Chapter 12
12
Anya
M emories are coming back, but nowhere near as quickly or as completely as I want. Yet, when I think of my father, my mother, my brother, and the Bratva, a bigger picture emerges in my head.
Bits and pieces come together, and I find that walking helps. A lot. The thick woods surrounding the lodge afford me plenty of room to wander and ponder. It’s quiet out there. Cold, too, but my winter parka keeps me warm enough for at least an hour, maybe two.
“You can’t go through with this,” Aleks told our father once.
The words sound so clear in my mind, as if I’m standing there right now, witnessing the moment. But I was young, maybe eight and hiding under the desk. They had no idea I could hear them.
“We made a promise, Aleks,” our father said.
“Screw the promise. Give the Sokolovs something. Anything.”
I don’t know what they’re talking about, but Aleks is remarkably passionate about it. I peer out from under the desk, admiring his strong jaw and the way the sunlight streaming through the windows dances in his platinum-blonde hair. I want to ask what they’re talking about.
There’s a sense of duty deeply ingrained in me.
It’s something I must do, even though I don’t want to do it.
Panting from the swelling headache, I sit on an old tree stump and lean forward, trying to ride out the pain. I’m pretty far from the lodge, and I’ve been recovering some interesting moments from my past. I don’t want to stop just yet.
“I’ll run away,” I say to Aleks on a different occasion, glancing at my own reflection in a mirror.
We’re in my room. I’m wearing a prep school uniform: dark green tweed with a white shirt. My hair is braided in two tight plaits that run down my back. I can’t be more than sixteen, and so miserable.
“I will. Father won’t even realize I’m gone until it’s too late.”
“Don’t be foolish, Anya,” Aleks insists. “I’m trying to work out a different deal. Be patient. I promise, I’ll get us out of this.”
“I’d rather die than—”
“Anya!” A woman’s voice pierces through my memory.
Much like a cloud of smoke, the image dissipates. I reach out into the darkness that replaces it, grasping at something out of reach.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath and look up.
Breonna stands there. Her bright pink ski suit stands out against the ancient pine trees and the sea of pristine, white snow. Her red hair falls down her back in a ruby cascade. The white woolen hat is more for show; it barely covers her ears.
“Hey, Breonna,” I reply. “What are you doing out here?”
“You’re practically in my backyard,” she answers. “I’m just out on my morning walk. I spotted you from afar and figured the guys might be around, too.” Breonna pauses to look around. “Where are they?”
“Not here. I’m on my own.”
She gives me a long, curious look. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just out for a walk as well,” I reply with a weak smile. Had she not come around, I could have managed to dig a little deeper in my memory banks. I’d kill to remember everything, even if it hurts.
Perhaps if I remember everything, the grief I’ve been carrying around within me will subside. There’s no amount of lovemaking, not even with the three Hayes brothers, that can soothe my growing restlessness, as much as I wish it was that simple.
“How have you been?” Breonna asks, coming closer.
“More of the same,” I reply. The last thing I’m going to do is share my near-death experience with her. The Hayes brothers and I agreed to keep a tight lid on my identity and Max Sokolov’s involvement.
The name Max is starting to sound familiar to me, but more like by proxy. He’s related to someone I know—or knew. I’m not sure.
“Just recovering, taking it one day at a time,” I add, patting the stump for Breonna to join me. “It’s nice and quiet out here if you want to sit awhile.”
“Thank you, you’re kind. I was hoping to get some steps in, though. If another blizzard hits, I’ll be stuck in my cabin for another week or two.”
“Why don’t you go back to the city then?” I ask. “Denver, wasn’t it?”
She gives me a frosty smile. “And leave you here alone with those three hunks? In your dreams, girl.”
Whoa. Shots fired .
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You think I didn’t pick up on your game?”
I’m even more confused. And my blood is starting to boil. What the hell is she going on about? “What game?”
“Come on, Anya, I can see right through your little charade: Playing the amnesiac damsel, tugging at their heart strings. The Hayes brothers are good men, decent men, and I don’t like it when someone swoops in and tries to take advantage of them,” Breonna replies, her tone clipped as she crosses her arms. “At least admit you don’t have any memory issues.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“Oh, I met your friend Max the other day. He said you two got separated during the blizzard,” Breonna says.
My throat closes up. She was in contact with my assailant? “Wait, wait. Breonna, hold on. What did Max tell you?”
“Tht you’re his girlfriend. That you’re playing the Hayes brothers,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. “I can see right through you, you know.”
“I’m not! Oh, God, Breonna. He lied to you.”
“And why should I believe you?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. “Leave them alone. They’ve been nothing but good to you. They don’t deserve to get dragged into whatever scheme you’re hatching.”
I stand up, angered and emboldened. “You don’t have the full picture here—”
“I’ve got enough. I welcomed you into my home, Anya. And you’ve been lying. The whole time, you’ve been lying. Listen, I care about Nico and his brothers. They’re decent men, which is a rare thing to find in this day and age. Why don’t you just leave? Go back to New York, fix whatever toxic relationship you’ve got going on with Max, and stay away.”
Max has poisoned Breonna’s mind. But what hurts most is the speed with which she gobbled it up. She isn’t even giving me a chance to explain myself, and the anger amplifies an already bothersome headache.
Moments flash before my eyes.
A man, in particular. His face becomes clearer with each breath I take. Dark hair, cold blue eyes. But he’s not Max. They must be related.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he looks confident. I feel uneasy. Threatened. Vulnerable.
Helpless.
But I am not helpless. Not here.
“For your information, Max tried to kill me,” I calmly tell Breonna. “And my memory lapses are real. Dr. Rollins can confirm, though I’m pretty sure he’s beholden to his doctor-patient privilege. Max is the reason I was injured in the first place. He shot me.”
All of a sudden, Breonna’s anger vanishes. Confusion and shame take their place. I don’t need a psychology degree to read her expression.
“What?” she manages, lowering her gaze for a few seconds.
“I can’t remember everything, but one thing is certain: That man was not my boyfriend. He tried to kill me. Twice. And the Hayes brothers can confirm that. They saved me from him. Twice.”
I pause, giving Breonna a moment to gather herself, but she’s too stunned, too embarrassed. “I’ve given you no reason to doubt me, I’ve been honest about who I am and what I remember from the beginning.”
“Anya—”
“No. I don’t deserve any of this, and I sure as hell won’t take it. Not from him and not from you,” I shoot back, finding the strength to move away. “I’ve been through enough. I don’t need this crap.”
I leave Breonna behind, standing in the clearing, surrounded by a sea of snow and tall, dark pines, as I make my way back to the familiar path that will lead me to the lodge. Every step I take brings me closer to my past. Every breath ignites a synapse connection, causing bits and pieces to return once more.
There’s a lot I can’t quite put together into a coherent story, but the puzzle feels less empty in the middle. A bigger picture is beginning to emerge, and at the center of it is a tale of greed, obsession, and lust for power.