Cruel Compassion: A dystopian thriller with a hint of romance (Insurrection Series Book 1)

by A. E. King

  “Spasiba.” I lean in and give Zhenya a kiss on the cheek. She waves me away, and I swallow more goodbyes.

  I breathe a little easier once she’s gone. Now there’s no one here to question my behavior.

  I follow the woman into the storage room, and my heart skips a beat when one of the guards follows me in. He looks fast. Faster than me. I try to think of a way to get him out of the picture.

  “Perform your security check and then go,” I order him. “I need some time alone with the gowns.”

  Both the security guard and the shop attendant look at each other for insight into my strange request.

  “Gospozha,” the girl begins, “I’m happy to help you look at each of the dresses. I know the inventory and can guide you toward the right ones.”

  I place my hand over my eyes and don’t even have to feign emotion. With so many goodbyes weighing on my heart, the tears come as soon as I give them permission. “I’m sorry,” I tell them. “It’s just my mother should be here with me. I could really use just a few minutes of privacy.”

  Our people are never comfortable with the emotions of strangers. But this display is even more awkward considering my position and the expectation for me to be calm and poised at all times. “I’m so embarrassed,” I say to them. “Please don’t look at me. It’s humiliating.”

  “No need for embarrassment, Gospozha. Take as long as you like,” the woman says kindly, and together she and the security guard leave the room, closing the door behind them.

  I remove the robe, pull down my leggings, place the cap on my head, and move to the window.

  I say a little prayer of gratitude as it opens, and I slide myself onto the window sill and drop to the ground.

  “Would you like a tissue?” I hear the girl’s voice through the open window, and I panic. I run as fast as I can, knowing there won’t be ten minutes until they realize I’m gone. Chort. This is bad.

  I imagine the mobilization of the team in my mind, even though I can’t see them. They’re probably on foot, chasing me. They’ve probably called it in. I pray that Angry is not the one to find me.

  I’m nearly to the metro when I see a uniformed officer speaking with an attendant. I duck behind a building and fight the urge to scream. This is my only chance to get away, and I must not fail. My father will suspect the worst, and I don’t know whether he’ll kill me or imprison me. Either way, I’ll never get this close to freedom again. I duck behind a rack of coats in a kiosk, grab a long charcoal rain jacket, and put it on. I toss a pile of rubles to the confused-looking shop owner and grab a dark scarf, wrapping it over my head before heading toward the entrance.

  I keep my head down, knowing they will be scanning the crowds and the cameras. But even pressed body-to-body with thousands of other citizens, I feel exposed. Boarding the next train is essential. It will take precious minutes to buy the pass, and I can’t afford to waste seconds. My heart pounds so fast that every inch of my body thrums with adrenaline and fear.

  “Can I pay you for your pass?” I ask the woman in front of me in a low voice.

  “Go get in line and buy one for yourself.” She answers.

  “Please, Zhenshina.” I pull out a large bill from my bra and press it into her hand. “I’m in a hurry.”

  She looks at the bill and then looks at me in surprise. Her eyes land on my face as recognition dawns on hers. I shake my head. “Please don’t say anything,” I plead.

  “Yes, Gospozha.” She hands me the card and lets me go through before returning to the purchase line. I move as quickly as possible to put space between us.

  When I reach the train, it is already full. I turn to see Stash and Angry run toward the platform. I can’t tell if they’ve spotted me or if they just want to check the train. The recorded announcement warns that the doors are closing. If I let them close me out of this train, I won’t make it to the next.

  I squeeze myself into the car, and three more pedestrians push in behind me as the doors close and we start to move. The train is silent. Everyone keeps their eyes down or toward the windows. I’m grateful for our public silence. This plan would never work in countries where people talk to strangers for no reason.

  What’s happening now? I’m sure they’ve called it in. Dima knows. What must he think of me? Will they try to keep it quiet and find me without making a scene? Or have they launched a full-scale search and called in reinforcements?

  My heart hammers in my chest, and a bead of sweat drips down the center of my back. My hands tremble as I clutch the raincoat tightly. I slump down, not wanting my height to give me away. I move to the center of the crowd and slowly make my way to the back of the metro car.

  As we pull into the next station, I scan the passengers on the platform until I spot a uniformed officer. He’s examining every car, and I count my blessings when he scans mine and continues to move forward. The train doors are already open, and people are pouring in. At the last possible moment, I push my way out and into the throng of people. This time I move slowly, hunched over and with a limp. Every muscle in my body is tense and screaming for me to run, but I force myself to move methodically.

  The escalator is steep and slow. Every second feels like minutes with my senses on high alert. A cough from a man several people in front of me makes me jump. A glance from a woman passing on the descending escalator fuels my panic. And when I see a group of officers, directing people to move to the side so the officials can move past, I turn and position my back toward them while silently pleading for them not to notice me.

  I insert myself into the middle of a clump of level-two citizens as we approach the metro exit. When I step out of the station doors, the bright sun hits my eyes. Police fill the area, stopping everyone that moves toward the street. I hug the walls of the metro until I reach the edge and slink into an alley. Then I run in the opposite direction as fast as I’ve ever pushed myself to run—two blocks and then three. I turn into an alley and duck behind the trash cans, breathing hard and shaking. My lungs burn with exertion, and my heartbeat thrums in my eardrums.

  You’re too close to fail, I tell myself. I reach inside my waistband and pull out the hand-drawn map to Meer Fkoosna.

  I peek around the corner to check the street sign and then start running again. I’m close, only a couple of blocks away. The farther I get from the station, the fewer people I see. That feels promising. This plan has to work. I have to get there.

  I’m nearing Pluxanevskaya street. I turn to the left. I see the faded lettering of Meer Fkoosna, and it gives me another burst of energy. I run faster. Something registers to the side of me.

  I turn just in time to catch the shape of a man charging toward me out of the corner of my eye. A solid mass tackles me, and I cry out in pain as my head smashes into the side of a brick wall.

  Chapter 21

  There is a hand cupped tightly over my mouth. My captor uses all his weight and strength to keep me pinned against the bricks. I fight with every desperate ounce of strength I have.

  “There are officers looking for you throughout the entire city. What were you thinking?” Dima whispers menacingly in my ear.

  My head pounds, and I can’t breathe because of his hand over my mouth. I stop struggling, relieved that it’s him.

  “Stand up,” he says gruffly.

  I stand, a little unsteady from the blow to my head.

  “So you pretended to love me for this?” he growls at me. “You’re even better than your father.”

  “Come with me.” I motion to the grocery store desperately. “We can go together” My hands tremble.

  “You’re not going in there.” He grabs my arm, dragging me toward the crowds.

  “I have to. Dima, let me go,” I beg, drawing the last drops of my courage together.

  “It’s a death sentence for you and countless others. I could strangle the idiot who sent you that note. It would seem their leader is both lazy and reckless” He nods toward the shop.

  “Get rid of t
hese.” He pulls off the coat and scarf, shoving them into a rubbish bin. He drags me away, and I glimpse a face disappearing from the shop window. But just before we round the corner, the shopkeeper places something emerald in the window. Dima prevents me from getting a good look by pulling me toward a busier intersection.

  “Hurry. We can’t be found here.” We rush through the intersection. I feel like someone is stabbing me between my ribs, and I stop to catch my breath. “Keep moving.” Dima pulls my arm, and we jog a few more streets.

  Finally, he stops. “They know you jumped out of the window. They found the woman you asked for a metro pass. There can be no doubt you were on the run. The best hope you have is to make it look like an innocent run.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask.

  He glares at me and searches the area, looking for anything that might provide a good alibi.

  “You’re what I would run to,” I tell him.

  I reach out and stroke his cheek to soothe away the pain. He looks disgusted to be in my presence.

  “Dima, please. Kiss me like my life depends on it. Because when my father finds out about this, I fear it will.”

  The pain on his face echoes through my heart. But he lifts me up and presses me into the wall. I wrap my legs and arms tightly around him and kiss him with all the terror and disappointment I can manage to present as passion. The kiss is a shell of the one we shared this morning. It’s angry and empty. He holds me with one hand under my bottom and moves his other hand to my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I see people stopping, pulling out their portables, and recording this rare sighting of Yulia and Dimitri. It won’t be long now. Everyone will know where we are.

  My lips feel raw and bruised when I hear the commotion of boots running against the pavement. Men call for their comrades as the police and guards close the gap between us. It takes everything I have not to scream.

  I’m trembling, but Dimitri does not slow. We’re just two lovers too engulfed in each other to notice anything around us. Someone pulls on Dimitri’s shoulder.

  “What?” he yells at the would-be disrupter of love.

  “Half the city is looking for her, and you kidnap her to proizvodit' potomstvo” The phrase so vulgar that even in my panic it makes me blush. Dimitri, with a hard and ferocious glare, gets within an inch of the guard’s face.

  “Me kidnapping? I think you mean your security failure.” His words are laced with threats, and the guard turns a shade of deeper red. “The best way to test the strength of a system is from within.” He points at me with my sweaty, messy hair and breath that’s coming out much too hard. “You should be grateful she’s fine.” I’m grateful my head isn’t bleeding even though it throbs violently.

  No one speaks. Failure and fear freeze us all. The guards are scarcely breathing.

  “I’m sorry.” I try to find my voice, but it comes out so weak and shaky that no one hears me.

  What will be the punishment if my father believes these guards failed a security task of this magnitude?

  The angry guard says through gritted teeth, “We misunderstood the assignment. We thought the task was to work with our leaders, not work against them.”

  It’s brave and reckless. I worry for this man who went to work to protect his country and ended up in the crosshairs of my nightmare.

  “I’m sorry,” I shout at them, needing them to know. A few look at me. Most avoid eye contact altogether. But the angry guard glares at me.

  “Go back to your posts, if you hope to keep them,” Dima shouts. The angry guard turns and storms away. The others follow, eager to put distance between themselves and Dimitri, I imagine.

  I release a sob, and Dimitri grabs my arms. “Don’t even think of crying,” he whispers roughly. “If you’re stupid enough to run, you will be brave enough to deal with the consequences. They’re still watching.”

  He pulls me back and kisses my cheek. He pretends to run his fingers through my hair, but in reality he is checking the bump on my head.

  “You may have a concussion,” he whispers, fighting to keep his calm. “Chort! I don’t know which one of us is the bigger fool.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” I choke out, angry at myself that my fear is so apparent. My frame quakes, and as much as I want to, I can’t stop it.

  He holds me closer, trying to steady me. “First I’ll find a way to get you some ice. Then I’m going to try to keep you alive and ensure that you have no chance to tell my secrets.” Every muscle in his body is tense. The scowl is back and set deep in his brow. Only this time, I’m the one that put it there.

  “I’m sorry, Dima.” I try to apologize, but he doesn’t let me.

  “I offered you my help. Instead of asking, you played with my heart and then struck me below the belt. I don’t forgive betrayal with a thoughtless apology.”

  “Dima, please, just listen,” I beg

  “Call me Dimitri,” he growls in my ear.

  Chapter 22: Saint Petersburg, Новая Россия

  Dimitri called Zhenya and told her to buy “whichever damn dress she wanted.” Then he ordered a private jet to fly the two of us back to St. Petersburg. It wasn’t until I threw up the first time during takeoff that he asked the attendant to bring me some ice and medicine for my “migraine headache.” His silence is loud. It’s full of accusations and rings of my failure. The only words of comfort he offers are for the Peredacha. Even after I betrayed him, he still covers for me.

  It’s after dark when our car pulls up to Petergof. My head pounds, and my stomach churns with nerves.

  Dimitri is grim. I reach for his hand, and he ignores me.

  A servant opens the car door, and Dimitri offers his hand to help me out. He winces when our hands meet as though I disgust him.

  We walk wordlessly through the empty halls toward my father’s office. Is he distancing himself because he doesn’t want to be tarnished by my fall from grace, or because he truly despises me?

  My father’s personal security guard opens the door as soon as we approach. Dimitri deposits me on the sofa before taking the chair. His face, the emotionless mask I used to hate, is now something I wish I could emulate. The guard closes the doors, standing with his hand on his weapon.

  I expected rage from my father. Instead, he’s calm. “Well, children. I gave you a rope, and it looks like you’ve gone and hung yourselves with it.” The hairs on my arm lift as he speaks.

  “Jumping out of windows, metro escapes, lovers in the park, and then this . . .” He gestures to us, sitting on opposite seats, barely looking at each other. “That doesn’t line up, does it?” He stands and walks around his desk, casually leaning on the edge.

  “How do we go from reckless passion back to this cold indifference? Where were you going, Yulia?” My father’s voice is calm. Like he’s asking me a typical question on a typical day. But I can feel his excitement building. He’s enjoying this.

  “I went to meet Dimitri,” I lie.

  “Tsk tsk.” He shakes his head. “Dimitri, why don’t you show her what loyalty looks like?” My father turns to him.

  “I told you it was too soon to send her out. She would have been easier to babysit in the hotel. But I complied, and she ran. People do stupid things in grief. You destroy, I kill, and apparently she runs.” He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, telling me to follow his lead. It’s the first communication he has given me all evening. “I recovered her before the police and provided her an alibi so that you could have more options for your response.” He doesn’t look at me.

  “See, Yulia? It’s not so hard to tell the truth. Let’s try again. Where were you running to?” My father moves toward me like a hunter approaching his prey.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly,” I lie again.

  He lifts my chin so I’m looking him directly in the eyes. “LIAR!” he screams at me. “If you were smart enough to coordinate that escape, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it without a plan.
” He strikes me across the face with the back of his hand, and I clasp my hands over my cheek. The sting sinks much deeper than the surface.

  “Where were you running?” A little drop of spit hits my eye.

  I wipe it off and touch the tender area on my cheek to assess the damage. I look at Dimitri. He offers me nothing. The white skin across his clenched fists is the only indicator he’s bothered by this scene.

  I gather all of my courage, look my father in the eye, smile at him, and disguise my lie under a layer of truth. “The Organizatsaya threatened my life and then told me that my Papa, who I thought would protect me, killed my mother. Of course, I ran. Anyone with any sense of self-preservation would have. So does it matter which embassy I had my eye on? You caught me.”

  My father takes a few steps back and sits on the edge of his desk.

  “Do I get a kiss before you dance in my blood? Or is that reserved only for those you truly love?”

  “She forced my hand. I didn’t have a choice.” He’s quieter than I’d imagined.

  It’s fuel to my fire. The heat of my rage rises until it surrounds me like smoke billowing from an inferno. Dimitri shakes his head, warning me to use caution.

  “I’ve seen that look before, Yulia. And I’ll warn you to keep it in check.”

  “Or what?” I shoot back. “You’ll kill me? That would be a gift.” I emphasize each word. “Then I can join them. Do you believe in heaven, Papa? Because I do, and it is the one place I’m sure to never see you again.” I can feel the heat rising up my neck as I push him farther and farther. I hope he will snap. I hope he will lose control. If I’ll never be free, then surely I at least deserve a clean end.

  “Don’t think I enjoyed doing it. She was plotting my assassination. It was me or her. I chose me. And I’d do it again.”

  “Save your excuses!” I shout at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He has gone somewhere far away.