41. Tayana
41
TAYANA
“ W here are you taking us?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend, though there is an edge to it I can’t hide.
“Patience, Kotyonok ,” Igor replies, the endearment rolling off his tongue like poisonous silk. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk when we get home.”
The word home twists in my gut. “Home?”
“Yes,” he says, his tone as calm as if we were discussing the weather. “We’re going home to Russia, where you belong. With your father.”
A chill sweeps over me, despite the warmth of the heated car. “I don’t want to go home,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. It feels strange, admitting it out loud. I sound like a little girl again, pleading to stay where I feel safe. “This is my home now.”
Igor lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head like a parent humoring a stubborn child. “This is not your home, Kotyonok . This will never be your home.”
The finality of his words sting, though I refuse to show it. My nails bite into the leather seat as I clench my fists. “Who says you get to decide where my home is?” I snap.
Igor ignores me, his gaze fixed ahead. He is as immovable as the trees outside the window, his authority as unyielding as steel.
Maxine sits across from me, the bomb belt still strapped to her waist like a cruel joke. Her hands rest on her lap, fidgeting nervously, and her wide eyes dart between me and Igor, then toward the passing forest. There is something distant in her gaze, a quiet desperation that makes my chest ache. Is she searching for an escape? A miracle? Or just saying goodbye?
“Is she coming, too?” I ask, nodding toward Maxine.
Igor’s cold eyes shift to her, then back to me. A slow smile spreads across his face, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes,” he says, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll need a friend where we’re going.”
“Let her go, Igor,” I say, my voice hardening. “She doesn’t need to come with us.”
He shakes his head, the faux sympathy in his expression making my blood boil. “I can’t do that.”
“This isn’t right,” I argue, my voice rising despite myself. “I can understand what you’re doing to me. But why drag her into this mess?”
“She’s leverage,” he says simply, leaning back into his seat. His tone is calm, calculated, like a teacher explaining a lesson. “You two are built the same. In your attempts to save each other, neither of you will step out of line. If I let her go, you’ll fight me like a kitten, won’t you, little one?”
The word kitten grates on my nerves, its mockery stoking the fire of my defiance. My teeth clench as I glare at him, hatred burning in my chest.
Before I can respond, movement catches my eye. I turn just in time to see Maxine reaching for the door handle.
“No! Maxine, no!” I scream, lunging toward her.
The door swings open, letting in a burst of cold air and the roar of the road beneath us. Maxine manages to slide toward the edge, half her body hanging precariously out of the limousine before I can grab her. My heart seizes as I realize what she is doing.
She isn’t trying to save herself. She is trying to save me.
The truth hits me like a punch to the gut. If she jumps, the bomb will detonate, but she’d be far enough from the car to spare me. Tears blur my vision as I grab her arm, pulling with all my strength even as she struggles against me.
“Don’t!” I cry, my voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this, Maxine!”
Her eyes meet mine, filled with a heartbreaking mix of determination and sorrow. “I have to,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind.
“No, you don’t!” I shout, my grip tightening. My muscles scream in protest, but I won’t let her go. “Think of Mia!”
The car lurches to a sudden stop, throwing us forward. The driver climbs out, slamming his door with practiced efficiency. Within seconds, he is on Maxine’s side, yanking her roughly back into the car.
The door slams shut, and I hear the locks engage with a cold, metallic click. The driver returns to his seat, and we resume our journey as if nothing has happened.
Breathless and trembling, I sit back, staring at Maxine. She avoids my gaze, her hands shaking as she smooths the fabric of her sleeve where I’d grabbed her.
“Don’t do that again,” I snap, my voice harsher than I intended.
Maxine flinches, then gives me a sheepish look, her lips trembling as she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Igor’s laughter breaks the tense silence, low and cruel. “You see, malysh ,” he says, his gaze flicking between us. “You were made for this world.”
I turn to him, my fury blazing, but his calm, unreadable expression sends a shiver down my spine.
No , I think. I wasn’t made for this world. But I’ll survive it—and I’ll make sure Maxine does too.
The limousine circles the tarmac, finally coming to a stop near the waiting jet. The aircraft stands silent and imposing, its stairs lowered as if it has nothing better to do than wait for Igor’s arrival. The stillness of the airstrip feels wrong—unnatural. The distant hum of engines, the occasional echo of activity, the ambient noise one would expect from even a private airfield are all absent.
It is too quiet.
My heart drums against my ribs, each beat pounding a warning that echoes in my ears. Beside me, Maxine shifts nervously, her hands twitching in her lap. I catch her wide-eyed glance toward the jet, her fear unmistakable. She feels it too—that electric charge in the air, the kind that heralds a storm.
The driver steps out first, opening Igor’s door before retrieving a single hardcase bag from the trunk. I frown. Neither Maxine nor I packed anything. The driver hands the bag to Igor, who inspects it briefly before passing it off to a pilot approaching us in a small tug vehicle.
The pilot is a wiry man with a sun-weathered face and an air of detached professionalism. He hops off the tug, tips his cap toward Igor, and takes the bag with an effortless efficiency that makes my stomach twist.
“It’s all there,” Igor says, his voice calm but laced with tension. His gaze darts around the empty airfield, scanning for threats that might not even exist.
“A real shame we couldn’t do crypto again,” the pilot replies as he flips open the locks on the bag.
Stacks of hundred-dollar bills gleam under the harsh floodlights. My stomach sinks further as I realize how much this exchange means to Igor. This isn’t just a routine transaction; this was a calculated move, and this plane will be taking off today. There are no two ways about it.
The pilot snaps the bag shut, his expression unreadable. His poker face is flawless, but it isn’t the calm that strikes me—it is the deliberate neutrality. The kind of look someone wears when they’re hiding something.
That’s when I feel it: a prickle at the base of my spine, an icy wave rushing up from my toes. My entire body screams a warning that has no words, no logic, just raw instinct. Something is about to happen.
“Why so quiet?” Igor asks, suspicion clouding his voice as he surveys the stillness.
The pilot doesn’t flinch. “It’s a public holiday,” he says smoothly. “Not many people out and about.”
I freeze. A public holiday? No, there isn’t one. Igor couldn’t know that—he hasn’t spent enough time here to know the rhythm of this place, the details that come naturally to someone like me. But I know, and so does Maxine. Her eyes lock with mine, wide with realization.
“It’s quiet, yes,” Igor mutters, his tone softening. The pilot’s answer has appeased him, at least for the moment. “Wheels up?” he asks, shifting his focus back to the transaction.
“Thirty minutes,” the pilot says, slinging the bag onto the tug with ease. “I’ll just take care of this and meet you on the plane.”
Igor gives him a long, assessing look, as if weighing the truth of his words. The pilot stares back, calm and composed, before driving away with the bag.
“Let’s go,” Igor orders, leading us toward the waiting jet.
Every fiber of my being screams at me to act, to do something, to say something that might stall him. My mind races as I follow Maxine toward the plane, Igor trailing beside me like a shadow.
“Don’t do this,” I say, grabbing Igor’s sleeve. My voice is low but forceful, desperate.
He stops mid-step, turning to look at me with a mixture of irritation and amusement. “And what would you have me do, Kotyonok ? Stay here and wait for someone to take you from me? You belong in Russia. With your family.”
“This isn’t right,” I press, my voice trembling with emotion. “You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to leave.”
Igor smirks, his grip on my arm tightening just enough to make me wince. “You’re stalling,” he says softly, leaning closer until his face is inches from mine. “I know what you’re doing. It won’t work.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. “Please,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Just let us go.”
Igor straightens, his smirk fading into a cold, calculated expression. “You’re wasting your breath, Kotyonok . Get on the plane. It’s time to go.”
I don’t move. Maxine stands frozen at the bottom of the stairs, her hands trembling as she clutches the railing. Her gaze flicks between me and the jet, her fear palpable.
“Tayana,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Something’s wrong.”
“I know,” I murmur, my heart pounding.
Igor turns sharply. “Now,” he barks, his voice like a whip cracking through the silence.
I hesitate, glancing back toward the tarmac. The pilot has disappeared, and the tug is nowhere in sight. The stillness of the airfield presses down on me, getting heavier by the moment.
Somewhere, hidden in the shadows, something is waiting.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a flicker of hope as I start to ascend the stairs one by one.