by Loki Renard
When we return to the compound, I am expecting fresh attitude from Sophie. I don’t get it. When I open her bedroom door, she runs to me, flings her arms around me, and holds me so tight I can barely breathe.
“I thought you were dead. I heard what happened. I heard men died.”
“Not dead,” I say, not sure how to respond to this sudden, uncharacteristic outpouring of female affection. When she looks up at me, her eyes are rimmed red with tears, and all of a sudden it hits me, a massive fist driving the air from me all over again: she loves me. Truly loves me.
I didn’t consider that a possibility. There has been so much angst, anguish, even hate between us. I have taken up her cause, become her champion, but never considered that I might win her heart.
“Don’t do that again,” she says, her voice taking on that tone I have whipped her for in the past, but I will not now. We both know I will do it again.
“I need to bathe,” I say. “Come with me.”
She does as I ask, and perches on the edge of the tub while I soak away the ache of defeat. I am morose and say little, but Sophie soon says more than enough for the both of us.
“I told you.”
Those three words are about the last words I want to hear out of Sophie’s mouth, but she says them anyway.
“You can’t catch the Vristok. You can’t even find them,” she says. “They find you. They knew you were coming.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Clearly, it is.”
I fall silent again, trying to think. I either have a mole in my handpicked team, or I was fed some bad information. My team is the most obvious point of weakness, but the information was what sent us right into a trap. I need to examine my sources again. I can’t trust anyone or anything. And now I’m starting to see why Sophie likes to hide away. When you can’t believe anything you’re told, or be sure of what you think you know, you have to control your environment.
She runs her fingers through the bath water and gives me what might be a sympathetic look. “My father tried. My father’s father tried. There’s no way to beat them. They’re always two steps ahead.”
“How is that possible? Look at all your wealth. You have more power than billions of people.”
“There’s always someone more powerful,” she says ruefully. “And the more wealth you get, the more power you seem to have, the harder other people try to control you. The Vristok aren’t my only enemies. They’re just the most dangerous ones. You can fight them, but others will take their place. You can spend the rest of your life fighting for me, Vadim, but it’s a waste of time, and it will only get people killed.”
I say nothing, because I have no argument. I am considering that she might be right, but there is no way I am going to stop. I had my life in Russia stolen from me, only to be given a new one here in America. It is worth fighting for. Sophie is worth fighting for, and the fact that she doesn’t know that only makes me more determined.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” she says softly, shifting uncomfortably. Those welts from my belt won’t make it easy for her to sit down for a while. She is feeling the pain of rebellion. I am feeling the pain of defeat.
* * *
Sophie
I get a towel to dry him off with when he emerges from the bath. He looks beaten in so many ways. I wish he had listened to me in the first place when I tased him, but there are some men who can never be told anything, and Vadim is one of them.
I pat gently over his battered body and then wrap the towel around him. We both go into the bedroom and sit down on the bed, where he gestures to me with a crook of his finger and I sidle closer until he pulls me into his lap, taking care not to put too much weight on my very sore bottom. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. I know he’s trying to be my hero, but some villains are too old and too dangerous to beat. Telling him that will only serve to ignite his Russian pride. It’s going to take some time for Vadim to accept that we live by the Vristok’s leave. I think more people will die before that happens. I can already tell he’s planning another assault inside his head.
“I don’t want you to die,” I say softly. “Please, don’t go after them. For me.”
“I am going after them for you,” he says. I squeeze my eyes closed to try to stop the tears I’ve been fighting all day from coming. Vadim is like no man I’ve ever known. I don’t think they make men like him anymore. They definitely don’t make them here.
“Your life is too precious,” I say, my fingers curling in his shirt, desperately clinging to him. I had a lot of sore time alone today to think about how I feel about him. At first, I was very sure I hated him. And then I was sure I loved him. Then I thought I was going mad. Then I considered the idea that I might have been driven mad a very long time ago, and maybe I am just now finally becoming sane.
The anguish I felt when I heard them report casualties over the radio caught me off guard. I had been eavesdropping on the men who were keeping me confined, and when they said that two were dead, I just knew one of them would be Vadim. I was wrong, but in the hours it took for him to return, I mourned him. I felt the grief at his loss eat into the core of me and find the great void of misery that exists inside. I am not a woman. I am a thin barrier of flesh constructed around an almost endless sea of misery. When I thought he was gone, I felt that flesh start to crumble inward, as if I was going to fall into the darkness inside and maybe never emerge again.
I knew Vadim had gotten under my skin. I had no idea he’d gotten into my soul. I press my face to his chest and I breathe him in. He is still a stranger to me in so many ways. His past is as much a mystery to me as mine is to him, but there is something that connects us. I don’t believe in fate, but I feel very strongly that we were made for each other. I was drawn to him, even before I saw him. The idea to go and get a man who was being sold, it was madness. I wonder if there is some wiser part of me, or some angel who put the notion into my head.
He holds me close, letting me cling to him without any sign of irritation. I have often thought that I am nothing but an annoyance to him. No, worse than an annoyance. I am the bad guy. No, the bad girl. If this were a fairytale, I’d be the evil witch who drew him to her castle, but he lowers his lips to my head and presses a gentle kiss there, and I am transformed from the witch to the princess who can be saved.
“Please don’t leave me again,” I whimper against his chest.
“I’m going to fight for you,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion. “But I’m going to survive. Don’t worry about me, little one. I have lived through more than you can imagine. These Vristok won the first battle, but wars are not won that easily.”
I let out a sob. He doesn’t understand. They’re toying with him. With me. They’re going to kill him by slow degrees. They’re going to make me relive his death a dozen times before they actually take him.
“You’re making it worse,” I snivel. “Please. Please, just stop.”
He makes a soothing sound and pulls me tighter against his chest, cuddling me and quieting me, but he makes no promise to stop, and that means my tears keep flowing until finally I am so dry I can barely speak in anything other than a rasp. I’m still begging him not to fight anymore when he carries me to bed, and I fall asleep with the words, please, no, on my lips.
Chapter Eight
Vadim
“Message for you, sir.”
I am up early, thanks to a knock at the door that mercifully didn’t wake Sophie. I get up, pad to the door, and crack it open.
Mr. Smarty hands me a small piece of paper folded once. When I unfold it, it has nothing but a time on it. 14:00. Two o’clock.
“What is this? Where did you get this?”
“Drone dropped it into the compound,” he says. “Just flew right over and let it fall.”
I scowl at the note. Is it a threat? I feel as though it is. But it is more than a threat, if that is what it is. It is communication. The Vristok have finally emerged from the sh
adows. And that means I have an opportunity to do something. Maybe.
“Keep an eye out in the sky. Any further drones get shot down. Got it?”
“We shot that one down, sir. I’m thinking they have more than one though.”
“Keep an eye out.”
“Yes, sir.” He smiles at me, and there is something unsettling about it, though I can’t say why. There is something unsettling about this note too, and again, I cannot name the reason for my concern. It is a stirring in my gut, a deep, dark feeling as though something I cannot name is closing in.
I look back at Sophie, fast asleep in bed. Whatever is coming, I won’t let it find her alone. She’s coming with me.
She barely stirs as I lift her out of bed. The poor little thing is utterly exhausted by all she has been through. Her tears yesterday, her obvious distress at the prospect of being alone again, abandoned to a world that she should control, but still threatens to swallow her whole, touched me deeply. She has become attached to me. I mean something to her. I never thought I’d mean anything to anyone.
Sophie cuddles into my arms as I carry her out of her bedroom, and toward the dining room and kitchen. This is going to be another long day, I can feel it. I’m going to need breakfast.
* * *
Sophie
I wake with a hell of a headache, and the disconcerting discovery that I am no longer in my bedroom. I am laid down on a couch in the kitchen. I don’t know where Chef is, but the counter is covered in enough breakfast foods to feed a small army. I guess, thanks to Vadim, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
“I thought I should keep you with me,” he says. “You seemed fragile last night.”
This man has no tact, but I like it. I always know what he is thinking. He doesn’t lie to me. He doesn’t tell me that he won’t do something and then do it anyway. He tells me he’s going to do it, and then he does.
“I’m okay,” I say, sitting up. “As long as you’re here.”
“I may need to go out today,” he says, nearly setting off a fresh round of tears. He hands me a glass of water to replenish my reserves and I drink it before I start crying again.
“Why?”
“Because I could have new information.”
“Or it could be another trap. It probably is. They will toy with you until they kill you, Vadim. Surviving doesn’t mean you get to live. It just means you die another day.”
“That is true of everybody, every day.”
He looks at me, his expression so simple, I find a little hysterical laugh rising inside me. This isn’t funny. Nothing is anymore. But maybe it doesn’t matter.
“Okay. Then I am coming with you.”
“N—” he begins to refuse, then cocks his head to the side. “That could be useful. Go get dressed.”
I guess I’m going out with him then. I have never in my life tried to face the Vristok head on. The idea of doing it makes me almost paralyzed with fright, but at the same time, I do not want to sit here in my fortress yet again and let him go out and not know what is happening to him, or if he is safe. I might be able to save him, if only by merit of being too close to him for them to kill him easily.
“I will get ready,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure I have some things in camouflage. I found a pretty cute skirt.” I’ve always taken refuge from fear in fashion. If I’m well dressed, it’s like having a suit of armor. A cute skirt won’t stop a bullet, but it makes me feel stronger.
“Wait,” he says. “Have breakfast. Pancakes. Eggs. Bacon.”
“All of them?”
“Enough,” he says. “You don’t eat. That is why you are so nervous. Get some food in your stomach. Now.”
Does he have to say everything so aggressively? Yes. Probably. It’s in his blood. Even over pancakes, I can see the rage in his eyes. He has not forgotten yesterday’s losses. The Vristok have just given him two more reasons to hunt them down.
I nibble at a little food. I’m not hungry, but it’s not worth disobeying him. I can’t believe he’s letting me go with him. I want to prove myself to him. Whatever happens today, I’m going to be right by his side. It is me and him now, against the world. Whatever comes our way, I know we will be ready.
* * *
Vadim
I told Sophie we might be going out. But it is equally possible that we will be staying in. Whatever happens at two o’clock, I want to be ready for it. It could be a full military assault. The sky could turn black with bullets, blood could run in rivers down the polished concrete floors of this stronghold. Or it could be nothing more than a taunt, or worse, a distraction.
Over the next few hours, Sophie keeps asking me when we are going out. I keep sending her back to her room to change. She has endless clothing to choose from, and it seems to occupy her as time slowly ticks away. Two o’clock. It is such a banal time. How can anything of any real importance happen at two? Twelve. That is the time of day things happen. Midnight or high noon. Maybe I have watched too many cowboy movies, or maybe the madness that infests this stronghold of a house is beginning to infect me too.
I watch the clock, the final minutes passing slowly.
1.58 p.m.
1.59 p.m.
2.00 p.m.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Any activity on the perimeter?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
I put the coms device down. It was a red herring. A ploy in the game. It meant nothing. I don’t know whether to be relieved or angry at myself for playing into it. I have spent the better part of this day waiting for something to happen instead of making something happen.
“Sir?” One of the men appears in my doorway.
“Da?”
“There’s a call for you. On the computer.”
“For me?”
“Yes. You. They mentioned you by name.”
So it is someone who knows me. Interesting. I suppose it could be unrelated to this Vristok business, but I think it must be. I am suspicious, but I want contact. I want to hear a voice, maybe see a face. I want to know once and for all who is truly behind this vendetta.
I go to the office that once belonged to Sophie’s father. There is a computer there, I have used it to do some research. It is old, but it still works.
The call is already active when I sit down. It is not just audio. There is video. I look into a face that is far too familiar, and I feel my brain shut down. For the better part of a minute, I cannot think, let alone speak.
“Vadim, my boy.”
“Ivan?” I never expected to see this man’s face again. The last time I saw him, he was banishing me from the brotherhood and sending me into exile. This is the man who broke the last parts of me, who destroyed me and left me with nothing. I should hate him, but he was also the man who took an orphan boy and made him strong. For that, I will always be grateful.
I stare at him, my mind fighting that blankness. I am paralyzed as guilt and shame and the old fear, that which belongs to a young boy, suffuses my system and makes it impossible to use my mind.
“Ivan...”
“Hello, Vadim. How are you?”
It is too casual a question for an exile. It is far too casual a question for the man who rules other men with a fist of iron that is never clean of blood.
“I...” My voice fails me. I worshipped this man, once. I thought every word that came from his lips was like the word of god. It was he who told me I was too worthless and tainted to be allowed to stay on Russian soil. He sent me to die in a pit where men are maimed and then eventually killed. At one time, Ivan was everything that was good. Then he became everything that was evil.
“Have you kept the faith, Vadim?”
Another question I cannot answer. I cannot feel my fingers. Or my lips. Or my soul. I have gone numb to the core.
“I know this has been a trying time,” he says, his voice full of all that wisdom I used to adore. “But it has not been in vain, Vadim. You just need to remember your ca
use.”
I am silent and I plan to stay that way. I have not kept the faith. I didn’t think there was any faith to keep.
“You exiled me,” I say, breaking with my plan immediately. This man does not deserve my attention or my words. My anger told me that the moment I woke in the dark and realized that the deed had been done. They had truly sent me away. They had turned me into the enemy we once fought.
“For good reason,” he says. “You were the first among my men, Vadim.”
“I was. Until you decided I betrayed you.” My fists clench at my sides. “I never did, Ivan. I never did.”
“I know,” he says. “I know, Vadim, and I am sorry for what I had done to you, but it was necessary.”
“What?”
He leans toward the camera. “I know you were not guilty of any betrayal. There was never any betrayal to be guilty of.”
“But... you said...”
“I said what I had to,” he says. “I did what I had to. You’ve forgotten. You understood once, but the distance and the time, it has taken the memory with it.”
He is speaking to me as though there is some secret we hold together, but I know of no such secret. I am utterly confused and emotionally overwrought. If I were capable of crying, there would be tears running down my cheeks.
“Am I forgiven?”
“You are not,” he says. “Because there is nothing to forgive you for. You were never guilty. Not even for a moment.”
“I’m confused.”
“I know,” he says. “You were sent to America to do a job, but you couldn’t simply fly there and do it. It was too sensitive, too delicate. You had to be sent under false pretense.”
I narrow my eyes and shake my head. No. This isn’t right. I wasn’t sent here for a mission. I was sent to suffer. And now he is reaching out from beyond the veil of my exile and telling me that what I think I know, I do not know. It would be laughable, if it weren’t so desperately serious.
“Why are you talking to me now?”
“Because you’ve lost your way. You haven’t completed the job.”
“What job?”