Chapter 16 #2
“The pass is completely snowed in. Another—” Crackle. “—feet overnight. Can’t get up the mountain. Rescue teams are grounded. Tell me you’re safe.” More static. “Answer me!”
I find the genuine desperation in his voice quite…annoying.
This isn’t a handler checking in. Dimitri cares about “Kai.”
Enough to have a radio set up in the house so he can always contact her. I wonder if there’s one in her vehicle too.
That explains the dull gray satellite phone charging quietly in its cradle. Another backup communication. Just who is this guy to her? Why is he so paranoid?
He’s this serious about staying in contact with his Kai and there are no cameras?
Not fucking likely.
Maybe she wasn’t lying. Or maybe she just doesn’t know.
I lean over, follow the cords from the back of the radio to the wall, and rip them free. Plaster flies, and after two more yanks, the thick wire loosens. Then I pick up the radio and smash the whole thing against the ground, just in case.
While the broken bits of plastic don’t completely erase the foreign sensation of jealousy, they do help.
With that line of communication cut off, I search the space.
Unlike everything else in this house, every drawer in this room sits locked tight.
But locks only work when the mechanism has something to hold on to.
I kick the side of the drawers and the bracing anchors snap, causing the drawers to go cockeyed. After that, it’s a simple matter of pulling them open.
The first compartment has two guns. Makarovs. Russian make. Not the PMM version I use, but close. They’re standard issue for families like ours.
I knew you were a liar, Nika.
I shove one gun into the waistband at the small of my back, the metal cold against my spine. The other I leave tucked up on top of the shelf, out of sight.
The final room houses the water heater, HVAC unit, water softener, and circuit breaker.
Someone wasn’t thinking right when they put this travesty of water and electricity together, which might explain why the power went out and didn’t fully come back on.
I spend the next few hours sorting out the mess and following each mislabeled wire, wishing I could punch whoever came up with this in the face.
By the time I finish, I’m frustrated and still fucking sore.
When I return to the living room, Nika’s staring straight at me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes burning.
This girl’s got layers and layers to her, each more pissed than the last. She’s struggling against the restraints and trying to sit up fully.
A difficult feat with your wrists stuck behind your shoulders.
I relax against the doorframe and casually cross my arms over my chest. “Dimitri called.”
She freezes, fear flashing across her face before she can hide it.
I push off the frame and come nearer. “I told him you were tied up at the moment and in no mood to speak to another man. You think he got jealous? Or disgusted? Hmm?”
Nika jerks against the stockings. “He wouldn’t talk to you.” Then she snaps her mouth closed, her shoulders heaving. She doesn’t seem so sure.
“He was so worried about you. Said I could keep the locket if I just left you alone.”
Once Nika blinks at me and smirks, I know I’ve taken it too far. Said something Dimitri wouldn’t. So much for that plan.
Instead, to shake her up and finish my work, I start dismantling her space as well. First, her closet, since she can’t reach me there.
Right in front is one of those hanging drawer things. I think Valeria uses them for clothes that can’t go on a hanger. Inside the cubbies are perfectly folded sweaters, all white, black, or gray.
I run my hand over the warm, expensive cashmere.
The sight reminds me of Alexei and his monochrome wardrobe. Ever since he got together with Aurora, a few dark colors have popped up in his outfits. Apparently marriage really changes a man.
For the better, I guess, though I’ll never tell him that.
Same as the bookshelves, I grab the hanging cubbies and tilt. The sweaters spill out onto the floor.
Nika doesn’t react.
Why does she have so many expensive, soft, clingy clothes? Does she buy the same thing over and over because she doesn’t care? Or does she have someone else shopping for her? Her closet reminds me of the Barbie collection Valeria had as a child.
Someone’s playing dress up, but Barbie’s not the one choosing the outfits.
One by one, I pluck silk blouses off velvet hangers. Black, white, and gray in shimmering hues. They all join the sweaters on the floor. “For someone with so many sharp edges, you certainly have a lot of soft things.”
She shifts on the bed but stays quiet.
I keep searching.
Dresses in various lengths, all black. Four pairs of formal shoes in assorted heights. Four types of boots with different treads. Also all in black.
I shake out a boot, finally getting her attention. She does a half-jump and lashes out at me with her legs. “Don’t mess up my system!”
I’m still out of reach, so she can’t do a damn thing.
Too bad, princess.
Finding nothing else to amuse or inform myself with, I go for the dresser next.
Her eyes follow me, but that’s all. She’s not trying to stop me. Not acting worried or guilty or anything. Just…annoyed.
On her dresser, I discover a small dark wooden box covered in ornate carvings and designs. When the lid opens, a tinny, classical melody plays. Tink-ta-tink-tink. Delicate, precise notes crystalize in the quiet.
Tchaikovsky, maybe. For all I know about music, though, it could also be jazz.
I let the music box play for five more notes, then snap the lid shut.
The oppressive silence that follows simmers in the air. Did I finally get to her? I catch her gaze.
Nika stares with cold, heavy fury. “You can’t think this will break me. I don’t care about sweaters and music boxes.”
“But you care about something, don’t you?” I open the top drawer, hunting for anything to embarrass her with.
“Nothing. No one.”
The words echo against the stone in my chest.
I don’t care about anything either.
It’s the best way to live, I’ve learned. Not giving a shit about sweaters, music boxes, books, or silk. Not being attached to anything means I can’t be made vulnerable by people willing to destroy those things.
Everything I care about has already turned to dust.
Nika and I have that in common.
What a strange connection to have to a person, neither of us bound to anything or anyone.
But as I peer into her defiant, angry eyes, I’m pretty sure she’s lying. She does care.
At the very least, she cares about the locket or what it represents. I also detected that hint of need in Dimitri’s voice when he tried to reach out via the radio.
I sit on the edge of the mattress. As the springs dip under my weight, she goes rigid.
“Sure you do.” I lean in, and she braces herself. “You care about Roman.”
Horror clouds her face. “I couldn’t care about anyone less.”
“Caring isn’t loving.” I reach forward to trail my finger down her jaw.
“Caring is focus. Interest. Sacrifice.” My hand skates to her shoulder, then her arm.
Under my touch, tension coils in her muscles.
“Hate can resemble caring if you do it right. And you care a lot about what happens to Roman, don’t you?
You care about how much you can mess up his life. Our lives. Why?”
She tilts her head away.
I don’t like her withdrawing like that. My patience snaps, and I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. She’s not as disconnected as she pretends to be, and she needs to see that. “Why the diamonds? Why the clues? Why this twisted treasure hunt?”
My other hand trails across her body and over her breast, her ribs, her stomach. Possessive. Threatening. Ensuring she’s mortally aware of every touch even through the fabric.
She pulls her head away even as her back arches closer.
“What’s the point, Nika? What are you trying to accomplish?”
She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
The quickest way to break someone is through shock. Hot and cold works well for that. So does extreme pressure and then sudden release.
I’ve been all heat. All pressure. All dominance and violence.
Time for a new tactic.
I rise from the bed.
Confusion flickers across her wary expression. She stays tense, waiting for my next move.
I pat my stomach. “I’m hungry. How about you?”