Chapter 12

In my bedroom, I lie down and stare at the ceiling, too wired to sleep. Instincts war inside of me. Some of them yell I should be with my brother, while others tell me to find Mila and convince her to speak to me about her agony and stress. Yet why should she? We're strangers. I should let go if she wants to cry alone in her room.

She looked at me like I was a monster when she saw me carrying Ania. For a split second, she thought she'd kissed and been intimate with a woman killer. It makes me sick.

Standing up, I pace the floor, rolling my shoulders like I'm getting ready for a fight. There's too much tension in me. I need my lady. I need?—

"Help! Help!"

A female voice screams in the night. It's coming from the other house. Is it Mila? I'm not sure. It could be, and that's all that matters.

"The second house! There's a man here with a gun!"

Immediately, I spring to my feet, rushing through the mansion, taking the stairs three at a time as I sprint for the front door. As I run onto the compound's grounds, I see strong flashlights zigzagging as the guards holding them sprint for the house. By the time I reach the porch, Denis and another Sokolov are dragging a man I recognize from the front door. His feet trail between the two men, his head hanging low.

"What happened?" I ask Denis.

He hesitates, and then I growl, "WHAT HAPPENED?!?!"

"Mila's always going to be a Petrov," the man says.

"Yevgeny," I say, remembering the man as one of our own or what I thought was one of our loyal men. "Is that your real name, friend?"

The man sneers at me. "You think I'm going to speak with you, dork?"

I grind my teeth, the blood in my veins pounding deep in my ears. "Take him underground. I'm going to have a conversation with him very soon."

Denis gives me a bleak look. He knows that underground means the cells and that a conversation means doing whatever it takes to get this rat to talk.

"I can handle that, sir, if you like?—"

"No." I keep my gaze fixated on the asshole, a storm brewing deep in my mind, a movie reel playing of all the ways this could've gone wrong. "Is Lia okay?"

"Yes, sir, they both are."

"Both?"

Since we're at Lia's house, I assumed that this was about just her. Mainly because I'm almost sure I would've recognized Mila's voice if she was the one screaming about the gun and for help.

"Mila and Lia, yes, sir."

I nod, pushing past them. When I'm out of their sight, I break into a run, knowing I'd never be able to be the same person if something happened to Mila. I'd never be able to look at the world, my work, or the Bratva in the same way. I run into the room, pausing when I see Mila standing there with her hands across her middle, her eyes glistening, staring at the floor.

My savage, protective impulses almost send me running across the room to Mila's side. I want to sweep her into my arms and hold her close, tell her I'd never let anybody hurt her. Then I remember Lia. What if she tells Dimitri? I'm not sure how my brother would react to this extra complication. If he told me to stop, I know I wouldn't be able to.

It could start a war with my own brother. That's why I try to push this down and hide it. I attempt to look at Lia as well. "Are you both okay?"

"We're fine," Mila says, her voice small. "I …" She looks at Lia. "I'll let you tell him."

"Some freak working for the Petrovs tried to kidnap us."

Mila looks at the floor. "Because I told him I'd help."

My head splits right down the middle. I can't believe Mila would betray us for no reason. "What … why?"

"Drake." Her voice is small and full of devastating sadness. It takes everything I have not to sweep her into my arms. She coughs back a sob.

"We'll get him back. I promise."

"Yeah, you've said that, but nothing's changed," she snaps.

She walks to the door, right past me, coming close enough that I can feel her heat and sense her sadness. After a quick talk with Lia, who looks at me as though she seems to know how I feel about Mila, I head outside. Denis is standing outside the door with another guard.

"He's ready for you, sir," Denis says.

"Good," I grunt.

Before I can get to work, I need to check in on Mila. I find her in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, tears sliding down her cheeks. She's staring off into space as though she's seeing all the brutal and unfair things that will happen to her. I walk over to the bed, kneel down, take her hands, and look into her eyes.

"What happens to Drake now?" she whispers, breaking down.

"There's no way for that asshole to contact the outside world," I tell her. "Your father won't know if this scumbag succeeded or not. He's never going to speak to him again. I need to know exactly what happened."

She swallows, looking at me like she did when I walked into the house with Ania in my arms. It's like she's realizing, one step at a time, that I'm not just some computer nerd. "I'm not sure I should say."

"Why?"

"Because you seem really mad."

"Mad," I repeat, then laugh savagely. "Mad, Mila? No, it's more than that, my Cyber Siren."

That gets a small, reluctant smile from her that makes me feel like I've won the lottery. "That one was pretty good," she admits.

I sit on the bed beside her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She's shivering slightly as if the events are only now catching up with her. "Just walk me through it, step by step."

Mila does precisely that. She tells me about the man shoving her into the room and putting his hand across her mouth. Suddenly, her earlier awkwardness makes sense, as she went from being elated and proud to wanting nothing to do with me.

"He was in the en suite. He said … he said…" She swallows a sob. "He'd kill us both."

My blood turns to ice. I stand up, clenching my fists.

"This isn't your fault," I tell her.

"He was going to hurt Lia because of me."

"What happened after? At the second house?"

She keeps talking and then gets to the part where she stands in front of Lia, stopping Yevgeny from shooting her.

"You saved her life," I tell Mila.

"Without me, it wouldn't have needed saving."

"You did the right thing. Don't beat yourself up about this. Don't you dare!" I'm the one trembling now, thinking of that worm with his hand over my Mila's mouth and all the sick ways this could've gone wrong.

"Where are you going?" she asks, touching my arm when I stand up.

I want to stay here. I want to be with Mila all night and all day, but I can't stop thinking about what that dirtbag did. "There's work to do."

She swallows. "What kind of work?"

"Bratva work," I say, turning away.

"Wait."

At the door, I stop. She walks over to me quickly, throwing her arms around my shoulders and looking up at me with emotion. "Thank you for not hating me."

"I could never hate you," I say, cupping her cheek.

She's the one who initiates the kiss, standing on her tiptoes and pushing herself against it. I hold on to her tightly. For the first time since we've touched, I don't want to devour her or just devour her, anyway. Emotion burns through me as I clutch her tightly, kissing the top of her head, letting her scent move through me.

"Nobody's ever going to hurt you again," I tell her. "You and me, Mila … One day, we'll be someplace safe just for us."

"With Drake?" she asks.

"Your brother will be there, too. We'll go …" I hesitate.

"I don't care where it is," she cuts in. "I don't care what we're doing as long as we're together and safe."

I kiss her one last time, then force myself to leave. Heading outside, I walk over to the basketball court and press the switch at the very base of the hoop. Mechanical whirs begin as a portion of the court in the corner starts to sink into the concrete. It's a metal elevator painted to look like a piece of the court.

Riding the platform down, I find Yevgeny cuffed to the table in the small interrogation room, complete with one-way glass. Standing in the dark observation room, I watch as he tugs on the cuffs, grunting, teeth gritted, sweat sliding down his face.

He looks scared. He should be. I've got no pity for the bastard. Only hate. Only rage.

I press the intercom button. When I speak, Yevgeny flinches. "You assaulted Mila. You terrified her. You bullied her and tried to use her. I'm going to give you one chance to tell me everything. When did you start working for the Petrovs? How long have you been planning this? Are there other loyal men?"

The man spits on the floor. "Don't pretend to be something you're not, Mikhail."

I sigh, then let go of the button. Turning to a cabinet on the wall, I take down a leather satchel, leave the room, and push open the interrogation door.

Walking to the second, smaller table in the corner, I open the satchel. Tools glint up at me—the tools of the Bratva trade. Glancing over my shoulder, I tell him, "That's an interesting thing you just said … about pretending."

"You don't scare me," Yevgeny spits. "You're the spare."

"Yes, you're right. The heir and the spare, that's us. Yet you seem to forget something. What is a spare for? What's the purpose of having a spare?" Picking up a long, thin, extremely sharp knife, I turn and stare down at Yevgeny, sweaty and terrified, with his hands bound. "A spare exists to replace the first choice. A spare still has to be as brutal as the heir."

I take another step closer. Now, he can't hide his fear. He pisses himself, shuddering all over.

Kneeling, I bring the knife to his throat, holding it there, drawing no blood … yet. "You've made a grave mistake. You assaulted Mila. Do you understand, Yevgeny?"

He looks at me, his eyes getting wide. "I-I think so."

"Tell me what you understand."

He licks his lips, struggling to speak. I can see the realization slowly filtering through his system. "There's been talk about you and Mila spending time together."

"Let's say the talk is correct. Let's say I have feelings for Mila. Do you think that would be good for you?"

My tone has become cold. I apply more pressure with the knife. Savage, ugly thoughts tell me to forget about words, forget about the purpose of this, and eviscerate the worm.

"Please," he whispers, finally breaking.

"Who else is working with Nikolai Petrov? When did this start?"

"I can't. He'll kill me."

I laugh sickly. What a moronic thing to say. "You gave an innocent woman PTSD or added to the PTSD that was already there, and you're worried about him?"

A moment later, Yevgeny is screaming. I'm not the spare anymore. I'm not a programmer or a game designer. I'm not even a Bratva second. I'm just a man locked in a room with another man who hurt the woman I care about most. I'm just a beast in a cage with a meal.

He keeps screaming. It's nasty. It's ruthless. If this were anybody else, I'd even call it evil, but he hurt my woman.

My. Fucking. Woman.

Nobody will ever get away with that.

After learning what I need to know, I shower but can't grab any shuteye. I quietly check on Mila but decide not to disturb her when I see her lying on her side, the blankets tangled around her, her chest rising and falling softly. Heading back outside, I grab a basketball and start idly shooting hoops, trying to calm myself down.

Soon, Dimitri is home. He walks over, looking as dog-tired as I feel. We've been texting and calling throughout the night. He hasn't had it easy either, hunting down Artyom while I've been handling things here.

"Can't sleep?"

I shoot another hoop, swishing the net. "The man's name is Kirill." Not Yevgeny, like he pretended. "Our father hired him specifically so he'd work for Nikolai after he died. He sold us out—his own sons."

"The only thing that confuses me is that you're surprised."

"Not surprised," I grunt, hearing the man's screams, seeing the vivid red of his blood, and smelling the metallic scent of it. "It's just got me thinking. All those times, I thought about killing the prick. All those times I dreamed about doing the right thing, I should have."

Yet, in a twisted, fucked-up way, that might not have been a good thing. It would mean I never would've met Mila. Nikolai never would've sent her here. Could I let her go to keep her safe? I don't even know.

Dimitri says, "It would've meant?—"

"A war, I know, but at least we would've gotten to be the ones to do it. Right now, it's like he's still pulling the strings."

"I'm going to get a couple of hours of sleep. I can't afford much, but dammit, I'm running on empty. I need to recharge." He gives me a big-brother look, the sort he often has over the years. I always think he doesn't even realize it by the way he does it. "Thanks for handling Kirill."

"I'd like to do more than handle him. It takes a big man to threaten women." I'm not just talking about the usual rage we all feel at the prospect of a man threatening a woman, generally speaking. There's nothing general about this. It's all about Mila. "To scare them," I go on. "He wasn't so big when I got through with him."

Blood flashes across my mind, phantom screaming in my ears. I've never been a sadist, never taken pleasure in giving pain, but he deserved it and much worse.

"Will he live?" Dimitri asks.

"Unfortunately."

I grab the basketball and shoot another hoop. This one swishes, too. Dimitri wanders over to the ball, returns to me, and shoots. He laughs savagely when it bounces off the rim.

"We've all got our strengths," I tell him.

He sighs, nodding. "Your strength is making games, brother—being happy, being normal."

I look at him in disbelief. "Dimitri, we were never going to be normal. That was off the table a long, long time ago.

"I know you're right," he says, "but sometimes, it's like I can forget you've been part of this life, too. I can forget you've had to do the same shit. Take lives. Hurt people. I forget about all the darkness. I just see you, Mikhail, with that dorky grin, typing away, lost in your work."

I clap Dimitri on the arm when his voice gets emotional. "You good?"

He grimaces, then nods. "Too damn tired. It's making me weak."

"You're not weak for being human," I tell him.

He laughs again. "Now you're getting all emotional on me."

"I'm not the one who thinks emotions are bad," I tell him. "You don't always have to be cold, Dimitri. Go on. Go be with your woman."

"My woman?" Dimitri says, shaking his head.

That's it—no denial, no confirmation. It's not as if he has to come outright and say it as he walks toward the second house, hands in his pockets. I watch him go, then shoot another hoop.

After, I return to the house. Mila is still asleep, lying on her side, facing the door. Her hair has fallen across her face, making her look vulnerable, like she's trying to hide. I'm about to leave when her eyes open slowly, but she doesn't move. She seems half asleep.

"Mikhail?" she murmurs, as though she thinks this is a dream.

"I'm here." I walk over to the bed, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. She's sweaty to the touch.

"I had a nightmare," she whispers. "Dad broke in. He took me. He took me away from you."

I climb into bed next to her, pulling her into my arms. She lays her cheek against my chest. "Why is your heart beating so fast?" she whispers.

"I had to do something bad," I tell her, "to the man who hurt you. To the man who would've killed you if he wasn't so scared of your father."

"It's okay," she whispers.

I kiss her forehead, ignoring the part of me that, even now, wants to claim her. I push that part deep down, ignoring the hunger for now.

"I want to take you somewhere," I tell her.

She seems more awake as she sits up, looking down at me. We're both wired, I can tell, in that tired-but-alert sort of way. "Where?"

"Somewhere we can pretend none of this exists."

She sighs. "What about Drake? I want to ask …"

"Go on," I urge, sitting up too.

"… Lia," she murmurs, "to ask Dimitri if he'll get Drake back. Do you think Lia can persuade him?"

"I don't know. I doubt it," I tell her, "but you can try. This is a tricky situation. One wrong move, and everything falls to pieces. Right now, your father has no way of knowing what's happened here. Yevgeny—Kirill, I mean—is the only man loyal to your dad."

"Are you sure?" Mila asks.

"Certain."

"How?"

"It's not something you need to hear," I tell her.

She places her hand on my chest, giving me a fierce look. "All my life, that's what I've heard. I don't need to know about that side of things, but I'm not some princess. I know I'm not the strongest person. I accept that." She sits up with even more dignity, looking fierce and capable and so beautiful I know I'll never be able to be with anybody else. "If we're going to …"

She trails off, but I can finish it: be together for the rest of our lives.

"I deserve to know."

"I tortured him," I say, holding her gaze, "but I didn't go too far. I didn't push him to where he'd say anything just to make me stop." I keep staring at her, watching for any sign of fear, distaste, or resentment. I'm searching for a look like the one she gave me when she saw me carrying Ania into the house.

That was only a few hours ago, but since the meal last night, the work binge, then the near kidnapping, and the torture, time feels stretched and meaningless.

"He's given me access to his emails," I go on. "In the messages, he tells your father how pissed he is, being the only man on the estate. He asks for backup. Your dad tells him that the Sokolov soldiers are too loyal. He seems pretty pissed about that."

"Dad doesn't like it when other people have power, especially if they can keep it without hurting people."

"We're not angels, Mila."

"You're better than my father."

"Yes," I tell her. "Whatever that's worth."

I look at her closely, wishing she'd tell me what happened with her father, hoping she'd reveal her pain so I can help heal it. Or is that asking too much from her, from me? I've got no reason to think I'd be able to make her feel better, no reason to believe I wouldn't just add to her heartache.

"I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep," she murmurs.

"I won't even be able to sleep at all," I reply, nodding.

"Shall we, then," she goes on, a note of intoxicating danger in her voice, "go somewhere? Forget?" She hesitates, guilt flickering in her eyes. "Just for an hour or two?"

I lean forward and press my lips against hers. When she responds by kissing me back with even more passion, I know she means it. I know she wants to erase all this from her mind for as long as possible.

"Have you ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle?" I ask.

Her eyes widen with excitement. "No …"

"It's time we changed that."