Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Hot water manages to soothe my aching body. The droplets fall all over my body, a sigh of content filling the shower. The glass door is coated in a thick cloud of steam, the warmth seeping out into the bathroom through the small cracks.
I had no idea that Lucas is such a good fighter. I’d never think that judging by the way he dresses, acts, and the way his physique looks. Then again, if I learned anything, it’s not to judge based on someone’s appearance. He looks tame compared to the rest of the family, but he’s just as strong.
He sent me flying flat on my ass four times in an hour. There are a few bruises scattered around my body, but they’ll heal with time. He taught me some tricks that are the definition of playing dirty, but that’s exactly what I need right now. Playing by the book won’t help anyone.
After letting the mask sit on my hair for twenty minutes, I rinse it off, then finish showering. I open the glass door, wrap myself in a fluffy towel, and step outside on a soft mat, the cloud of steam following me. With a sigh, I open the small window, letting the cold winter air enter.
I dry myself off, then take a moment to look at my naked body.
Except for the scars and the new bruises, I look way better.
The change is noticeable, and although I still have a long way ahead of me to return to my former weight, it’s a good start.
Cove’s meal plans, paired with the training they’ve given me, seem to be helping.
The shirt on me is too big — because it belongs to Arlo.
It falls down to my mid-thighs, the sleeves coming to my elbow.
A small smile graces my features briefly.
It’s the only way for me to feel connected to him while he’s away.
Every night, I pray for his recovery, hoping that some deity hears and answers my prayers.
My feet slide into the slippers with ease, and without allowing myself too much to think, I pull open a drawer of the bathroom. The small packet of white is nearly empty, staring right back at me. I pull it out, pat the bathroom counter dry, then create a small line.
I bend down, holding my left nostril closed with my index finger, and inhale through my right one. My eyes close; a moment of bliss, relief, and content washes over me. It floods my veins, and the effect is almost immediate. My body relaxes, nothing hurts, and my mind is at ease.
With a deep breath, I leave the bathroom, entering my bedroom in the base. That’s the safest place for me to be, and I took Hudson and Noelle’s room, so no one else is allowed inside easily.
A small scream hitches in my throat when I spot a figure sitting on the bed. They reach for the lamp on the bedside table, and I can’t tell if I’m relieved or pissed to see Kaya sitting on the bed, yet again acting like she owns the place.
“Have you ever heard of knocking?”
She shrugs. “Stop acting like a kid. You called me here. Mind you, I was in my castle back in Russia, enjoying the snow on the mountains.”
“Wait, hold on, you live in a castle?”
“Obviously,’’ she drawls out. “What else would be suitable for me?”
“A psych ward.”
“One more word and I’m leaving.”
“Wait, no,” I step forward.
Kaya stands up, walking towards me. She stops two feet away from me, a frown on her expression. Her eyes skim through my face thoroughly, brows narrowing. I blink a couple of times, and that’s enough for her to get in my personal bubble.
“What are you—”
“Shush,” she mutters, her nose almost touching mine. Her hand comes to cup my jaw, then grips it and yanks me forward. Her eyes are glued to my nose, and panic consumes me. Fucking hell, she noticed.
“What did you take?”
“What do you mean?” I feign ignorance, and she drops my jaw, stepping back. “I didn’t take anything.”
“These idiots here might not notice, but don’t put me in the same category as these fools, Blair,” she scoffs, then walks past me and enters the bathroom.
I don’t even get the chance to stop her before she emerges back from the bathroom, holding the small packet of drugs in her hand, showing it to me.
“That’s—”
She cuts me off with a single lift of her finger, my mouth clamping shut. Kaya sits on the bed, opens it, then dips her pinky finger inside. She licks the white powder off, looking out the window, kissing her teeth.
“Thank fuck.”
“What?” The confusion in my voice is evident.
Kaya simply rolls her eyes. “It’s pure heroin.”
“And that’s good?”
She blinks, clearly annoyed. “Taking any drugs is bad, Blair. But if you’re taking them, it’s better to take high-quality ones, because most of the heroin that’s easily accessible on the streets has a mix of other substances that makes them far more dangerous.”
“Oh.’’
“How long have you been taking this?’’
Her question leaves no room for a single lie. If I try to give her a bullshit story, she’ll force the truth out of me, one way or the other, and I’m not sure her cage is the one I’d ever want to rattle.
“Two weeks.”
“How much?”
“A line or two a day.”
She sighs, eyes closing. She drops the bag to the floor, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s silent for what seems to be an eternity. When her eyes open, it’s as if someone let in the air from the North Pole. Everything feels icy cold, her dull, dead eyes staring right back at me.
“Aren’t you and Arlo quite the couple? One’s a raging alcoholic, the other one is a heroin addict.”
“I’m not an addict.”
“No,” she says slowly. “You think you’re not an addict. Those are two different things, Blair. The addiction is there, and it won’t end easily.”
“How would you know?”
She lies down on the bed, arms propped under her head as she stares off into the ceiling. “I used to do drugs, too.”
“You did?” I blink, baffled.
Kaya always looks so… poised. Her elegance is not something one can wear easily. It’s not the clothes, the hair, or the makeup. It’s the way she carries herself, the way she speaks, acts and knows when to keep quiet. The fact that she used to do drugs comes as a shock.
“Mm,” she hums. “There’s not a drug on the market I haven’t tried.”
“Why would you do it?”
“It’s a long story.”
I shrug. “I’ve got time.”
It’s silent for a moment.
“Seven months, twelve days, and eighteen hours.”
“Pardon?”
“In total, that is the amount of time I spent chained to a wall like an animal.”
I sit down on the bed next to her. Her eyes flick to me, and there’s nothing within. Not a single emotion, just plain stoicism that sends chills down my body.
“What?”
“I was born as the only daughter of the Russian Pakhan,” she starts the story, and I lean forward, listening carefully.
“My father hated that. He had three sons, including my twin brother, and he had no use for a daughter. Because there’s a big age gap between my two older brothers and me, they were shipped off to America to receive the best education.
My twin, Victor, and I stayed back in Russia.
My father came up with a plan. If he couldn’t use a daughter in the same way he’d use a son, he’d turn me into his own, personal weapon. ”
My brows skyrocket to my hairline. “So, you received harsher training?”
Kaya laughs, but it lacks emotion. “Not quite. I was eight years old when he tried forcing me to kill a man for the first time. I was so young, so innocent and had no idea what it meant to reject his wishes.”
Pure shock takes over my features. “Eight years old?”
Kaya nods. “Because I said no, he built me my very own tower behind the castle. It had one room at the top, and that’s where he used to give me my punishments.
That was the first time he ever locked me up.
He left me there for two weeks, without any human contact.
My nanny was the only one that came once a day to give me food, let me use the restroom, then chain me back up. Poor Nadia cried all while doing it.’’
My heart sinks to my feet. The fact that her own father would use psychological torture on a child is sickening, my stomach churning in disgust.
“She didn’t help you leave?”
“She couldn’t. She wasn’t scared he’d kill her, she was scared of how it would end for me.
After two weeks were up, he let me out. He allowed me to taste a bit of freedom, let me go back to school as usual, then tried again a few months later.
When I said no, he beat me to the point of needing medical care, which was provided by his personal doctor, yet again in that tower. ”
“Jesus, Kaya…”
“I was scared of telling my brothers, especially the oldest one, Aleksei. He’s always had a soft spot for me, and no doubt, he would’ve killed our father where he stood.
But he’d also return from the States to take over the business.
And I didn’t want to be the reason he didn’t finish his education. ”
“Where’s your mother in all of this?”
Kaya snorts, looking at me. “She’s been ill all my childhood, and at the time, she was battling cancer. She was bedridden, so I never bothered telling her.
My chest feels heavy. Goosebumps appear all over my arms, and Kaya’s story makes me sick. She’s suffered through so much, and something tells me she’s not done telling me this yet.
“Let me guess… You ended up killing a person?”
Kaya nods. “I was nine. And somewhere along the line, I stopped feeling altogether. I stayed silent through all the beatings, and when I’d get locked up, chained to the fucking wall, I’d just shut off.
Like a machine — the very same my father wanted.
You should’ve seen the look on his face when he realized what happened. He was so fucking proud of himself.”
A bitter tone laces her tongue, and she continues staring at me.
“When I turned eighteen, I came to the States too to receive an education. My brother took over the part of the business in New York, and I was living with him. He immediately noticed something off. Still, I refused to tell him about what used to happen at home while he was gone. Until one day, he forced me to see a doctor. After tests and tests and being probed by needles and injections, after having spoken to at least a dozen different doctors, they gave a clear diagnosis.”
“A diagnosis?”
“Antisocial personality disorder and borderline personality disorder, a condition known as comorbidity.”
Realization dawns on me, and suddenly, everything makes sense. She has an actual reason for being as cold, as distant, and as emotionless as she is. From a happy, lively child, she was forced to become someone with no regard for right or wrong.
“You’re a sociopath?”
“I hate that term.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t pity me. I hate that even more.”
“I wasn’t—”
She cuts me off with a glare, and I clamp my mouth shut.
“Anyway, after I received an official diagnosis, I was a fucking mess. I was in and out of rehab for drugs and alcohol, and all I did was leave bodies behind. If anyone so much as looked at me the wrong way, they were dead.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Not at all,” she says, sitting up. “I can’t feel regret. I’d never bother myself with such useless emotion. But that’s not why I’m telling you all of this.”
“Then why are you telling me all of this?”
“I found comfort in drugs, just like you. Until I shifted all the anger toward the person who’s directly responsible for all of it.”
“Your father,” I finish the sentence, and she nods.
“I killed him recently, too. It was such a liberating moment, Blair. I’ll never get back the youth, the innocence he stole from me, but at least I know that he died by the monster he made. Which is why I believe you need the same.”
“I’ll kill Simmons when the time comes.”
“I know you will,” she nods. “But I’m not talking about him here. Who’s the reason all of this even started in the first place?”
“My biological father.”
“Start there.”
“I would, but I have no idea where he is.”
“I do.”