“Now, this intel alleges that I’m the mastermind behind the business, working with Senator Hunt, while Kira and Viktor narrowly escaped the country with their lives. How convenient that the intelligence coming out of this case points the finger all around, and we automatically run after it, like we’re a fucking cat chasing a laser light.”
“Touché. The next part, I actually believe part of it to be true.” He pauses and watches me for a moment before continuing to read from the report. “Kira Petrova has returned to Moscow. Due to the sensitive nature of her position and the grave threat Silas Steele poses, no further communication with her will be possible. If you have specific questions to validate this information, please contact me directly.” He finishes reading the ambassador’s name and lays the document on the desk.
“So, she’s back in Moscow. I knew it, but I didn’t want to admit it. I tried to get a flight scheduled under one of my old aliases, but it bounced back. They must have it flagged.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“Do you think they’ve executed her yet?”
“My contact says no. She’s still being held in an interrogation facility for now. Her father has used every bit of his influence to keep her alive, but his persuasion is waning.”
“I have to get to Moscow and break her out.”
“You’re going to fly to Moscow, break into a secure facility, find an enemy of the state, break her out, and fly back here with her? Do you have some kind of magical powers I’m not aware of?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I’m a master of disguises. I’m fluent in Russian. And I’m a man in love.”
“You love her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
“Because you’re too chickenshit to say the words? Remember, you’re still obligated to tell me the truth. Don’t start lying to the lie detector now.”
“Yes.” I grit my teeth and spit out my answer at him. Fucker laughs at me.
“Do you think it’s too soon to fall in love?”
“Yes.”
“Amateur. I asked my wife to marry me on our first date, and I’d only met her the day before. Finally convinced her to say yes three weeks later. We’ve been married twenty-seven years now. I haven’t regretted it one day of my life. When you know, you know.”
He unhooks all the wires and turns off the machine. Then he pulls a smaller envelope out of his bag. “Here are your new passports. Two for you, one for her. Your Russian military uniform and access card are in my car. Get in, get out, and get home. Don’t start World War III in the process.”
“Yes, sir.”
Graves walks out, taking all his equipment with him, and his driver hands me the disguise to get me into the facility. The uniform is freshly dry-cleaned, still covered by the plastic to keep it in pristine condition, and the shoes are buffed to a glossy shine. This will be hard enough to pull off with the full outfit and the keycard to get in. Getting out with her in prison clothes and apparent signs of interrogation without being seen will be impossible.
But damn if I won’t give it my best shot. If I die, at least I’ll know I died trying.
I close the door as they drive away and turn to find Shadow bounding down the stairs. His eyes are wide, his face is pale, and he’s mumbling to himself.
“Shadow, what’s wrong?”
“Elle packed her things and left while I was working. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t say where she was going. Won’t answer her phone. Disabled her location services. She just left me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, man. I hate that you got pulled into this because of me.”
“It’s not your fault, Silas. I’ve worked on other cases before yours. This is all on me.” His eyes finally focus, seeing the uniform draped over my shoulder. “Oh shit. You’re breaking in the Kremlin interrogation dungeons, aren’t you? Did they leave a uniform for me?”
“No, Shadow. You’re not going with me on this one. It’s likely to be a one-way ticket, but I’ve got to try. You should go find Elle, talk to her, and fix your marriage right now. Don’t let any grass grow under your feet. You’ll regret it if you do.”
“It’s a pity I have to use my CIA skills on my wife and take relationship advice from my unattached friend.” A small smile plays on his face before he gives me a quick, manly hug. “Be careful over there. You don’t let any grass grow under your feet while you’re rescuing Kira either. We need you back here as soon as possible, to keep us all in line and to save us from Liz.”
“Maybe I should take her with me. Those boys in the Kremlin wouldn’t stand a chance.”
We share a good belly laugh over that vision, but our parting glance holds more sentiment than words can express. Our friends are our family, the people we choose to keep in our lives and share so much of ourselves with. We’re all brothers and sisters. The loss of one would be devastating to all.
“Elle and I will see you when you get back, Silas. If you need me while you’re there, send a message through Brad’s secret system, and I’ll be on the next plane out.”
“The four of us will go out for dinner and dancing when Kira and I get back. Keep a Saturday night open on your calendar for us.”
Chapter 23
Kira
“What did you tell the CIA about our operations?” Igor grips my hair near the scalp and yanks my head backward with a forceful tug. “You’ll eventually break—one way or another. You can stop all this pain now with a simple answer.”
He’s lying. Anything I say will be viewed as weakness and used against me in much harsher methods. There’s no way for me to win this game he’s playing. It was designed to be a lose-lose outcome for anyone sitting in this chair.
“Have it your way, then.” He nods to Vlad with a sadistic grin. Igor loves his job.
I’m strapped to a chair in a grungy, dank room in a basement somewhere in Moscow. Viktor knocked me out before we landed. When I first came to, I asked anyone and everyone about Amber, but no one would answer me. I’m a traitor, so they can’t be seen speaking to me.
A sharp pain suddenly cuts through my back. I barely had time to hear the crack of the whip before I feel the lash tear into my skin. With strike after strike, I scream and wiggle, trying to shrink away from the agonizing stings. The chair I’m in topples over from my excessive movements, and I try to crawl away, moving like an inchworm across the floor with the chair scraping the concrete since it’s still strapped to me.
Igor stands and stomps on my hand, stopping my movement with his wicked smile in place. “She thinks she can get away, comrade. Maybe you should show her what happens to bitches who try to run.”
“With pleasure.”
Vlad approaches me with slow, measured steps. He swings a pair of pliers in his hand, taunting me with what I know is coming. Igor holds my hand in place with his boot while Vlad clamps the pliers onto the end of my fingernail. His hesitation is a textbook torture tactic—build up the anticipation of the moment, make the victim cry and beg before carrying out the ploy regardless, let him get his rocks off with all the power he holds.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction. With my eyes squeezed shut and the fingers of my opposite hand gripping the arm of the chair as hard as I can, I prepare for the horrible pain that I already know is coming. But I can’t stop the scream that nearly splits my throat in two when he rips my fingernail entirely off. Blood pours, my entire hand throbs, and the intense pain almost takes my breath away.
“That’s enough!” The stern voice echoes in the concrete block room. “You disobeyed direct orders. Wait for me in the hall.”
Vlad’s smug smirk disappears as he drops the pliers on the table and scurries away with his tail tucked between his legs. My only consolation is knowing the same will be done to him for not following his commander’s orders. He knows what’s coming, too. Only he’ll have to wait longer for his than I did mine.
“Sasha, get her cleaned up and band
age her hand. Igor, you come with me. Right now.” I glance over to see who entered the room and recognize General Krupin. He’s one of the few men my father trusts.
I also recognize Sasha from my early days at the Academy. She’s an older woman who never quite made it as an undercover operative, but she was always very supportive of everyone who came through the program. She helped Mira and me when we were forced into the program against our will as children. She comforted us every night when we thought we’d drown in our tears. She’s the one who helped convince the headmistress to put us back in a room together. She pointed out how much of an asset twins would be when working a complicated case. We could literally be in two places at once, but we had to stay in sync with each other. Over the years I lived in that hellhole, she made it as bearable as possible.
After Krupin and Igor leave the room, Sasha unties me and helps me up before she begins gathering the supplies to wash and bandage my injuries. When she returns to me, the concern in her eyes for my physical state is palpable. She pulls up a chair in front of me and begins wiping my face with a warm, wet washcloth. Her touch is gentle when she cleans my wounds. I think it hurts her worse than it does me. This is why she washed out of the program. She had too much compassion for others, and her every emotion was prominently displayed on her face, giving away her thoughts and intentions every time.
“Sasha.” My voice barely reaches a whisper to keep any microphones from picking it up. “Where’s the little girl?”
She continues dabbing at the abrasion on my cheekbone, acting as if she didn’t hear me. “Dorm.”
The dorm—the bedrooms used by the Academy. So, Viktor was telling the truth about putting her in the program and using her as an operative one day.
“Take her to my father.”
She stills, pretending to examine my cut closer for anyone watching, but her eyes are solidly on mine. “This one is almost impossible to fix.”
I understand her hidden message.
“Saving even just one from the infection is worth all the pain.”
She understands my cryptic reply. Save the child from the diseased life we’ve been forced to live. Give her a chance to be a kid—to run, play, laugh, love—to live. The conflict in Sasha’s eyes gives me hope that she’s at least considering my request. If she’s caught, it’ll mean certain death for her. But giving Amber the opportunity we never had would make everything I’ve endured worth every ounce of pain.
“Don’t let them do to her what they’ve done to us, Sasha. Tell my father she’s his daughter now.” In a rare moment of showing my own emotions, I feel tears form in my eyes as I wait for her reply. Whether she reports me or consents to my request, I know I’ve tried to help that baby girl live the best life I can give her under the circumstances.
“Try not to worry. I’ll do my best to keep the infection at bay.”
I’ve never wanted to break down and sob in my life as much as I do right now. If anyone can help Amber escape the dorms, it’s Sasha.
“Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate your help.”
She gives me a single nod in response, her throat muscles working hard to swallow the ball of emotion that’s threatening to choke her while she continues putting medication and bandages on me. When she works her way down to my hand, her disgust with the process and their tactics is released in a string of curses and obscenities hurled at the two men in particular. After cleaning the area around where my fingernail was, she slathers it with Vaseline before wrapping it with nonstick bandages and gauze. She takes so much time to give me her full attention and care, but I can’t help but wonder why. So that I look more presentable when my father identifies my body?
“Tell my parents I love them and that I don’t blame them for anything.”
She nods and wipes away a stray tear from her eye.
“It’s okay, Sasha. I know what’s coming. Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me. I haven’t ever appreciated the people in my life nearly enough. Before it’s too late, I want you to know you were always special to me.”
“Thank you for saying that, Kira. I’ve often wondered if my job mattered. It’s nice to hear that it does.” She stands abruptly, moves to the small wardrobe, and returns with a clean prisoner uniform. It’s a very dull and lifeless tan outfit—far from fashionable while remaining utterly functional at the same time. “Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes and into some clean ones.”
She gasps when I pull my shirt over my head. The bruises and burns I’ve endured are still relatively fresh, but the recent lashes left the worst marks. Before helping me into the clean shirt, she takes the time to apply ointment and bandages to the raw areas. When I’m finally dressed, she pulls me into her arms and holds me for several long seconds. After the last—I don’t even know how long I’ve been here—however many days it’s been, this little bit of warmth is enough.
General Krupin opens the door and starts to say my name but stops when he sees us in an embrace. After a few moments, his patience is worn thin. “Kira, come with me.”
We walk down the long, dark corridor and turn left when we reach the end. A few doors down on the right, light filters into the hall from under the door. He opens it and extends his arm into the room, indicating for me to enter. Inside, I find a twin bed, a small desk and chair, and an en suite bathroom.
“As a favor to your father, I’ve arranged to let you stay in here for the next few nights. No more questioning. Absolutely no more techniques to encourage you to talk. Make yourself comfortable—this is your room now. Your dinner will be here in about an hour.”
“Thank you, General. I appreciate your kindness.”
Sleep is the last thing on my mind, but as my thoughts drift to Silas and the last interaction we had, my body decides to shut down after all the recent trauma. The darkness pulls me under, my muscles relax, and my mind finally calms. When the need for rest surpasses my desire to stay awake until my execution, I give in and let my dreams take me to the places I’ve left behind.
The beach with Silas.
Noah’s house in Miami.
Our nightly routine of falling asleep in each other’s arms after hours of exhausting escapades.
These are the images my dreams are made of.
The next couple of days are much of the same. Rest, recuperate, and refuel with the large meals they bring three times a day. But that all changes the third day in my new room. The guard’s personality is entirely different when he delivers breakfast. He refuses to make eye contact with me and acts slightly nervous.
At lunch, the tray is left on the floor outside the door, and he only alerts me with a knock. When I open the door, he’s already gone.
He’s completely avoiding me.
That means today is the day.
Execution day.
After I finish eating lunch, I stroll into the bathroom and take a long, hot shower. Then I dry and style my hair after rebandaging my hand. There’s no reason why Mom and Dad need to see that exposed. There’s no makeup in here, so the au naturel look will have to do. Just as well—it’s the way I came into the world, and it’s the way I’ll go out.
Morose. Morbid. Depressing. But true.
A light rap on the door draws my attention just before the doorknob slowly turns. When the door swings open, General Krupin waits with a sad expression on his face.
“I’m sorry, Kira. I argued for a stay of execution, but I was overruled. There’s nothing more I can do, my dear. It’s time.”
The long walk to the execution room simultaneously feels like it takes forever and is over in the blink of an eye. Thick plastic covers the floor, making the cleanup effort an easy job. General Krupin moves to stand behind the desk on the back wall as the lone judge, jury, and witness to the execution. My executioner stands behind me, his hands firmly gripping my biceps to hold me in place.
He knows the drill all too well. He knows what’s about to happen.
My knees buckle underneath
me from the fear and anxiety coursing through my veins at over 200 miles per hour, and my captor prevents me from crumbling into a heap on the floor before my time. My heart is no longer beating, only fluttering in my chest as it tries to keep up with the adrenaline that’s been dumped into my bloodstream. My face is wet from the tears streaming down my cheeks like a raging river during the spring thaw. Strange, since I didn’t even realize I was crying until just now.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Goodbye, Kira.” In the back of my mind, I hear General Krupin’s voice, but his words don’t register. All my focus is on the plastic on the floor underneath me.
“I’ve got you. It’s okay now.” Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind me and pull me against a hard chest. With virtually no effort, he twists me around, slides his arm under my knees, and cradles me against him. “We’re getting the fuck out of here right now.”
He jumps to his feet with me secure in his arms, and the whiff of air that envelops me pulls me out of my haze. I know that scent. I recognize that voice. When I peer up at him through my teardrop-covered lashes, the face I see doesn’t match who I know the voice belongs to.
“Silas?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” I’ve never loved being called that term of endearment more than I do at this moment.
Two men enter from the other end of the room, carrying a limp body to the spot where Silas just stood. She’s dressed in the same prison uniform I am. Her hair and build match mine. They lay her down on the plastic and roll her tightly inside.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Kira Petrova. This lady was an enemy of the state for the murder of the Minister of Health. She injected him with poison after he raped her. Her execution was scheduled to take place today, but she decided to take matters into her own hands and not give anyone else control over her fate.” He places soft kisses all over my face, hugs me tightly to him for several long seconds, then helps me to stand on my own again.
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