Chapter 17

Drake's wearing a forced smile as we speak on video call. It's the same smile he's worn countless times after one of Dad's meltdowns, smiling at me like he can push away all the pain and the violence and the hate.

"Are you okay, little man?" I say.

"I'm not little." He flexes his arm. "I'm a beast."

We laugh together, but I can tell he's forcing it as much as I am. Leaning forward, I say, "Have you been doing lots and lots of homework?"

That's always been our code for "Is Dad being mean to you?" We developed it when he was depressingly young, just in case one of the soldiers heard us talking.

"No, it's not too bad," he says. "Just … uh, tense? Is that the word?"

"Yeah, I'd imagine it is," I tell him. "Hopefully, I'll be seeing you soon."

"Hmm." He nods, and I can tell he doesn't believe it. When I was his age, Dad seemed like a god to me, like there was no way I could ever escape him. I can't expect Drake to trust me, especially when I don't trust myself.

"I love you," he says after a moment. "Big, big time, okay?"

I grin. "I love you the biggest time."

After we end the call, the smile slips from my face.

I sigh and lean back in the computer chair, running my hands through my hair. It was easier when I had something to focus on. When we were chasing data on the internet, I could slap on my headphones and pound the keys like my life depended on it. I didn't have to think about anything else or worry about the future.

When somebody knocks on the bedroom door, I almost let out a pathetic little noise of fear. Then I bite down, reminding myself to get my act together. I can't flinch or freak out all the time. I need to be stronger. I need to be more like Lia, but it's tough sometimes.

"Yeah?" I call.

"It's me," Mikhail says, his voice deep and rough.

"Come in."

After pushing the door open, he strides directly over to me and sweeps me into his arms. No matter how often we do this, it'll never stop feeling perfect, like we're fused. It'll never stop feeling like all the bad things we've ever experienced led to this moment—every single time.

He guides his lips to mine, kissing me with a passion that explodes out of him. It bursts into me forcefully. Something's different about him. Maybe it makes me crazy to think this, but it's almost like there's hope in the kiss. He smooths his hands down my body, then leans back, a smile on his lips.

"Good news?" I ask.

"I … think so," he says after a pause.

"You don't want to get my hopes up," I say, looking into his eyes.

He laughs deeply. When he moves his hand, clearly meaning to brush the hair from his face, I reach up and do it instead. He smirks, takes my hand, and then tells me, "Oleg wants to take the Bratva from your father. With my father gone, yours is losing support. Soon, it could be time."

I swallow. "Time for what?"

"Time for me to do the right thing," he says fiercely. "Time for me to make this right. No father should ever hurt his children. Trust me, it's not like that's all Nikolai is guilty of."

A cold chord pulses through me. "What do you mean?"

"The trafficking," Mikhail says. "Kidnapping innocent women. Forcing them to become wage slaves in a depraved profession."

"I hate it," I whisper. "I hate all of it—the life he's built, the things he does and says."

But … I try to swallow the word. Tears threaten to spring to my eyes and slide down my cheeks, yet I fight them away.

"I know," Mikhail says. "He's still your dad. This was never going to be easy. The second you told me what he did to you, he forfeited his life. This has to be the way. You can't ask me to stop now."

"I never said I was going to ask you to stop," I say, disentangling myself from him and walking to the window. "I just wish …" I hesitate, then go on when he walks up behind me, gently wrapping his arms around my body. Part of me wants to fight him, but I can't. The deep desire constantly gripping me won't let me fight. "I wish I could code a new life. One where the man I …" Love? Is that the right word? Or am I just nuts? "… care about doesn't have to kill my dad."

"Me too," Mikhail says, "but we can't spend time wishing the world was different. All we can do is deal with the problem in front of us. I wish you had a good dad. I wish you had a real family, but we have each other. Maybe we could start a new family."

Lia's sketch punches into my mind, the woman holding the baby. A smile touches my lips, and I am confused and relieved that Mikhail can't see my face. "We can't talk about things like that. It's too soon. There's too much that could go wrong."

"But you'd want to talk about it … if things were different?"

"What are we talking about?" I counter, knowing I'm just dancing away from the question. I can't let myself sink into dreams of the future, into escaping Dad, Drake being safe, and the world not being so poisoned and wrong.

"You know what," he says.

I don't reply because I can't be the one to start this conversation. It's been, what, a couple of days? Time has blurred and performed some acrobatics, but that doesn't mean it's actually been a long time.

"I'm talking about you and me," he whispers, gently kissing my neck, but I can feel how not gentle he wants to be from the way he kisses; I can hear it in his breath. "I'm talking about the fact that, to make this plan work, a Sokolov and a Petrov still need to get married."

A distant voice tells me this panic comes from having something I desperately want. I didn't realize how badly I wanted to be with Mikhail. I didn't truly realize anyway until he dared give me genuine hope. I've lived so long pushing down any idea that I could have a happy life.

Turning in his embrace, I say, "I don't want to do anything just because we have to."

"We don't have to do anything," he snaps, but he can't hide the hurt in his eyes. I'm guessing this isn't the answer he wanted to hear. It's also not the answer I wanted to give.

"I just want my brother to be safe."

"He'll be safe, and he'll be an uncle, too."

"Mikhail," I whisper, my voice cracking, tears trying to spring to my eyes again.

I wipe angrily at my face, so sick of all the crying, all the useless pain.

"I promise," he says fiercely, leaning down, looking me straight in the eye through a wild lock of his hair. "I'm going to make this happen, but I need your permission." When I say nothing, he goes on, "Your father deserves to die. Not just for the evil, disgusting, unspeakable things he's done to other people, but for every bad thing he ever said to you, every violent thing he did. I need to know that when I take his life, you won't hate me for it."

"I hate him," I snap.

"Ania hated our dad, but she loved him too. She misses him. People are more complicated than code, my tech temptation."

I smile on instinct but then quickly force it away. What is wrong with me? "You don't need my permission."

"I do."

"No …" I smooth my hand up his arms, then grab his shoulders and squeeze hard so he can feel the tension coursing through me like jolts of electricity. "You don't because if I give you permission, maybe that little girl inside of me, that idiot who still thinks her evil, sadistic father might love her one day, will blame herself. Maybe she'll hate herself. So, I know you're right. I know what needs to happen, but …"

"You want no part of it."

I swallow, averting my gaze. "That makes me a coward."

"It makes you human."

"It makes me a cowardly human."

When he laughs, he doesn't seem guilty or ashamed. He brings me in close, kissing the top of my head. "Just wait. Very soon, Drake, you, and I will be together one day. All of this will seem like a distant memory."

I press my face against his chest, closing my eyes, doing what I do best with Mikhail—letting myself forget.

"It would be super cool," Ania says, then slides the grape and cheese from the cocktail stick with her teeth.

Ania, Lia, Mikhail, Dimitri, and I are sitting on the back porch of the main house, sharing a late lunch before Mikhail and Dimitri have to return to the city to continue making arrangements for the pledge. Dimitri is being sworn in as the official leader, or Pakhan, of the Sokolov Bratva. Mikhail told me, "Everything will change after that."

I know he was talking about our closeness, the connection we share. At least he didn't come right out and start talking about family and the future again.

"If you worked on the game together," Ania says, "you're already a programming team."

Ania beams at me, and I do my best to smile. She's the only one who seems to make a genuine effort. Maybe that has something to do with the fact she's the only one out of the five of us who looks like she's had any sleep whatsoever.

"As long as I get employee of the month, I'm happy with that," I say, trying to make it a joke.

Mikhail laughs, but it comes out sounding forced and husky. He'll glance at me every so often, but only for a quick moment. I sense he doesn't want to bring our relationship out into the open until we know it'll work. So what the heck is he thinking, talking about families and futures, then? How does that make sense?

"As my only employee, I think you'll get it," he teases.

"Is that what you want to do?" Lia asks. "Make games?"

"I don't even know," I answer honestly. "I've never thought that far ahead. I focus on the day-to-day, usually, and I think it helps—the next project, the next line of code."

"That's like me with my painting. No purpose."

Dimitri flinches like the idea of Lia saying she has no purpose makes him angry. I get the feeling we're all hiding something around this table. Maybe, except for Ania, though it wouldn't shock me if she had her own secrets, too.

"It could be fun," I go on, shrugging. "Working on games. However, working on anything as a programmer would feel like a dream. Even …"

I hesitate, and then Dimitri snaps, "Lia and Ania both know you've been helping Mikhail."

Mikhail bites down, looking at his brother with terrifying eyes for a moment. It reminds me of how he looked after the torture, that wild glint of pure savagery. "She's just being careful, brother," Mikhail growls.

Dimitri glances at his brother, then nods. I wonder if Dimitri suspects anything. Maybe he thinks Mikhail is just being a friendly guy. Sometimes, being close to somebody makes it difficult to see what they are, like me with Dad. I hate him, and I've dreamed of him dying before, but it's still a horrible, impossible-to-process mess of emotions.

"Well, I think you'd all make a great team," Ania continues. "Mikhail and Mila can do the boring programming stuff. Lia, you can do all the artwork. Dimitri and I will be the voice actors!"

That gets a smile out of all of us, disrupting the awkwardness for a second.

"You'd do a great job, Ania," Dimitri says, "but I'm not sure people want to listen to me for an entire game."

"Well … duh." Ania gives him a playful look. "I'd be the hero, and you'd be the villain. So you'd only pop up at the end of the level. Easy."

"You make it sound so simple," Dimitri replies.

"How does the game end?" she asks, turning to Mikhail. "In the game, you're an orphan trying to escape a home, right?"

Lia swallows. The last time Mikhail described his game, I noticed Lia looking uncomfortable. Maybe she's thinking about finding a family, too. Or perhaps she's already found hers.

Mikhail nods. "That's right, but I don't know about the ending yet. I thought of having the players think they've escaped. Then the game starts again with a higher difficulty multiplier, and they must escape again."

"So there's no happy ending? Just a constant cycle of misery?" Ania narrows her eyes. "I thought games were supposed to be about escapism. That sounds way too much like real life." She pauses and then sincerely says, "I think you should let the player escape and give them an option for the higher difficulty. They should also be able to choose a happy ending."

"You know what?" Mikhail smiles at his sister, and I can tell it makes Ania's day. "You're right. I've been too pessimistic. I wouldn't let myself believe life could get better, so I've made the game like that, but there should be a choice."

Tingles dance all over me, spreading through my chest, warmth teasing me. I don't have to ask if he's speaking about more than the game. This hope is too intoxicating, too sickly, making me feel disoriented.

I try to shut down my emotions so he can't poison my mind with all those pesky dreams of the future. A choice, but that's exactly what I should've let go of when this first started: the idea that I could choose my fate. Even now, though we're fighting back and trying to get out of the deal, I could still have to marry Dimitri.

"What do you think?" Ania says, looking at me.

"Huh?" Her question jolts me from my thoughts.

"About the game? Do you think there should be a choice? I think it could be better if the player were given the happy option, and that's it; there's no chance to ruin it."

"There's always a way to ruin everything," I tell her. "Even the best situations. Even when you think nothing could possibly go wrong. Even if you think you've found your place in the world, there's always a way for something bad to happen."

I cut off, realizing Ania and Mikhail are looking at me with pitying expressions as though they think I'm broken or messed up somehow. It's not like I can blame them.

"Maybe that wouldn't be a very fun game to play."

I shrug, staring down into my drink. I can feel Mikhail's eyes on me, staring hard, and I know there's so much he wants to say. Looking up, I see Mikhail intensely owning me with his gaze and Dimitri doing the same with Lia. Are we as obvious as them?

After lunch, when Dimitri announces he must return to the city, Lia visibly winces. I sense that two secret worlds exist in this compound, and Dimitri and Lia are experiencing an adventure just for them. Or maybe I'm just projecting.

Lia goes to the second house. Ania goes into the basement dance studio, and I go to my bedroom, attempting to read a programming book. A few minutes later, the door creaks open. I sit up, a note of panic touching me, until I see Mikhail with his wild hair falling around his head. I love that savage look he has.

"I know the party's going to be hard," he says. "The pledge. It'll be tough seeing your dad."

"I've seen him every day for years," I snap. "It's fine."

Sitting up, I fold my arms. Mikhail's eyes flit to my chest, and his muscular body goes taut with muscle as though he's just holding himself back. It sends those tempting tendrils of lust all over my body, but he's right. The idea of seeing my dad is hounding me, trying to drag me back down into the flames of abuse and fear and living on the edge of a breakdown. All. The. Damn. Time.

"Why don't I get you some dresses?" he says with a smirk. "If you don't feel good, at least you'll look good."

"I don't want to get dressed up," I say, wishing I could fix my tone and anger. "I just want this to be over."

"It will be soon, I promise."

I'm about to snap something. You keep promising me, but how would that be helpful? I don't want to be a whiny, nagging girlfriend, even if the word "girlfriend"doesn't exactly fit us … yet.

Mikhail walks over to the bed, sits down, and wraps his arm around me. I cuddle closer to him and close my eyes, leaning against his chest. I don't realize how tired I am until sleep starts tugging on me. Mikhail leans down, kisses my head, then whispers, "It's okay. Rest. I'm here."

I move closer to him, trying to ensure there's no space between us. I want to melt into him and forget about all the pain, forget about everything that could go wrong.

"Will you stay here until I fall asleep?" I ask.

He shifts down the bed, lying down, pulling me tighter to him. "Stay here? Hell, you're giving me an excuse to get some sleep. Dimitri's in the city, sorting the venue, and I'm here, protecting my girl, letting her rest. That doesn't sound as bad as sleeping on the job, does it, my algorithmic amour?"

"I love how you can make me smile no matter what," I murmur, sinking deeper and deeper, tiredness clinging to me, dragging me down.

"That's what I live for," he replies, his voice husky and sleepy. "To make you laugh, to make you smile, to make you happy … and to destroy any bastard who'd try to ruin it."

"This will be over soon, right?" I murmur. "I won't have to marry Dimitri. Drake will be safe."

I hate the desperation in my voice, but I can't pretend I feel any other way.

"I'll tear the Bratva apart to keep you and your brother safe," Mikhail says fiercely. "Tell me about him."

"Drake?" My smile widens. "He's a happy kid despite everything. No matter what happens or what Dad does, he can always make it seem better. I remember this one time …"

"You can tell me."

"I'm scared," I admit.

"Your dad can't hurt you now."

"No … of your reaction."

His body stiffens for a moment, his grip becoming more possessive of me, and then he says, "I don't want you to be afraid to share things with me, Mila."

When I try to speak, my voice catches, but then I push past it. I refuse to live the rest of my life in fear. "About two years ago, Dad got really drunk, and he hit me." I swallow, waiting for Mikhail to go nuts. I can feel his anxiousness trying to erupt, but he somehow contains it. "After, he started saying some messed-up stuff. He was making threats to do things he'd never done before—truly depraved stuff. Mikhail, think of the sickest, most twisted things a man could say to his own child."

Mikhail grips me even tighter, then kisses the top of my head again. I can feel the possession in the kiss: his hungry need to claim me, keep me close, and stop anything like that from happening again. I'm almost crying as I sense his mood.

"He's going to pay," Mikhail tells me coldly. "What about Drake? How does he fit into this?"

"I ran to my room, crying, always crying. I wish I were more like Lia, honestly."

"What do you mean?"

"She hasn't had it easy either, but at least she can face it."

"Everybody's different," Mikhail tells me. "You've lived in a cage your whole life."

"Yeah, it's made me soft."

"No," he growls. "They tried to make you soft, but you're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

I sigh, then tell him, "Even then, Drake could make me laugh, walking around my bedroom doing his funny voices, looking almost desperate for me to be happy. I swear, that kid's the most empathetic person I've ever known."

"I can't wait to meet him."

"I hope he makes you smile, too."

We hold each other, our breathing getting heavier. When sleep finally takes me, a slideshow of the past day and a half plays rapidly in my mind. The threat and the near-kidnapping and a gun in my face and the secret date and rushing back to the compound, then lunch, and now this. Bliss. Nothingness. A chance to escape from the torment in my mind.

"Just sleep," Mikhail whispers, his voice heavy. "Nothing will hurt you again. You're safe forever."

The word forever chases me into my dreams, like a wild line of code in my mind, producing sensations like a warm bundle against my chest, as though Lia's painting has come to life and I can feel our child warmly against my skin. The sleep is too deep for me to care about doubting this or thinking about how impossible it is. All I can think is …

I want it. I need it—a future with this man.