Chapter 21 Ilya
TWENTY-ONE
ILYA
“Change of plans,” I say to Boris as the line goes dead. “We’re going to Mishka.”
Boris glances at me from the driver’s seat. “What? Milov said—”
“I don’t care!” I snap. I find the address to Adam’s house in my GPS’s history and select it. “If Micah dies because you drove too slow, so help me—”
“Yeah, I got it!” Boris hits the accelerator, going just enough over the speed limit that we won’t get pulled over.
Unfortunately, it’s still mid-day in the big city, and traffic isn’t exactly light.
The only saving grace is that the address is in the same direction we were originally going in. It’s not a huge detour.
Shit.
I should have listened to my gut. I’d known Micah wasn’t safe.
I’d doubted, for one second, and that could cost Micah his life.
“He’s going to kill him,” I say. I lay my hands flat on my thighs. “I’ve seen this before.”
Boris grimaces. “You don’t think he’s still playing you? This could be entrapment—”
“My father,” I interrupt. “He killed my mother. He killed her on the night she finally decided to leave.” I let out a dark, inhuman laugh.
“After years and years of me begging for her to make the choice… I should have killed the bastard myself. But I couldn’t even get myself to do that.
I beat him up, crippled him, and I went to prison while that fucker got to keep living like he’d done nothing wrong. ”
“Fuck.” Boris makes a sharp turn onto a side street. “Sorry. I knew your father was complete shit, but…”
“Your old man wasn’t any better,” I point out.
“Yeah, but my mama ran away.” Boris curses and has to swerve to avoid a delivery bike. “Left me behind with him, but what else could she have done? I’d have held her back.”
The way my sister and I held my mother back.
“That cop knows that Micah isn’t his anymore,” I say. “He would rather Micah be dead than let him be free.”
How long can Micah endure?
I don’t know what I’ll do if Micah is dead.
Well.
I know that Adam won’t be as lucky as my father was. He won’t live long enough to die of a heart attack.
I pull my leather gloves on, and for the first time in a while, I don’t feel ill wearing them.
I’m only determined.
I get the gun out of the glove compartment too, and I make sure it’s loaded before I holster it.
I will kill Adam if he lays a finger on Micah.
We finally pull into a neighborhood of small houses, none of them built less than fifty years ago. I barely even wait for Boris to bring the car to a stop before I leap out and rush to the door.
It’s locked, and I curse before pulling out my keyring. After we’d picked up Micah’s things, I’d made a copy of the key to the house, just in case.
I’d known in my gut that I would need to get back in here.
It takes me two tries to get the key into the hole, but I finally manage and turn the lock before shoving the door open.
“Mishka!” I shout as I step inside. “Mishka, I am here.”
Nothing.
I race deeper into the house, remembering where the main bedroom was and heading in that direction.
That door is wide open.
This close, I can hear Micah sobbing, a sound that sets me off at the most basic level as I barrel into the room. I get a glimpse of the belt in Adam’s hand, even as he spins around to face me.
His expression is a mask of murderous rage.
He’s also holding a gun.
I duck behind the wall just as Adam shoots. Micah cries out, and for a second, my heart stops.
Did he shoot Micah?
“Ilya, Ilya…” Micah sobs. “Adam, please, please don’t shoot him.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Adam shouts. “He broke into my home. He’s trying to steal from me! It’s my fucking right to gun him down like the dog he is!”
I’d laugh at how pathetic he sounds, but this isn’t a laughing situation.
I stare at the wall in front of me. I need to lure Adam closer, away from Micah.
“You think I’m a dog?” I call out. “To me, you are a dog. You need petting and reassurance. You are nothing without somebody to prop you up. No, the dog is you. Sad, pathetic. Weak.”
Adam snarls loudly.
He isn’t in control of himself anymore. That’s a good thing.
I’ve worked hard to make sure I don’t lose control like my old man. I’m not going to act stupid because my ego is bruised.
It would make me careless, like it’s making Adam careless.
I hear Adam stomp closer. As soon as I think he’s in range, I shoot—not from the doorway, but through the plaster of the wall.
I make sure to angle it downward so there’s no risk of my bullets going anywhere near Micah.
Three shots, and on the third one, Adam cries out.
“What the fuck!”
I hear him go down, and before he can collect himself, I dash into the bedroom. Adam is kneeling close to the doorway, one hand on his right leg. He looks up, and I immediately kick him in the face.
The sound of the impact is loud and satisfying. His gun clatters to the floor.
I kick it under the bed before I get closer to Adam.
“Ilya!” Micah cries out, panic making his voice go high. “I’m okay. I’m okay. Please, don’t do anything you’ll regret. He’s not going to touch me again. He’s not.”
But I catch a glimpse of his body, pale and nude, and I see the welts rising on his skin from where the belt has wrapped around from his back to his stomach.
I remember my mother insisting that my father wasn’t that bad. That it was a mistake, that it would never happen again.
Adam scrambles to stand up. “Shut up, Micah. I’m not done punishing you. I just have to deal with this trash first.”
“No! No, we don’t need to—” Micah’s words catch on a sob. “Please, both of you.” He looks at me, tears streaming down his cheeks. “He’s not—” he begins, but he doesn’t finish what he’s saying. He knows Adam is that bad, especially now.
He always has, no matter how much he’s lied to himself.
I kick Adam again, this time in the wounded leg. He cries out and lands hard on his knees. Before he can compose himself, I aim my gun at him. “How do you want to die, mudila yubaniy?”
“Ilya!” Micah screams. “Ilya, you can’t! You can’t kill a cop!”
“I can,” I disagree calmly. “A cop is just a man. He bleeds like everybody.” I point to his bleeding leg. “I won’t simply cripple him this time. No more chances to hurt you.”
“You’d go to jail,” Micah pleads, but he sways as he uses the bed to steady himself, and I see red all over again. “They’d kill you for killing a cop.”
“They will!” Adam agrees quickly. “Cop killers get taken seriously around here.”
“Then I should make sure nobody knows I killed you,” I answer, taking aim.
Adam’s eyes widen in fear.
“Don’t do it,” Adam begs. “Please. I won’t bother you again. I swear.”
Pathetic.
My father had been pathetic too, as he was gasping from his heart attack. He’d begged me to call an ambulance. “One-one-two,” he’d repeated, over and over, like I would actually dial emergency services for him.
“Ilya,” Micah whispers. “I don’t want you to die. Please. I’m leaving him. I… I won’t go back this time. I won’t. He’ll leave me alone now.” Even he doesn’t sound like he believes that, though.
I clutch the gun tighter.
Micah doesn’t need to see this man’s brains splattered on the walls.
I lower the gun, engage the safety, and holster it.
“You are lucky Mishka is better man than me,” I sneer at Adam. I turn to Micah and extend my arm out to him. “Let me see you. How bad did he hurt you?”
“Not very,” Micah says, his eyes flicking between me and Adam. He takes my hand, gingerly straightening up. I see his wince, but he bites back any sounds he wants to make. “I’ll be okay.”
“Not very,” I repeat. I don’t believe that for a second. I run my arms gently down his sides, watching Micah’s expression carefully. He bites his lips to suppress the whimpers of pain.
Anger grips me again, but I remind myself that I’m doing this for Micah.
I will be a better man, for Micah.
Micah takes a deep breath, then offers what I know is a forced smile. “Let me get dressed… then we can leave. Okay? It’ll be okay,” he repeats.
I nod and reluctantly let go of him.
He starts getting dressed, but I see movement out of the corner of my eye.
Adam, who’d been sitting on the floor, gets up on his feet and throws himself at me. His hand immediately goes for my gun. I growl and struggle against him.
Micah cries out again.
“You can’t fucking have him,” Adam shouts as his hand wraps around the gun.
I punch him hard in the face.
He flies back, crashing into the wall. His leg is still bleeding, and he must be in massive pain, but he keeps going. He aims the gun—not at me, but at Micah.
I stop in my tracks.
“Leave now or I fucking shoot him,” Adam says.
Micah’s fear is damn near palpable in the room. His lips part, but no words come out.
He’s looking at me, not Adam, and I think he finally realizes what I’d known since I got his call: Adam is never going to let him out alive.
With speed I didn’t know I possessed, I cross the distance to Adam. He immediately redirects the gun, but I slam my arm against his. The gun drops to the floor, and a shot rings out.
I wrap my hand around Adam’s neck.
“Mishka! Are you hurt?” I ask. “The discharge did not hit you?”
“N-no,” Micah stammers. “No. Are… Are you okay?”
“I am fine,” I say, right as I punch Adam in the face again.
Adam cries out. He struggles against me, but he was never stronger than me. I hit Adam again, and again. His nose crunches under my fist, and at least one tooth dislodges from his mouth.
I keep punching him, like I’d hit Artyom. At some point Adam’s cries and whimpers grow quieter. I stomp on his bullet wound just to make him shout again.
He doesn’t get to pass out early.
He’s going to suffer. All the ways he hurt Micah, he will now feel all at once.
I realize Micah is crying, long after Adam has gone still beneath me, and I drop Adam’s body to the floor so I can turn to him.
Micah is huddled against the far wall of the bedroom, his arms wrapped around his knees.
I take one step closer, then realize how I must appear to him.