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

by A. E. King

  He pats my shoulder. “You don’t have a choice. It’s already done. As soon as Dimitri is released, he’ll take care of our retaliation. Then you can put him in his place, wherever you decide that is.

  “I’m heading to a press conference. Too many people know what happened tonight, and if I don’t make a statement, the people will start telling stories. That’s always dangerous.”

  “You’ll be a comfort to me as my body kills me one cell at a time.” He reaches out to caress my cheek, and I freeze under his touch. He is a cancer in this world, spreading evil inch by inch before he leaves me a world so infected it’s on the brink of destruction. I fear no amount of treatment could put our problems into remission. This government must be left to die, and the Organziatsaya needs to be euthanized in its prime.

  Chapter 40

  Silence creates so much space for assumption. Dima came out of the anesthesia with a grimace on his face. I assumed it was from pain, but the expression never left.

  Unrecorded, I imagine he would say, “You screwed everything up last night. Why didn’t you leave?”

  I would say, “You wouldn’t have left me alone with a gun pointed to my head. Oh, and by the by, my father no longer needs you and our world is falling apart. The government is about to implode. The madman is dying. And I don’t think I can save us.”

  Instead, I say things like. “Would you like help buttoning your shirt?”

  And he responds with, “No,” before we fall back into silence.

  The weight of unspoken conversations is so heavy I feel suffocated by what I cannot tell him.

  After the doctor discharges Dima, patients line the halls to chant, “Strength and compassion.” I wonder whether it’s compulsory. If they knew the extent of our negligence, they would scream for our removal. I smile and wave at them. It feels as though each face I pass climbs on my back. The weight of my responsibility toward them feels so heavy it might crush me.

  “I don’t feel up to talking.” Dima pulls an old baseball cap out of his bag and places it on his head to avoid the photographers. I’m taken aback to see the always professional and polished Dimitri wearing a dingy old cap. He puts on a pair of sunglasses and then leads the way through the automatic doors. We’re bombarded with questions, but Dimitri walks straight to the car.

  “We’re so grateful to the hospital staff. They have done an amazing job.” I say in his behalf.

  Dima winces as he tries to secure his seatbelt. I take it from him and click it into place. He doesn’t thank me. “Your father is still in town and wants to meet,” he tells me.

  “I’m sorry, Dima,” I say.

  He shakes his head, and more words are swallowed up in the silence.

  The hotel is swarming with guards. My father is not taking risks. It feels like a lifetime ago that we left this room. Dimitri looks exhausted from the car ride here. I haven’t slept well since who-knows-when. And seeing my father sitting on our couch is the last thing I want.

  “You look sloppy,” my father says to Dimitri.

  “Papa, he just had surgery. He needs to rest,” I admonish.

  “We can’t afford to look sloppy at a time like this. We have to act swiftly and decisively. I told the media you’d been shot during a hunting accident with friends. We burned all of the soldiers’ bodies, so there is no evidence of anything else happening on that island.”

  Those bodies weren’t his to burn. They belonged to families that deserve to mourn their loved ones. Dima presses his good hand into a fist. His knuckles turn white in silent protest.

  “Kostya Dragovich knows you survived, Dimitri. We need to strike now before he makes an even bolder attempt. He is a danger to our stability, and he needs to be eliminated. Tell me my options.”

  Dimitri closes his eyes, thinking, and I want to cry for him. The years he spent trying to save and take lives must have been torture. You can’t balance humanity on a scale and weigh which lives will stay and which will go without it destroying yourself.

  Dima says, “Kostya did this to send a message. He could have killed us, but instead, he showed you how close he could get. He means to bring you into a state of fear and submission.” Dimitri has the confidence of a skilled liar. Kostya is probably high in some filthy location laughing about Dimitri getting himself shot.

  “It’s time to use our man on the inside,” Dima says, and my father nods.

  “Kostya’s older brother will announce that he intends to renounce his claim of leadership. The whole clan will turn up for the meeting, even the old man. We’ll blow up the building. No one leaves alive.”

  “Will he do it?” my father asks.

  “He will if he gets to push the button,” Dimitri answers.

  “Tell Georgi Grigorovich he will be rewarded with any position inside of the Council he chooses for his efforts and loyalty. Plus he’ll get the family money. He’ll be one of the most wealthy men in the country. I’ll charter my return flight. I need to be far away when this happens.”

  “I’ll call Gosha.” Dimitri nods.

  Gosha is the heir to the Dragovich family? And we are going to ask him to murder his entire klan. I think of his face last night as he mowed down strangers he’d never met, and my heart aches for him.

  My father stands. “I’m pleased with your plan, Dimitri.” He smooths out the wrinkles from his jacket. “But don’t think I have overlooked your failure. The Dragovich family now has a weapon that will make them powerful enough to take out any other family. Or me.”

  Dimitri stands straight-backed, not allowing himself so much as a flinch of pain. “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re probably wondering about your punishment.” My father’s face is unreadable. Dimitri says nothing and continues to stare past my father to the far wall.

  My father turns to me. I glance at Dima, trying to pick up on any cues. He seems scared for the first time. I look back to my father, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to do.

  “Bring me Kostya’s body whole and intact. I can’t have his body coming back in bits and pieces like Sasha’s.”

  “What are you talking about?” I don’t understand.

  He smiles at me. “You see, when Dimitri killed your brother, all I got back was some sausage. He ran Sasha’s body through a meat grinder. Seemed a bit overkill. I had to have it tested for DNA.”

  Dimitri killed Sasha? Then desecrated his body? I grasp the couch cushion, trying to anchor myself to something real. Because this could not be true. I’m too frightened to even look at Dimitri. I don’t want to see him confirm this nightmare.

  “Yulia.” Dimitri’s ghostly tone barely registers as I try to deny this devastating impossibility. He couldn’t have done it. He loved Sasha. They were like brothers.

  “Yulia,” Dimitri says again, begging me to look at him. Why doesn’t he deny it? We should form a united front that my father’s lies cannot penetrate.

  Yet all Dima does is call to me.

  I have my answer, and I merely have to look up to confirm it. Slowly, I lift my eyes to Dima’s face.

  His expression crumples instantly.

  Dimitri killed Sasha. My Sasha. My father stole my mother from me. Then together they stole my brother.

  My arms are around Dimitri’s throat, throttling every ounce of air out of him with a strength that comes only to those who are genuinely out of their minds with rage.

  “Guards!” my father yells, and the room fills with uniformed men. “Stop Yulia from killing her fiancé.”

  The men surround me and pull me off of Dimitri. He coughs, sputters, and gasps for breath.

  My screams of profanity and sobs fill the room. The guards stare. My father watches with pleasure.

  When Dima catches his breath enough to speak, I’m satisfied to hear his raspy, pain-filled whisper as he tries to get the words out. “Yulia, please don’t. . .”

  My father interrupts. “Your brother was a traitor. I ordered Dimitri to kill him. But instead of just a bullet to the head,
he did it with style.”

  I collapse against the weight of his words, horrified. The guards hold me up, supporting me as I lose my footing.

  “Yulia, I didn’t want to,” Dima pleads as he inches closer to me.

  I collapse and my captors lower me to the floor, releasing their grip. I seize the opportunity and charge Dima. I punch him hard in the jaw before they can stop me.

  “I hate you,” I shout at him. “You deserve each other. You’re just as bad as . . .”

  “Silence her,” my father shouts over my rage, and a hand cups tightly over my mouth. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret, darling.”

  Dimitri collapses on the couch, and I revel in his pain. He should suffer. I want them both to suffer.

  My father grabs a fist full of Dimitri’s hair, yanking his head up. “Consider yourself punished. Don’t fail me twice. Bring me Kostya’s body.”

  He commands the guards. “Take Yulia to her room. Dimitri needs to focus, without interruptions from a hysterical woman.” My father peers at me. Then he says, “Harness the emotions, darling. You rarely get to kill the ones you want when you want. He’s still useful.” He turns to leave. I’m glad he’s dying, but he deserves far more suffering than cancer will cause. So does Dimitri.

  I don’t resist as the guards shove me into the bedroom. I collapse to the ground, shaking with a betrayal so deep it feels like I will die from the pain.

  Chapter 41

  When my brother died, my psychologist spoke to me about the stages of grief until I could recite them in my sleep. This is different. I’ve grieved Sasha’s death already. Now I have an insatiable need for revenge. I need to cleanse this world of the murdering, lying, vile men in my life.

  I wouldn’t call it a plan so much as a calling. Kill Dimitri. Kill my father. I don’t even care what happens to me once it’s over. Will there be a trial? Will I be shot in Red Square? None of it matters. Maybe the people will celebrate. I will certainly celebrate.

  I lie on the bed curled in a ball, holding myself and my murderous plans together. I hear the door handle turn, but all I can think about is getting my hands back around Dimitri’s throat.

  Zhenya enters, her eyes creased in worry.

  She sits down next to me on the bed and rubs my hair. “Your poor mother never wanted this life for you. She tried so hard to keep you out of your father’s notice.”

  “Do you know how Sasha died?” I ask, hoping the information won’t crush her like it is crushing me.

  “Yes,” is all she answers. She does not try to console or comfort. She simply squeezes my hand.

  “Yulia.” Zhenya presses her lips together and narrows her eyes as she searches for the right words. Safe words that won’t reveal how much she knows. “Your life is complicated. But your story is just beginning. Don’t give up now.”

  She must look at me curled up on the bed and still see the girl who can’t handle this world. She doesn’t understand that I’m conserving my strength and harnessing my pain. Because I’m no longer that girl. I’m the woman who will blow up their entire universe.

  “Dimitri is leaving soon,” Zhenya says. “He says you can come or stay. He won’t force you.”

  “I’m going,” I answer without hesitation.

  “Sasha was being tortured,” Zhenya tells me. “It was a fate worse than death. What Dima did was merciful.”

  “Don’t you dare talk about my brother’s murder and mercy in the same sentence,” I warn. I think she is beginning to see the depth of my wrath. But she doesn’t apologize.

  “Haven’t you seen enough to understand the position Dimitri was in? Haven’t you done enough?” she challenges.

  An image of my elderly uncle swims into my mind, his eyes heavy as I forced the medicine down his throat that drained the life out of him. Telling myself all the while that it was mercy. That I didn’t have a choice. That it was him or the entire movement. I shake the image out of my head.

  “You can go,” I growl at her. “I can pack myself.

  “Yulia . . .” she tries again.

  “Go, Zhenya. I can see whose side you’re on.” I roll out of bed and walk toward the closet, throwing all of my clothing into the suitcase.

  “Clearly you can’t,” she scolds me. “All you can see is your own pain.” She follows me to the closet and starts folding the clothes I threw into the suitcase. Her refusal to leave me cracks the hardness around my heart, and I begin to cry.

  Zhenya wraps her arms around me, her head barely reaching my chest. She rubs my back as my eyes swell and moisture spills down my cheeks.

  Zhenya and I sit in the backseat of the car. Dimitri chose the passenger seat. I’m pleased to see him wearing a turtleneck in the summer heat to cover the bruises I left on his neck. He’s wearing that stupid baseball cap and sunglasses again.

  “You called the press?” I shout at him when we pull into the airport and I see cameras.

  He doesn’t answer. The car pulls alongside the plane, and a security guard opens my door. The guard helps me out and then hovers closely. I’m not sure if he’s protecting me or if he’s protecting Dimitri from me.

  Dimitri walks straight to the plane and heads up the steps. Not waving or acknowledging the press.

  I stop at the base of the steps and turn to face the press. I’m disgusted with the role they play in keeping our nation prisoner to evil. They’re my father’s storytellers. They never dare to dig into the caverns of truth and shine a light on the darkness. They could share our stories with the world. Instead, they cover up. They spin. They spread lies. They make me sick.

  I glare at them, and their questions and requests for poses stop. A cameraman shifts in uncomfortable silence. I say, “You want my smiles? For what? To cover up the chaos you refuse to report? Well, I’m out of smiles. You have the power to do so much good.” The security guard grabs my arm and pushes me toward the stairs, but he’s not fast enough. “Take a stand for once. Show some courage for once.” The guard practically shoves me into the plane.

  Dimitri sits toward the front. He looks up at me, his dark eyes pleading for forgiveness. I walk past without a second glance and make my way to the back of the plane as far from him as possible. And I spend the next two hours holding tightly to my fight reflex. I can’t afford to slip into sadness. I have to take action. I won’t make Dimitri’s mistake and spend years trying to find the right opportunity. I will strike fast, hard, and against those I should love most.

  Chapter 42

  “I called for the meeting.” Gosha’s voice drifts through the thin walls.

  I stare at the faded purple flowers on the dingy walls in the bedroom of the flat Dimitri brought us to. The flat is dark and depressing, but the flowers prove it once had a promise of happiness. It feels fitting.

  I can hardly stomach being in the same room with Dimitri, but I refuse to be kept in the dark again. “Call Dimitri,” I command the Peredacha.

  “Patch me into the meeting,” I say when his hologram appears. Anger seeps through my careful control. His translucent form nods, and Gosha’s ghostly form joins Dimitri’s in front of me.

  Gosha is not happy to see me. “She’s reckless, rash, and emotional. I don’t want her in this conversation.”

  “What you call ‘reckless’ I call ‘uninformed.’ Maybe if Dimitri didn’t keep hiding the truth from me, I wouldn’t have so much blood on my conscience.” I clamp down around my tender feelings, trying to make them hard. I need them to be hard.

  “Your conscience?” Gosha scoffs at me. “I don’t remember you pulling the trigger.”

  “Yulia has a right to listen,” Dimitri says quietly. “How did they respond?”

  “They’re panicking. My portable hasn’t stopped ringing. Everyone is begging me to reconsider. But everyone that matters is coming.”

  “Good.” Dimitri nods. “And Kostya?”

  “He’s foaming at the mouth. I told him I have a list of demands, and I need to meet with him personally before makin
g my final announcement. I’ll deal with him first before the others.”

  Deal, not kill. Gosha tiptoes his way around the reality of this massacre.

  “Does he suspect anything?” Dimitri asks.

  Gosha snorts. “Konechno, but no more than normal.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Dimitri looks at his friend with concern and compassion. “It’s your whole family.”

  Rage flares in me. Dimitri is concerned about Gosha having to kill his family but didn’t think twice about killing mine.

  Gosha’s jaw is set in a tight line. “It’s not my whole family,” he snips. “This has always been the plan.”

  He doesn’t say he wants to do it.

  “If you take care of your brother, I’ll take care of the rest,” Dimitri offers. Gosha looks mildly relieved. Why would taking more lives matter to Dimitri? They’re just extra notches on his bloody belt.

  “Timing is critical. We can’t have anyone stumble across Kostya’s body ahead of schedule.”

  “How will you do it?” I ask, trying to glean as much knowledge as possible.

  Dimitri looks down, avoiding my gaze. “Short-range missiles. The blast zone won’t reach outside of the complex.” He offers Gosha a silent apology.

  Gosha’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

  “Gosha, are you okay with that?” I ask.

  Gosha appraises me, trying to decipher my angle.

  “Families might be messy, but they’re still family,” I tell him as I push my own impending murders to the back of my mind. Trying not to imagine how I will feel when it’s time to take out Dimitri and my father.

  “It will be quick and painless.” He swallows. “My father has short-range missiles to protect our base if we’re attacked. We can reprogram them to fire on the assembly hall. Whether I push the botton or not, I’ll be the obvious suspect.”