by Zaires, Anna
A chill wraps around my spine. “Knew what?”
Ignoring my question, she steps around me and unsteadily makes her way to the bed, where she starts digging through the folds of the blanket. “Here.” She holds up a pair of keys on a pink, furry keychain. “That’s another reason I came here—to give this to you.”
The sick churning in my stomach intensifies. She’s lying. She must be lying. She could’ve found the keys anywhere, wherever it was that Pavel had lost them. Because if she’s not lying, if they were in Nikolai’s nightstand yesterday morning, then they were never lost. That or Nikolai found them before leaving for his trip—before our video chat in which he claimed Pavel couldn’t locate them.
As if reading my mind, Alina says unevenly, “Pavel doesn’t lose things, by the way. I’ve known him all my life, and he’s never misplaced so much as a holey sock—at least not by accident. He’s like my brother in that regard. Whatever he does is planned.”
My heart pounds at my ribcage like a mallet. “Give me the keys.” Stepping toward her, I snatch them from her hand and stuff them into the robe’s pocket. My mind is racing, my thoughts tumbling over each other like pieces of colored glass in a kaleidoscope. I don’t know what to think, what to believe.
Why would Nikolai lie about my keys?
Why would Alina?
“What did you mean when you called your brother a killer?” I ask, staring into her drug-clouded eyes. “Who is this her?”
Her face crumples. “You don’t want this. Believe me, you don’t.”
“I do. Tell me.”
She shakes her head, more tears leaking from her eyes.
“Alina, please… I have to know. I have to know because—because you’re right. I—” I suck in a breath, my chest tightening as the truth sinks its fangs into me. “I am falling for him, and fast.”
Her shoulders shake with silent sobs as she sinks to the floor, her back against the bed and her long hair falling forward to hide her face as she hugs her knees.
Desperate, I kneel in front of her. “Please, Alina. I have to know. How’s he like your father? How’s he a monster? What happened? Who is he supposed to have killed?”
For several long moments, there’s no response. Finally, she lifts her head, and through the black veil of her hair, I see the screaming agony in her eyes. “Our father.” The words come out in a broken, ragged whisper. “He killed her. And then Kolya killed him. Sliced him open, right there—” Her voice cracks. “Right in front of me.”
And as I stare at her, mute with horror, she buries her face against her knees and cries.
48
Chloe
My stomach is a pit of ice and churning acid, my fingers numb and clumsy as I stuff my old clothes into my suitcase. Alina is on my bed, passed out, the drugs and the sleepless night having finally taken their toll.
I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing; I just know I have to leave. Right now. Before Nikolai wakes up. Truth or lies, reality or madness, I stand no chance of sorting it all out while I’m here, under his roof and at his mercy, with that overpowering chemistry simmering between us, dragging me deeper under his lethal spell.
I’m not sure what I’d thought I’d hear from Alina. An admission that they’re mafia, after all? And maybe they are. At this point, nothing would surprise me. From the beginning, my instincts have been warning me about Nikolai, and I should’ve heeded them.
I should’ve listened to that voice inside my head.
You’re not leaving.
Yesterday, his fervently uttered statement seemed romantic, if somewhat autocratic, his possessiveness a turn-on rather than reason for alarm. But now, with Alina’s revelations ringing in my ears and my no-longer-lost keys jabbing my leg through the pocket of my jeans, I can’t help but view his words in a different, infinitely more sinister light.
Was he never going to return the keys to me?
Have I been a de facto prisoner all along?
Frantically, I throw in the last of my clothes and zip the suitcase, then slip on my old sneakers and grab the envelope with the cash from the nightstand, stuffing it into my pocket. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sick from it, or maybe I’m just plain heartsick.
I just… didn’t want you to end up like her.
I still have no idea to whom Alina was referring; after the slicing-open bit, she became incoherent, sobbing until she passed out from exhaustion—and no wonder. It sounds as if she’s witnessed Nikolai murdering their father, and maybe this mysterious “her” as well. An ex-girlfriend of his? Or worse, their mother? Or was the “he killed her” part referring to their father, who’s allegedly also a monster?
I strain my memory to recall any mention of how Nikolai and Alina’s parents died, but there was nothing in the Russian articles I came across. Nikolai did react strongly when I asked about his parents that one time, but I attributed it to grief. But what if there’s more to it? What if there’s guilt and anger, the self-loathing of a man who’s done the unforgivable, committed the most heinous of crimes?
I don’t know if I believe it of Nikolai. I don’t want to believe it. Despite the darkness I’ve sensed in him, despite his savage hunger for me, I felt safe in his embrace last night. His roughness had been tempered with tenderness, his strength carefully leashed. And the way he cared for me afterward, washing me, feeding me, holding me so tenderly …
Is a monster capable of caring?
Can a psychopath fake emotion so well?
Maybe nothing Alina said is true. Maybe it’s a ploy to make me leave, to break up a relationship she’s disapproved of from the beginning. Maybe if I talk to Nikolai, he’ll explain everything, prove to me that Alina is simply ill, out of her mind with all those drugs.
It’s a tempting thought, so tempting that as I’m stepping out of my room, I stop and glance longingly down the hallway, where the door to Nikolai’s bedroom is still firmly shut. I want to trust him so badly, and under different circumstances, I would. If we were a regular couple hooking up in an apartment in a city, I would march down that hallway and demand an explanation, hear his side of the story before deciding what to do. But I can’t take that risk, not when I’m so completely in his power on this remote, highly secure estate.
Nobody knows I’m here.
Nobody will know or care if I disappear for good.
The only reasonable thing to do is to go now, to leave and assess the situation from a distance. Once I’m in a motel somewhere, I can reach out to Nikolai, let him know what happened and why I left. We can talk it out over email or on the phone, and I can do some more online digging, see if I can find out anything about his parents’ deaths.
This doesn’t have to be forever, just for now.
Just until I know the truth.
Still, my heart feels agonizingly heavy as I carry my suitcase down the stairs and to the garage entrance in the back. Not only will I miss Slava, but the mere possibility that I might never see Nikolai again fills me with cold, hollow dread. So does the knowledge that I’m going out there, where my mom’s killers are still hunting me. But I’ve evaded them before, and I have to believe that I’ll be able to do so again—especially with all that cash on hand. When I fled Boston, all I had were a couple of twenties in my wallet, plus the five hundred I withdrew from an ATM before ditching my debit card along with everything else that could be tracked.
It’s going to be fine.
I’ll make it.
I have to believe that.
Swallowing the growing knot in my throat, I approach my car and throw my suitcase into the trunk. Then I press the button to open the garage door and watch it lift silently. No slow, noisy mechanisms here, thank God. As quietly as I can, I start the car and back out of the garage, then steer around the house to the driveway.
It takes everything I have to drive down the mountain calmly, sedately, like I’m in no rush. If the guards are watching the road, I can’t have them getting suspicious. As is, icy sweat trick
les down my back, and my knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as I pull up to the tall metal gate.
What if Nikolai gave them instructions not to let me out?
What if I’m a prisoner here for real?
But the gate slides apart at my approach, and nobody stops me as I drive through. Shaking with relief, I maintain my slow, steady speed for another thirty seconds or so, until I’m out of view, and then I floor the gas, speeding away from the safe haven that just might be the devil’s lair.
From the man I yearn for with every fiber of my heart.
49
Nikolai
I wake up with my body humming with contentment and my mind filled with greater peace than I’ve ever known. Last night was everything I thought it would be, and more. I can still feel her, smell her, taste her on my lips. Smiling, I roll over, patting the sheets for her small, warm body, and when my hand encounters nothing but a bunched-up blanket, I open my eyes and survey the room.
Chloe is not here, which is disappointing but not surprising, given the bright sunlight. She’s probably already had breakfast and is teaching Slava; maybe they’re even out on a hike. Normally, I would’ve heard her get up—I’m a light sleeper—but I was coming off thirty-plus hours with no sleep and the jet lag kicked my ass hard.
My mood darkens a fraction, my adrenaline levels rising as I think of the video that dominated my thoughts on the flight over, keeping me from getting any shut-eye, and of everything else Chloe told me. The idea that someone out there wants to hurt her, kill her, fills me with incandescent rage, one tempered only by the knowledge that they can’t get to her in my compound.
The precautions that keep my family safe from our enemies will keep Chloe safe from hers while I work to figure out who they are.
Eager to get started on that, I get up and fire off an email to Konstantin, detailing everything I learned last night. Then I hop into the shower for a swift rinse, get dressed, and go in search of Chloe.
I start with my son’s room. Nobody’s there, so I go downstairs. The dining room is empty, but I hear voices from the kitchen, and when I walk in, I’m surprised to find Lyudmila feeding breakfast to Slava all by herself.
He smiles at me shyly, and my chest fills with uncharacteristic warmth as I recall how he greeted me last evening. Even as laser-focused as I’d been on getting answers from Chloe, I couldn’t help reacting to that small, sweet voice calling me Daddy.
I didn’t know how badly I’d yearned to hear it until it happened.
Until she made it happen.
“Good morning, Slavochka,” I murmur, going down on my haunches in front of his chair. Switching to Russian, I ask, “Did you have a good night?”
He nods, eyes big and wary, and my ribcage tightens with a familiar squeezing pain. I want to step away, end the conversation so I can be rid of the discomfort, but instead, I lean into it, letting myself feel it as I smile gently at my son.
He’s so much—too much—like me, but maybe with Chloe in his life, he won’t follow in my footsteps.
Maybe he won’t grow up hating me the way I hated my old man.
“Where is Chloe?” I ask, and my smile broadens as his eyes brighten at the mention of her name.
“I don’t know,” he says shyly and glances up at Lyudmila, who’s putting berries into his bowl of cream of wheat.
“I haven’t seen her this morning,” she says. “Maybe she’s still sleeping?”
My smile fades, an unpleasant feeling stirring low in my gut. I haven’t checked in Chloe’s room, but I assumed she left my bed to start her day, not sleep in hers. Rising to my feet, I tell Slava, “I’m going to go find your teacher. You’re eager for your English lessons, right?”
He nods vigorously, and I grin at him. On impulse, I ruffle his hair the way I’ve seen Chloe do it, and ignoring the surprised look on Lyudmila’s face, I go back upstairs.
* * *
The door to Chloe’s room is shut, so I knock and wait a few seconds. When no response comes, I open it and walk in.
The blinds are still closed, blocking most of the daylight, but I can see a small mound on the bed under the covers.
She is sleeping, after all.
A tender smile tugs at my lips as I approach the bed and sit down on the edge. She’s lying turned away from me, the blanket covering her up to her neck, leaving only her hair spread out on the pillow. For some reason, it looks much darker in this light, the golden streaks missing.
Leaning over her, I lift my hand to gently brush the hair off her face—only to jerk my fingers back as my heart launches into a furious gallop.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl at my sister as she rolls over onto her back and blinks open her eyes. “Where is Chloe?”
She blinks a few more times, then slowly sits up. “What?” she says hoarsely, pushing her hair off her face with an unsteady hand. She smells like a drug cocktail, I realize, my fury growing as she asks dazedly, “What are you doing in my room?”
I jackknife to my feet. “Your fucking room?”
She stares up at me. “I don’t…” Her eyes sweep the bedroom, and the confusion on her face slowly morphs into horrified comprehension. “Oh, shit. Chloe.”
My stomach tightens with an awful premonition, and it takes every shred of restraint I possess not to grab and shake her. “Where the fuck is she? What did you do?”
My sister’s spine straightens, her eyes narrowing on my face. “Me? What are you doing in her bedroom?”
“Alina,” I warn through clenched teeth, and whatever she sees on my face convinces her that she can’t fuck with me right now.
“Look, I may have…” She dampens her lips. “I may have told her some things.”
“What things?”
“About you and… and our father.”
Fuck. “What exactly did you tell her?”
“Probably more than I should’ve,” Alina admits, even as her chin lifts defiantly. “But she deserves to know what she’s getting herself into, don’t you think?”
My hands flex at my sides, rage pulsing through every cell in my body. If it were anyone but my sister, they’d already be bleeding out. “So you told her… what? That I killed him? Gutted him like a fucking fish?”
She whitens but doesn’t look away. “I don’t remember, exactly.”
Of course she doesn’t. She was fucking high—still is, probably.
Leaning over the bed, I yank the blanket off her. This is my fault for babying her, letting her wallow in her weakness. “Get up and get dressed,” I bite out as she scrambles back, eyes wide. “We’re going to search this place top to bottom, and when we find her, you’ll tell her that you made it all up. Every last word, understand?”
“Kolya…” There’s a strange note in her voice. “Have you looked in the garage?”
My blood ices over. “What?”
“I found the keys in your bedside drawer,” she says defiantly. “And I gave them back to her. She’s a person, not a thing, and if she wants to leave, you have no right—”
“You fucking idiot,” I whisper, so overcome by rage and terror I can hardly speak. “She’s got assassins after her. If she left here and they get to her…”
And as my sister blanches, I pivot on my heel and sprint to the garage.
* * *
Sure enough, the Toyota is gone, the garage door raised.
Cursing violently, I run back into the house—only to nearly mow down Lyudmila, who’s stepped out of the kitchen to see what the ruckus is about.
“Tell Pavel I need him. Now,” I bark into her startled face and race upstairs to my office.
Grabbing my computer, I pull up the footage from the gate cameras and rewind the recording until I see Chloe’s car pulling up to the gate. The time stamp reads 7:05 a.m.—well over two hours ago.
By now, she could be anywhere.
She could be dead.
The thought is so unbearable, so paralyzing, that I cease breathing for a moment. T
hen logic kicks in.
Unless Chloe’s enemies were camped out right outside my compound, there’s no way they’ve found her so quickly. And with our infrared drones patrolling the area, my guards would’ve known it if they were there.
The most likely scenario is that Chloe is fine, albeit freaked out by Alina’s revelations. I still have time to find her and get her back here, where she’ll be safe.
A fraction calmer, I videocall Konstantin.
“I need you to scan the footage from every camera in a two-hundred-mile radius of my compound for any sighting of Chloe’s car in the last two hours,” I say as soon as my brother’s face fills my screen. “Start with the gas stations—Pavel mentioned the car was low on fuel.”
To Konstantin’s credit, he doesn’t ask any questions. “I’ll get my guys right on it.”
“Call my phone when you have it. I’ll be in the car.”
He nods and disconnects.
I call my guards next. “Get Kirilov and come up to the house,” I order when Arkash picks up. “Full gear. We’re going on a road trip.”
I don’t expect to run into trouble retrieving Chloe, but only an idiot doesn’t prepare for the worst.
“Be there in ten,” Arkash replies.
As I hang up, a knock sounds at my door and Pavel comes in.
“The girl?” he asks tersely, and I nod, already striding toward the wall in the back.
I press my palm to a hidden panel, and a section of the wall slides away, revealing a small room full of weapons and battle gear—the main armory in the house.
“Gear up,” I tell him, stripping off my shirt. “We’re going to get her back.”
I put on a bulletproof vest and button my shirt over it to avoid looking conspicuous. Pavel does the same, and we each strap on several weapons.
If we do run into trouble, we’ll be ready.