"Hi, I'm calling about a fire at the Adrian palace near the south corridor, by the old guardhouse and palace gates," I started.
My father snarled. "Boy, do you really think the fire department is going to believe you when you tell them the palace is burning?" I looked at my father but continued answering the questions from the operator. My father shook his head before speaking again.
"No one's going to believe a crazy boy like you, just like your mother." My father suddenly lunged for me, knocking my phone out of my hand, pinning me against the gates. My head slammed against the cold iron, sending waves of pain shooting throughout my body.
"Come on, son, we've put this off for long enough. All I need is your life to finally lay this to rest."
"Why me?" My father let out a cold, resounding laugh that made my blood run.
"You. You were my one hope. You were supposed to take my place in the Russian Special Forces, in the unit I had left behind, as the marksman. I tried my best to train you, to ensure you were fit. But I left you under your mother's corrupting influence for far too long, turning you into a useless, crazy piece of shit, even before she went away."
The anger burned brighter in me. "You knew. You knew this whole fucking time, didn't you. About what happened to my mother?"
My father laughed, a cruel, mocking sound this time. "You want your mother. How pathetic."
I snapped. "What did you do to Karina?"
"What about her?" my father echoed, seemingly unbothered by the mention of his former partner's name.
"Did you throw her into Binevale?"
A surprised look contorted his features. "How do you know about that?"
"That phone call, earlier this summer, in Moscow, right before we came back to Adria. You were asking about her. Was it to Binevale?" My father's composure cracked for a second, before resuming its usual cold, stoic look, as he stared me down, his face inches from mine.
"I went to your office to look for you," I continued. "I was about to knock on your door and heard you on the phone."
My father punched me, hard. "That was not for your ears!"
"What was I supposed to do, walk away and pretend I didn't hear anything?"
"What happened to your mother is none of your business."
"Unfortunately, it very much became my business when I broke her out of Binevale."
My father's eyes widened before a bitter rage overtook him. "She was supposed to stay there for the rest of her life!"
The bubbling anger rose up inside me as I screamed. "Did you send her there or not? Did you deem her to be crazy or was she crazy before that?"
"I was trying to save her from her own mind!" My father shouted, his anger matching mine and then some. "She had schizoaffective disorder! I wasn't going to leave her to harm herself in the midst of a manic or psychotic episode." It looked like Dominic hadn't been kidding about my mother having a mental health disorder. That explained a lot about my childhood. Like how there'd be times where she'd have tons of energy and would always take me out to play, making up these fabulous and grandiose adventures while buying me tons of treats and toys. Had those adventures all been a product of her mania, or her psychosis?
"Did you ever care for her? Did you think about her well-being when you threw her into Binevale, where she was restrained to the bed and pumped with sedatives day in and day out?"
"I didn't know it was going to be like that. I thought it was for her own good. I tried to get her out but it was too late."
"And look how well that turned out." My father's eyes widened but he just shook his head sadly. As I stared into my father's cold, dead eyes, I realized he had been very wrong about something. I wasn't the one who had become a stranger. He had been a stranger this whole time, morphing before my very eyes until I no longer knew who he was. Yet, had I ever really known who my father truly was? Before this summer, I thought I did. For years, he was a strict, authoritarian man, employing harsh methods to ensure I never stepped out of line and maintained my filial piety to him. Then, he suddenly became a cold-blooded murderer. But here he was, expressing surprising compassion for a woman I thought he didn't love. Was this really the same man I had known my entire life?
Just as quickly as my father's emotions bled through, it disappeared, his trademark cold, stoic mask returning. "It doesn't matter. She's dead to me. And so are you. I came here for one thing only and I intend to leave with it." My father shoved me to the ground. I landed hard on my back, the wind knocked out of me. When I opened my eyes, my father was hovering over me, the gun pointed at my forehead.
"This is your last chance," my father snarled. Tapping into an unknown reservoir of strength, I kneed my father hard from underneath. He momentarily lost his balance, allowing me to push him away as I rolled into a standing position. Yet, that was not enough to deter him as he quickly charged at me. I side-stepped, kicking the backs of his knees. He faltered for a second, my opening to punch him in the gut.
"You want to play dirty, son?" my father growled as he righted himself. I glared at him, saying nothing.
"If you want to play dirty, then I'll give you fucking dirty." My father charged at me, faster and stronger, bringing a barrage of hits with him. I braced myself for the impact, blocking and hitting back as best as I could. We were soon wrapped up in each other, sending hits every which way. No longer were we working it out like men, as my father always eloquently put it. This was an all-out street brawl, with no rules and no limits. This was like the fight with Spence on the beach, but much more personal. However, this wasn't just a spur of the moment battle for male dominance or the way we used to spar. This ran so much deeper than that. This was vengeance. This was years of frustration and abuse, of miscommunication and wrongdoings. This was years of a broken relationship that had long since become dysfunctional and could never be fixed. And I knew this was a fight that wouldn't end until one of us was dead.
The acrid smell of oil and gasoline momentarily stopped us in our tracks. Seconds later, flames licked up from the staircase of the old guardhouse, casting the room in blinding reds and oranges. Not a moment later, the cracking of glass exploded throughout the courtyard as the fire blew out the windows, shattering the glass panes. For a second, time slowed as the shards soared to the ground, like delicate crystal raindrops, raining down on us as we fought. They served as a stark reminder of how fragile and broken my relationship with my father was, where I feared it was beyond saving. How had we let it get to that point, where it had fragmented so much? But deep down, I had always known. My father and I were too far gone to have any sort of functional relationship, which had deteriorated long before this moment. This was just the final blow, the last semblance of restoring our relationship before it became permanently destroyed, to something beyond salvageable.
As we fought, doing our best to keep eyes on each other amidst the smoke and flames, I found myself keeping up with my father easier than I had in the past, effortlessly blocking and matching his hits. Had my father gotten weak and careless with his cushy ambassador position, indulging in all the free multi-course meals and endless drinks, neglecting his physical health, especially now that I wasn't there to spar with him? Or had I gotten stronger, from my time on the American military base, training hard every day with Dominic? Maybe it was a bit of both. Either way, I knew nothing would be the same with my father ever again, as we brawled on the stone floor.
I landed a hard hit to my father's arm. The gun clattered out of his hand, sliding dangerously close to the burning guardhouse. My father and I looked at each other for a split second before we both stood up, making a mad dash for the gun. We pushed and shoved at each other, trying to hinder the other's path. He lunged for me, grabbing my legs. I went down hard on my belly, my arm grazing the flames as I desperately reached for the gun. But that was in vain as my father pushed me aside, grabbing the gun.
Without warning, he started firing non-stop at me. I rolled around, dodging the bullets as best as I could. I winced as I kept rolling over the glass shards, cuts forming all over my face and limbs but I knew that was better than the alternative.
As suddenly as it started, my father stopped firing at me, putting the safety back on the gun.
"I've had my fun for the day," my father stated, a cunning smirk on his face as he slid the gun into the belt holster hidden by his suit jacket. "There is one bullet that remains. We shall see who is worthy of it. But in the meantime, let's get back to business."
My father pounced on me, pinning me down as he landed a rough uppercut to my jaw, making my teeth clench and my brain rattle. My father's face hovered above mine, his eyes emotionless, cold, and dark. Looking into those grey voids, I realized he had really, truly lost all sense of humanity, becoming an emotionless assassin. He had let the darkness overtake him through and through. And there was no way I'd survive if I didn't do the same. The only way to fight darkness was with darkness and if he was going to play dirty, then I'd have to do the same.
I kneed my father's groin hard, before getting him with a barrage of punches, enough to catch him off guard, enough to give me a moment to roll us over so I was back on top. I punched my father square in the face, making direct contact with his nose. Blood instantly poured down his face. But that wasn't enough, not with the dark hunger inside me that desperately wanted, needed more.
I grabbed my father from behind, snaking my arm around his neck and squeezing hard. He flailed against me, trying to take me down. I held my ground, squeezing harder. His eyes widened as he cursed, desperately trying to push my arm away.
"Payback is a sweet motherfucker," I whispered in my father's ear. Was this what the power to kill felt like, knowing the fate of someone's life laid in my hands?
I drank this in, squeezing my father's neck harder still, knowing he was finally at my mercy. Oh, how the tables had turned. Never had I thought I would be victorious for once, after suffering all those years of abuse at my father's hands.
My father slackened under me, starting to go limp. I let go of him, but not before slipping the gun out of his holster, knocking his head with the barrel for good measure. He crumpled down, limbs flailing helplessly. I instantly pounced on him, pinning him against the ground before aiming the gun at his chest.
When he came to, my father laughed. "Would you really, son?"
"What's to stop me?" I snarled, not finding this funny in the slightest.
"If you take my life, you will truly become the murderer the media has made you out to be. Then, it will truly be an eye for an eye and blood for blood. Do you really want to be the Russian murderer?" No, I couldn't do this, not when my father had been the true Russian murderer this whole time. But if it wasn't him, then it was me. One of us would walk away victorious and the other dead. I was stuck either way. I didn't want to turn into my father, becoming everything I resented and everything the media wanted me to be. But how easy would it be, to take his life, knowing the first time was the hardest and it would get easier the more I did it?
"If you fire that gun, that is exactly what will become of you," my father snarled from beneath me. The gun slackened in my hand, as my father's words echoed in my head.
"You know what they say, son, the first one is always the hardest," my father taunted. Could I really take a life, nonetheless that of my own father's? I didn't really have a choice, did I? If I fired that gun, I'd lose that last shred of goodness in me, crossing an irreversible line. I'd no longer be human if I gave into the darkness, letting my past demons and the dark temptations in front of me overtake me. If I did just that, I would really, truly turn into my father, past the point of no return.
I cocked the safety off the gun, straightening my aim so it was a clear shot at my father's heart. I looked my father right in the eye.
"You wouldn't do this, would you?" Although my father's voice was cold, the wide, fearful look in his eyes betrayed him. Had he realized he had fucked up in all his years of parenting me, with all the physical and emotional abuse? That I hadn't really turned into my mother after all but rather, a cold-blooded, emotionless killer, just like him? That maybe he had gotten his wish after all, that I would be strong and cold enough to replace him as an assassin in the Russian Special Forces?
"Do you want me to?" I asked, my voice quiet, but steely. I rested my finger on the trigger, not pulling it yet. We stared at each other, time standing still as the fire ravaging the guardhouse crackled and popped behind us. It was scorching, the smoke clouding my vision. There wasn't much time to save ourselves before the fire would spill into the courtyard, taking both of us with it.
My father looked tormented, as if his life was flashing before his very eyes. I trained the gun on him harder. The blood poured from his nose, running down to his mouth, as he attempted to speak, quivering and shaking. When I looked into his steely, grey eyes, I saw mine reflected back. For once, I saw what he was seeing, what I had seen for so long, and what he was finally seeing for the first time. Darkness and evil. Just like it had overtaken my father, I had let it overtake me, enough to lead to this moment. Was I going to let it overtake me completely, turning myself into the man my father had become? It scared me to see my reflection in my father's eyes and I realized he felt the same way too. And now I knew, there was only one way to really, truly conquer the darkness.
"I… I," my father managed to get out before he sagged underneath me, his body going limp, eyes pleading, begging for mercy.
I couldn't help myself from reaching out to cradle my father's cheek, running my thumb along the rough, weathered skin, much like a father would do to a young child, before straightening up, re-aiming the gun at his chest.
"I'm sorry, my father. This is where it ends." At long last, I closed my eyes, moving the gun slightly to the right before pulling the trigger.
Song Inspo: Black Veil Brides – 'Vale (This Is Where It Ends)'
Genre/ Subgenre: Rock/ Glam Metal
I had been listening to Black Veil Brides' 'Vale' album when working on the first draft of this chapter at this time two years ago. I had a bunch of quotes written but was trying to combine them into a cohesive chapter. This song is my favourite off the album and as the album closer, it represents the end of a journey, in what was supposed to be the band's final goodbye (I'm very thankful they're still together and have since released another album, especially since they're one of my favourite bands).
When this song came on, I realized just how perfect it was for Alexei and Sergei's relationship. The mournful melodies and strings, as well as the soulful lyrics about loss and goodbyes, fit well with the destruction of Alexei and Sergei's relationship, of things falling apart and them accepting this is truly the end (particularly with Alexei making that decision for himself and recognizing his relationship with his father could never and will never go back to what it was in 'Falling for You'). The lyrics also fit the internal conflict of darkness and humanity that Alexei struggles through in the last few paragraphs.
The song also has epic, cinematic vibes and a bold sound, particularly with the buildup from strings alone to an added drum beat to the full band, that fit with the climax of Alexei's story and the fight with his father. The song's title also inspired the title of this chapter and Alexei's final words to his father before pulling the trigger.
Feel free to give this song a listen while reading this chapter!
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next chapter will be up between Dec. 9 and Dec. 25.
What a chapter! Do you think Alexei fatally shot his father?
This chapter was a long time coming and it's crazy to finally have it out, as I've been planning it for a long time (since there are throwback elements and hints that go back to Falling for You and On the Run). This is one of my favourite chapters in Unlocking the Key with all the raw emotion and the dark content and it's amazing to finally share it with all of you. Stay tuned for another long chapter and some fan favourites making a comeback ;)