by Bethany-Kris
“I don’t know,” she insisted.
Again.
Roman sighed harshly, squaring his shoulders as he scrubbed a hand down his jaw. His patience was quickly running out, it seemed.
“What do you think will happen to her when you marry Dima, and you’re no longer here to protect her?” he demanded.
What?
Karine shook her head violently, saying only “Protect who? I don’t know that girl.”
Her denials did nothing.
“Is she here? Do they keep her hidden—like you? Out of view?” Every question slammed into her harder than the last. Roman’s tone grew deeper, and darker, unrelenting in a quest she hadn’t known even started until it was too late. Her soul was stripped and exposed for him under his scrutiny, but she couldn’t get away. He wasn’t anywhere near finished, saying, “You’re gambling with a child’s life. That can’t be who you are.”
Roman wasn’t the only one becoming desperate, though. Karine’s mind raced to find a way to convince him she wasn’t lying—her words spilled out in a rush before she could stop them, or consider what she said.
“No, she’s not here ... I’ve never even heard that name before! I don’t know Katee.”
Yet, as she said the name, images from her past dreams ran through her mind at lightning speed. A movie reel she couldn’t escape. A little girl’s arms wrapped around a tree trunk as she spun and spun. Humming a nursery rhyme she didn’t recognize. Karine continued to shake her head, rubbing at her mouth and face, even her forehead and into her hairline, with her fingertips to rid the sudden itch that seemed to crawl over her nerves.
“You’re saying you’ve never seen these before?”
Karine blinked, not wanting to lie but also ... “Once, maybe twice. But only the drawings, and never—”
“Bullshit. That’s bullshit, Karine. It’s you, look at it.”
“No, that’s not ... it’s not right. Stop ... just, stop,” she muttered. And then, louder, “Stop it!”
Roman strode over to his pants that had been discarded on the floor in their earlier haste. He fished into the pocket, pulling out his wallet and then a folded piece of paper emerged from it. He came over, opening the paper and holding it up for her to see.
If anything, he seemed angry about it. Angrier. Defiant, even. Once again, daring her to deny the truth he put right in front of her face. Except she didn’t understand.
“What about this?” he demanded, thrusting the paper toward her even as Karine inched back from him on the bed. “Are you going to deny this, too?”
Karine’s breath stuck in her throat when she saw his profile drawn in the same style. The drawing was an uncannily likeness of Roman’s face, with his name scribbled out in crayon in the corner. Just to drive home the final nail in the coffin.
Whoever made the drawings had done a good job—it was still clearly the work of someone who was young.
But not her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, so unsure.
And cold.
Even as she reached to touch the image, seeing how careful the hand had been to shape the perfect cupid’s bow of Roman’s upper lip, Karine had to pull herself back. The comforting familiarity she felt to that particular drawing so strong that it scared her. She couldn’t figure out if it was because she liked that she recognized something about the drawing, or not.
Hollow, she heard Roman say, “Masha. She gave it to me.”
“Why would Masha—” Karine squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to process. “Where did she find it?”
“My bet, in this sketchbook.”
Karine didn’t need to open her eyes again to know he hadn’t taken his off her, but she still did. Despite every reason she had not to, she couldn’t look away from the drawing in his hand. The déjà vu was uncanny, but she couldn’t explain why. She almost asked him to show it to her again when Roman slowly folded it up, and slipped it back into his wallet.
She didn’t, though.
Roman scowled once the drawing was safely tucked away. “You won’t convince me that you don’t know anything about this, Karine. I saw you holding this sketchbook in your hand. You’re lying, I just don’t know why.”
Karine stiffened.
No, he was the liar.
“I’ve never touched it before. Never seen it before.”
Roman’s fingers stilled where they rubbed at his jawline, confusion flitting over his face. “Tribute—last month. You were standing there by the stone walls when I got out of my car.” He shoved the sketchbook her way, adding, “You had this in your hand.”
Karine hadn’t even noticed how the sheet had fallen away from her. With her back straight, she sat up in the cold air, uncaring that her nipples pebbled and she shivered. Roman didn’t seem to notice her nakedness, only focusing on her.
She fidgeted under the pressure, refusing to admit yet another one of his lies that he demanded was true. “You’re not making any sense. I didn’t see you at the last tribute.”
Roman’s gaze flashed with a warning, his jaw clenching at her response—like she was pushing it, and he had enough. He wasn’t getting what he wanted, but she didn’t know what to tell him.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she whispered, wishing he would believe her. If she could, she would have done everything in her power to please him, to go back to the way they were the night before. “Or what you want me to say, I’m sorry.”
“What I want you to—” Roman’s words cut off with a disgusted grunt, and his hand cut through the air as if to say enough. “You were standing right there,” he replied hotly, barely tampering his tone now. “We spoke—well, no, I spoke. I don’t remember if you even said anything. Dima was at the door of the mansion, calling for me. I didn’t even get to turn back around, and you were running before I could stop you.”
Karine shook her head back and forth fast—so much so that the room spun—and she was sure she looked crazed.
There was no way.
But how did he know?
She had seen that very scene in her dreams—remembered it distinctly. Near the weeping willow tree, she’d watched while Roman stepped out of his car. She wanted to speak to him, but couldn’t get the words out. When she looked down, a little girl’s hand waved back at him, hazy to her eye. That’s how she knew she was dreaming. It was always a dream.
Then, Dima’s voice had broken through the daze—she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Except it was still just a dream.
Wasn’t it?
Roman kept talking, unaware of the fight happening inside Karine’s mind. “Dima went looking for you—he ordered me inside, and to meet with Maxim. This happened, Karine. I stood there, and looked at you. You can’t tell me I didn’t see what I saw and expect me to just believe it. That’s not how this shit works.”
It was the disbelief coating his anger that brought her back to reality with a bang. And also told her that he truly believed he was telling the truth—why would he lie?
But that meant—
She didn’t know what it meant.
Didn’t want to know.
The sudden urge to protect herself from the things he was saying came on swift, and punishing. Her words came out in a hiss when she pointed at him and said, “You’re lying.”
That had Roman’s brow dipping low—he watched again through heavy eyelids, careful and steady. If only that helped. If only it changed what he had already done.
When he came towards her again, a sound came out of Karine like she had never heard. The growl of a caged animal; the only warning she could muster for him to back off. Already, the tears tracked streaks down her cheeks. She couldn’t bother to wipe them away or hide the wetness. Even as Roman stood there, wary with his hands lifting like he might reach out to her, because she needed it. She bet she looked like it, too.
She had managed to be so strong in front of him. His very presence helped pull Karine out of her shell, if only to make her take what she w
anted, damn the risks. Nonetheless, the flickers of her true self came through when she was with him. Everything else was only pretend. And dreams didn’t last forever.
The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of him, now.
Or ever, for that matter.
“Go,” she told him.
Roman didn’t move an inch. “Karine, I’m not lying. You have to know what I’m saying is true—why don’t you remember any of this? Is it the meds, or—”
“No.”
Her reply came out sharp, and high. Broken, too, because he dared to kneel down beside her on the floor. So close that she could reach out and hold him if she wanted to. A part of her really did. Another just wanted to shrink away. She knew he didn’t want to hold her, not now. He wanted something from her that she couldn’t give.
The flashing movie reel of images was back again, and worse than ever—the one she was convinced had only been a dream. Back in her room where she should be safe, but Dima followed her there.
It was so real that she could almost see him standing in the doorway when she glanced at it. The way her heart raced painfully, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath only compounded the fear—the false image.
He had called her Katee.
Why?
Karine’s mind stopped there.
Or the dream did.
She wasn’t really sure.
“Karine, this could be our only chance to help each other—talk to me,” Roman said gently, his palms turned up and open to her to take if she wanted. “I can’t help if I don’t know. What’s going on, babe? Tell me.”
Tell him what?
God.
She didn’t even know what to tell herself.
So all she said to him was, “Leave.”
Karine was convinced that soon enough, every cell of her body would disintegrate into nothingness. The edges of her vision had already started to blacken, and blur, but maybe that was just the tears. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want Roman here to watch it happen.
“I want to help you, I want to—”
“Leave, Roman. Now.”
She didn’t even let him get the words out, screeching loud enough to make Roman stand with a jerk. The last straw for him.
Roman said nothing as he gathered his clothes, refusing to even look at her as he put on his pants, then reached for his shoes. His shirt came next, and still, he remained silent. So, why did it feel like she could hear him screaming with every movement he made?
Maybe that was just her own mind.
Karine remained on the bed, pulling the sheet up and around her trembling body. She wanted to shroud herself with it—hide inside it. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes as he finished dressing.
Good.
Those tears came harder now—he wouldn’t want to see those—stinging her skin as they rolled down.
She sucked in a deep breath, the air stuttering the whole way into her lungs, as Roman left through the open doors of the veranda. He didn’t look back at her when he went, either. When she was sure he was gone, the footsteps from his retreat fading into the darkness, she let out a wail. A cry so loud, so broken, Karine was certain it shook the walls.
If only the house would crumble, too.
That’s what it deserved.
Karine couldn’t stop the heavy sobs that fought their way out of her chest, the force heaving her shoulders with each one. Not even when her bedroom door flew open, and Masha came running in soon after. She couldn’t breathe—every gulp, it wasn’t enough.
“It’s not me. It’s not,” she wailed, shrieking the words through her trembling hands that she waved at an approaching Masha. “It’s not me, Masha. I’m not Katee—I’m not. I’m not!”
The more she said it, the worse her darkening thoughts and reality fractured. Images and memories flooding in to prove that what she said might not be true—she didn’t know her own mind. Couldn’t trust it, but what was new?
That was her whole life.
Masha rushed over to her, throwing her arms around her in what should have been a comforting cage as she held her close. Except that safety was gone. The cold weight sinking in her stomach had chilled her to the bone. Her caretaker whispered soft words that she couldn’t hear over the sound of her own crying.
“Please tell me I’m not Katee, Masha, please,” she begged.
“Karine, calm down. You’re going to—”
It was already too late. Karine knew what Masha was trying to warn—sensed it coming on, though she’d only experienced a handful of seizures in her lifetime. Sticky drool fell down the sides of her mouth, as she lost control of all her muscles and the violent spasms started.
Still, she managed to say, “Tell me I’m not.”
“But you are, my dear,” Masha said in a soft whisper.
Masha looked her straight in the face though Karine’s vision had started to blacken at the edges. There was no mistaking the truth in her caretaker’s words—or her eyes.
“You are.”
TWENTY
“What?”
Roman might have had a second thought about the way he answered the door to his place at the sight of a Yazov vor standing on the other wise. Except he really didn’t.
And then the man had to go and shove an envelope his way. The guy didn’t move, making it clear just with his presence alone that he wouldn’t until Roman opened it. So, he did.
The pearl-white invitation, designed on soft-to-the-touch cardstock with gold foil lettering, was for Karine and Dima’s wedding. Only a mere week and some days away.
“Fuck.”
The curse came under his breath, too low for the man standing in the hallway of his loft apartment to notice. But not Marky on the phone—Roman had his cellphone pressed between his ear and shoulder, trying to multitask as usual.
And failing.
Marky only wanted to know what was going on. “What’s happening?”
“It’s the invitation.”
“For?” his friend asked.
Roman’s molars ached from how hard he clamped his jaws together, muttering only, “To the wedding.”
Marky’s answering silence was enough of an answer, but of course, it didn’t last long. It never did where his friend was concerned. “You haven’t seen her since that night, right?”
Yeah.
A night Roman didn’t want to remember.
Jesus.
Roman slammed the door to his apartment without a word to the man waiting in the hallway. It didn’t matter—the guy had done his job, there wasn’t anything left for him to do there.
“It’s been four days,” he said to Marky. “Fuck.”
“Roman—”
“Fuck, man. So, it’s ... it’s actually going ahead. It’s happening.”
Really happening.
Roman didn’t know how to process that. Or if he even wanted to.
He could hear Marky grinding his teeth through the phone. Back in New York for a few days on business—but apparently he had also been digging around matters concerning the Yazov Bratva—the man still wasn’t keen on Roman fucking with Karine.
Literally.
Or figuratively.
“The thing is, there’s nothing to be found,” Marky said quietly. “Not about her. Literally nobody knows anything about her—it’s like she doesn’t exist to most of them. You can’t keep asking about someone who isn't supposed to be found, Roman. Someone’s going to start to notice.”
Right.
But that also didn’t seem like a good option to him, never mind one he cared to go with. If his next statement didn’t make that clear to his friend, then nothing would.
“So, I have basically no time to figure this shit out,” Roman muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to focus his thoughts. “And nothing to go on is what you’re telling me.”
“When there’s nothing to see, it usually means someone has tried very hard to keep it out of view, bro.”
“I know that
. I can feel it in my fucking bones. It’s Karine. She is at the centre of everything going on with the Yazovs.”
Whatever it is, he added silently.
Which was the biggest problem.
Marky started throwing together his own theories, none of which made sense, and Roman didn’t want to encourage it.
Then, Marky said, “For my own peace of mind, I feel like I gotta tell you to leave it alone again, anyway.”
And that was enough of that. There was no point in continuing the conversation, and besides, Roman had other things to deal with now. Like the fucking wedding invitation in his hand. He needed to think—he didn’t need someone else’s voice in his head while he did it.
“I’ve gotta go. Got a new gig lined up for tomorrow and I’m meeting the crew in fifteen,” he said quickly.
Roman hung up the phone, and instantly turned on his heels, yanking open the front door and heading out of his apartment. He wasn’t lying when he said he had to meet the crew. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his attention on that shit when all he could think about was Karine.
And that night ...
Her breakdown.
Maybe she didn’t want to be saved, but goddammit ... he couldn’t imagine her married to Dima, either. The hot anger that spilled down his spine at the very idea was enough to make him sick. He wanted to keep that motherfucker far away from her.
But how?
The thought was still lingering in the back of his mind when he turned the corner at the end of the hall of his loft that led to the stairwell. Roman was still trying to come up with a plan when he felt a crack land on the back of his skull.
He didn’t even see the bat coming. Everything went black when his body hit the ground with a thud.
• • •
It was the blinding ache in his ribs that finally brought Roman around to consciousness. The painful throbbing at the back of his head was a close second, though. Both were intense enough to push him to the edge of unconsciousness again, if only because the second he felt the pain, he wanted it to go away.
Roman crawled off that edge, forcing himself to open his eyes wide, and still wasn’t able to see anything at all. Dingy darkness surrounded him, a mustiness crawling into his lungs with every breath and making him want to puke from the smell alone. He couldn’t tell if it was just his swimming vision giving up on him or the actual lack of lighting in the space.