Chapter Twenty-Four - Kiara
Wincing, I turn on my side, feeling like a mummy with all the bandages I’m wrapped up in. I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve been like this. All I know is when the sun comes up, and when it goes down. Akim is around, but the only way I know that is when I feel his presence beside me during the night.
Sometimes I’ve cried out during the night in distress from reliving the terror of the kidnapping, and his voice has soothed me back to sleep.
“Shh, Kiara. It’s okay, you’re having a nightmare. Go back to sleep. I’m right here. You’re safe with me.” I keep seeing the tangerine flames of the fire gobbling me up as my flesh burns. I wake up drenched in sweat, embarrassed, and search for Akim, but he’s nowhere to be found.
It’s lucky I’ve survived the ordeal, and for the first week—from what I remember—an IV was attached to my arm to help me get the vital fluids and nutrients I needed. But I’m better now and can eat solids. It’s a miracle that I only received second-degree burns, on my back and my calves, but the cough from the smoke inhalation has taken longer to go away.
I think Ethan knocked me out before the fire, but I don’t recall that part, and nor do I want to. Peeling back the covers, the burns stretched over my skin make it a little harder to move around, and today is the first day I feel like getting up.
Wincing, I head into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It’s not a pretty sight. My face was burned, but the special gel the nurses have been putting on it is working to heal it up. My eyes are puffy and red, and I’m still hurting. I’m just glad to be alive. I take a deep breath, seeing that like every other morning, Akim is already out of bed and gone.
Tackling the shower is an ordeal, and one I want to go through myself before the nurses come, but I’m not in luck.
“Good morning, Mrs. Utkin. Are you in the shower? Won’t you let me help you with the bandages and taking them off.”
“Um, yeah sure.” I grimace, but there’s no point fighting her. I’ll have to redress the wounds once I get out anyway.
I sit down on the edge of the bed as the day nurse unwraps my wounds, taking a look at them and putting on waterproof gauze. She checks my temperature, blood pressure, and tick’s items off her list. Soon after a cart of food is wheeled in, making me feel as if I’m in the hospital. There have been so many people floating in and out of the room that I haven’t had enough time to process what happened.
“How are you feeling this morning?” the nurse asks in an upbeat voice, tearing me from my self-pity as the blind rises, the light too much for the sensitivity of my eyes.
Choking from the roughness in my throat, I croak, shielding my face from the flood of Chicago sunshine. The nurse lifts a cup of water to my lips, and I let the wet liquid quench my severely parched throat. “Thank you.” I cough. “I’m okay, but can you pull the blind down some. The light—it’s too much.”
I’ve sobbed every night since I’ve been rescued, hating that I ended up being a pawn in Ethan’s sick game. He wanted us both dead in the fire and it would have killed two birds with one stone—avenging the death of his half brother and getting Akim out of the way, clearing his path to overturning the Bratva. Guilt robs me of sleep at times for not seeing the red flags. I’d been too trusting and impulsive that day I met Ethan at the restaurant. I really kidded myself into thinking the guy wanted closure.
The nurse drags me out of my pity party. “No problem. We can close them. You’re getting better, and that’s a good thing, Mrs. Utkin,” the nurse advises, consoling me. And she’s right; day by day I’m recovering physically, but my mind and heart are confused. I wait until the nurse leaves, showering and getting dressed with great difficulty, my skin feeling as if it’s cracking apart at the seams.
Akim’s ashen face and him holding me in his arms with such anguish etched on his face is what I first saw when I came to. “Kiara. Don’t give up on me now. Live! Stay alive, please. For me. For us.” Applying my face cream, I frown in the mirror without understanding. He’s a complicated man to deal with. I have so much gratitude for him saving my life, but I’m confused by his actions.
Taking my time, I walk into the kitchen to find Ramona and kitchen staff preparing meals. “Smells good in here.” I smile, deciding I can’t keep wallowing. I’ve done enough of that over the last couple of weeks and need to start getting back on my feet.
“Yes. A big breakfast for you. Akim’s taking his in the office this morning.” A spark of hope fills my chest.
“He’s here?”
“Yes. He is, but I believe he has an appointment soon and will be heading out.” The eggs sizzle in the pan as I walk over to the bookcase staring at the one photo Akim has on it. He looks so different in it. So cute, like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Softer, kind eyes and standing beside his mother, peace on his face as he holds on to her hand. The photo’s creased in parts as if it’s been folded up somewhere, but it’s the only family photo I’ve ever seen of him.
I can sense the housekeeper’s eyes on me as I pick up the full color photo, studying it, looking for the humanity in Akim. “Ah, that’s Akim’s mother—Mat.” My ears perk up when she mentions the word.
“What did you say? Can you say it again?”
“What? Mat?”
I put the photo back, coming closer in a trance, wanting to hear what I think I heard the first time. “Yes… Mat, means mother in Russian. You didn’t know?” A tiny pattern of pulses drill through my wrist, but I keep my internal thoughts to myself.
The one he called for when I drugged him. The lady he calls for in his sleep sometimes.
A wave of guilt returns, there’s more to this man than he’s telling me. “Did you know her?” A plate of food is placed in front of me.
“No. She was before me,” the housekeeper says simply.
“What do you mean she was before you?”
She eyes me cautiously. “I think that’s a story best left for your husband. I’ll take his food to him now.” She dashes out of the room leaving me frustrated while I stab at my scrambled eggs.
Maybe this is a good time to try and talk to him about things. I eat first, and bring myself to his home office, the skyline visible, and with him seated behind the desk.
“Good morning.” I smile, wanting to connect with him. He looks up quickly, his face filled with concern. He’s dressed casually in a collared shirt and slacks—that’s casual for Akim, but on his arm is a bandage from his own burns, but much of the damage is on his legs. Akim needed several stitches from the sharp object that pierced through one of them, and he’s still limping.
“Morning. Everything okay? Do you need something?” Hesitating, I sigh at the door, not sitting down, finding the words hard to come by. He taps his fingers on the desk impatiently, and I don’t feel I should, but I find the courage to anyway.
“No. I wanted to see if you’re okay….” Akim’s concern fades fast, his jaw ticking as he shuffles papers on his desk.
“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about. I do have a meeting with Luka and Boris in five minutes, but if you need something, the staff are here to help.” His brush-off is like a punch to the gut.
“Akim….”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you talk about your mother or your family?” I whisper quietly, wishing I didn’t as I watch a dark shield go down over his eyes.
“Because she’s dead, Kiara. There’s nothing to talk about. Can we speak later?” His terse tone draws the imaginary line between us as I hang my head, heading out. Ever since the fire he’s been distant—lost in sullen silence, spending most of his time with Luka and Boris planning an attack that’s thrust me out in the cold.
I don’t have a place in his world. And probably never will.
In the afternoon is when the spark of hope returns, and my father comes to visit. We hug for a long time and spend time in the study. “Kiara. I thought I lost you,” he cries. “This is no life for you. It’s not what I wanted, and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done this to you.”
“Dad. Please don’t cry. I can’t handle it. Let’s just talk about the happy times. Cheer me up.” If I allow the past to take over, I might never move forward, so I can’t go back.
“Sorry.” And for the rest of the afternoon, he keeps me company, and I get to believe things are really like old times. But later, when I reflect in my room all alone with Akim absent, I realize I have feelings for him—as complicated as they may be—but I block them.
Akim’s only concerned with power and domination. He’s incapable of love, and it’s a price you must pay for marrying him.
And as I lay alone in the cold, king-size bed, I come to terms with my twisted fate. I’ve made my bed and now I have to lie in it.