Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
JONAH
A woman steps out of the shadows near the doorframe.
“Matushka.”
The man on the couch rises and reaches for her, but she doesn’t take his arm. She moves past him without slowing. She threw that knife. Next to me, Dad lets out a breathless sound.
“Good evening, Ms. Morozova. I was just saying to your son—”
Heavy gold rings catch the light when she lifts her hand. “You brought a nurse?”
Dad hesitates. “Yes. I mean, no. Jonah is my son. He drove me here.”
Liar.
“I see.”
She is dressed in black, her hair pulled into a severe braid. She looks old enough to be my grandmother, but her eyes are cold enough to be my executioner. “Jonah…” Her Russian accent rolls around my name. Her pale blue eyes fix on me. “And how old are you?”
“I’m… twenty-three,” I stammer.
“Hm.” She nods like she approves the answer. Her attention moves over my scrubs. “And you work at the hospital?”
“Yes, Ma’am. In the ER.”
She tips her head, then pulls the knife out of the door in one smooth motion. “He’s not going anywhere, Sergei. I can use him.”
The man, Sergei, clears his throat. “Matushka, Petrov is already assigned upstairs. We don’t need—”
She lifts a hand. Sergei goes still. His mouth closes on whatever he was about to say.
“Jack Rader.” She turns to Dad. “You were trusted with our money. You wasted it. You lied. You ran. And now you return because you’ve finally understood that death follows people like you when they have nowhere left to run.”
Dad doesn’t argue. He keeps his eyes on the carpet. His fingers press into his right knee until the skin goes white. His breath slips out uneven, loud enough for me to hear.
“You can’t repay what you lost,” she continues. “You never could.”
“As I told your son, I can start repayment soon. I have work lined up. This time will be different. This time—”
“No. It won’t. So far you’ve offered nothing but excuses. They’ve turned out to be empty. Useless.”
“Please—”
“No. No more pleas. Be a man about it.” She tilts her chin. “You took our money and went to town. You didn’t pay us back what you should, and you broke your promise. For that, you’ll face punishment. Sergei.”
Sergei steps forward. Dad sucks in a breath. His hands curl into fists at his sides. A knife flashes in Sergei’s hand.
“No—” Dad chokes on the word.
She flicks her fingers. “Show him what happens to thieves. Start with the hands.”
Sergei grabs Dad’s wrist and yanks his arm forward.
He screams as the steel bites into his knuckle.
I flinch, watching the blood bloom against his skin.
He wets himself, the dark stain spreading over his trousers while he blubbers for mercy.
This is the man I used to look up to when I was a kid.
The man who left me homeless when Mom died.
Hungry. Heartbroken. But he’s all I have left.
Around us, Russian words fill the air. Then Dad shrieks again.
“Take me instead.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
My heart is a frantic bird hitting the walls of my chest. I look at the blood on his knuckles and the stain on his pants.
I know he isn't worth a single drop of mine, but the words leave my mouth anyway. I’m throwing my life away for a man who wouldn't blink if I died, but the words are already out. There’s no taking them back.
Dad jerks toward me, his face going pale. “Jonah—”
“You knew.” My voice breaks. “When you phoned tonight. You knew the trouble you were in, and that I’d never let you die. Is this what you had in mind? When you needed a favor? You knew I’d come. You knew I’d stay.”
I turn back to the woman and press my hand to my chest. “If you need blood, take mine.”
Dad just stares at me. His mouth hangs open. His face is red from crying. He shakes his head. “Jonah—”
“Spare us the performance, Jack.” The woman’s lips tip up in a cruel smile. “You were already useless to us. Your son, on the other hand, I can use.” She studies me. Her fingers tap once against the knife handle.
She steps closer. I can smell her floral perfume. “My grandson was shot a week ago. He’s barely conscious now.” Her blue eyes stay on mine. “I need him breathing.”
I frown. “You want me to… help him?”
I nod, even though my knees are ready to buckle. It's all moving too fast. One minute I’m an ER nurse with a mortgage, and the next I’m a ghost in a mansion. I nod, knowing that by stepping onto those stairs, I’m signing away every right I have to a world that will never come looking for me.
She measures me for a long moment. “You’ll keep his heart beating. You’ll never leave his side. What happens to him happens on you.”
I nod once. My chest is tightening. “What happens to my father?”
“He’ll answer for what he’ve done.” She doesn’t look back. “But not now.”
Dad lets out a small sound that barely leaves his throat. “I’ll pay it back.”
She doesn’t even look at him. “Sokolov. Take Jonah to Petrov.”
The tall guard steps forward with a curt nod. I look at Dad again. His mouth is set tight. His eyes won’t meet mine. I can’t help but wonder if he knew this would happen. If he brought me here knowing exactly what they’d do to me.
A rush of regret climbs my throat. “I can’t leave him like this.”
“You can. And you will. Your work is upstairs, not here.”
Dad’s face twists. Sokolov steps behind me and closes a hand around my shoulder.
“You’ll keep him drawing breath.” Her gaze stays on me. “If you fail, I’ll bury you with him. Alive.”
The word hits me in the gut. My throat closes. I can already feel the weight of the dirt and the cold pressing into my chest until my lungs stop moving. I'm already panicking.
I look at Dad because there’s nowhere else to look, still believing he’ll rise to defend me.
He doesn’t move.
“Say something,” I whisper.
He lifts his head. The fear in his eyes turns into a sharp, ugly heat. “Say something? To you? You were the biggest—”
The echo of his words from years ago slams into me.
The biggest mistake of my life.
They hit me harder than a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.
The words hit me harder than a fist, and suddenly, the guard’s grip is the only thing keeping me upright.
I want to scream, to hit him, to demand he take it back, but my body is already going numb.
I’m half-outside myself as the guard hauls me away.
“Walk.” Sokolov’s grip tightens, already guiding me forward.
I let myself be dragged away. Anything’s better than Dad’s words. He betrayed me, or perhaps I betrayed myself. All I bought him was time.
The hallway outside is darker. A keypad glows at the far end. There is blood on the doorframe. Sokolov hauls me through, and the door locks behind us. The sound is final. There’s nowhere left to run, and honestly, after what Dad said, I don't think I want to.