41. Aurora
41
AURORA
I storm into my bedroom, and slam the door behind me with enough force to rattle it in its frame.
My hands are shaking with fury and something deeper. Betrayal. After everything I've shared with Ruslan, after all we've been through together, he's turned into exactly what I feared he might be.
Moving to the window, I look down at his office where I can see him sitting rigidly at his desk. Across from him, Mikayla's small frame is hunched, her head bowed.
Even from this distance, there's no mistaking the tears streaming down her face as Ruslan continues his interrogation.
"Fuck," I whisper, pressing my palm against the glass.
My heart tears in half watching this scene. Part of me understands Ruslan's position. Someone has compromised our security. Someone has been watching us, has photographs of the girls. If Kristofer has found me, has found us...
I shake my head. He wants to protect his family. I get that.
But Mikayla is a child!
She's torn between two worlds. She doesn't deserve to be treated like this, to face the cold, merciless pakhan instead of her uncle.
I pace the room, my thoughts racing. Maybe I should have stayed with him, tried harder to make him see reason. But the moment he pushed me out, and treated me like I was just another subordinate to be controlled...
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Hannah.
Thank god.
I need a friendly voice right now.
"Hannah," I answer, relief flooding my voice. "You won't believe what Ruslan just?—"
"Hello, Jamie."
The voice that cuts across the line isn't Hannah's. It's deep, male, and something I haven't heard in seven years outside of my nightmares.
Seven years of running, of hiding, of becoming someone else.
All of it falls away in an instant by that horrible, familiar voice.
"What's the matter, Jamie? Cat got your tongue?" Kristofer's voice is eerily calm, almost playful. "Did you like my gifts? The music box was your favorite, wasn't it? Remember how you used to wind it up and dance for me when you thought no-one else was watching?"
My throat closes up. The room spins around me. Black spots appear in my vision.
"Say something, Jamie," he hisses, his tone suddenly sharp as glass. "I've been waiting seven years to hear your voice again."
I grip the phone so hard my knuckles turn white. "Where's Hannah?" I finally manage, my voice barely a whisper.
His laugh—that same dark laugh—makes my skin crawl.
"Oh she's fine for now." There's rustling on the other end of the line. "But I can't make any guarantees about what could happen later."
"Please," I gasp, tears burning my eyes. "Please don't hurt her. She's innocent. She has nothing to do with this."
"Nothing to do with this?" He clicks his tongue. "She's been hiding you from me."
"Kristofer, please."
"If you don't want me to hurt her, then you'll do exactly as I say, Jamie." His voice drops lower to a terrifying softness that threatens unspeakable violence. "You know what I want. No bodyguards, no Russian husband. Just you."
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone. "Where?"
"I'll text you the address. You have three hours." He pauses, and I hear the sound of metal. Handcuffs, maybe. "If you're not here by then, or if someone else other than you comes for me. Well, you remember what happened last time, don't you?"
"Please," I choke out. "Please don't!"
"Don't make me do this again, Jamie," he whispers softly, sounding almost apologetic. "Don't make me become a monster."
I hang up the phone, my entire body trembling so violently I have to sit on the edge of the bed to keep from collapsing.
"Breathe," I whisper to myself. "Just breathe."
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. The address stares back at me from the screen, somewhere on the outskirts of LA. Three hours. I have three hours before he kills Hannah.
The thought of Hannah in Kristofer's hands—those same hands that murdered my family—propels me into action.
I rise from the bed and step out of my room, stumbling slightly as I hurry down the hallway.
I spot Daria coming up the stairs, her face pinched with concern.
"Aurora," she begins, but I cut her off.
"I need a car," I gasp. "Right now."
Daria's eyes widen at my disheveled appearance. "What's happened? Are you all right?"
"Please, there's no time to explain. I just need a car. No escort. No bodyguards. Just me."
She shakes her head firmly. "I cannot send you out without an escort. Ruslan Vitalyevich would never allow it."
"I have to go alone," I insist, my voice breaking. "Please, Daria."
"Tell me what's wrong," she says, reaching for my arm. "Let me help you."
Frustration and fear bubble up inside me. "He has Hannah." Tears spill down my cheeks. "Kristofer has Hannah and he's going to kill her if I don't go alone."
Understanding dawns on Daria's face. "We should tell Ruslan Vitalyevich."
"No!" I grab her arm. "If anyone else shows up, he'll kill her. He said that I have to go alone or she dies."
"I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger," Daria says firmly. "At least let me?—"
Desperation claws at my throat. I draw myself up and say the words I heard Ruslan use just now: " Eto moi prikaz ."
Daria's face hardens. "You are not a pakhan. You have no right to use those words."
"I'll use whatever fucking words necessary to save my friend," I snarl, all pretense of politeness gone. "Either get me a car right now or I swear to God I'll walk out of here and find my own way there."
The pain in Daria's eyes tells me everything. She understands what I'm about to do, what I must do.
"Come with me," she finally says, her voice resigned.
I follow her down a service corridor I've never seen before, my hands still trembling as my mind races through scenarios of what Kristofer might be doing to Hannah. Each possibility is worse than the last.
Daria pushes open a heavy metal door to reveal a massive garage. Before me are at least twenty vehicles, ranging from practical SUVs to sleek sports cars.
"Jesus," I whisper, momentarily distracted by the sheer wealth on display.
"All the cars have keys in them and you'll find a gun in the glove compartment," Daria says, her voice clipped with disapproval. "Each vehicle is tracked, of course. Ruslan Vitalyevich will know the moment you leave the property."
I nod, scanning the options before settling on a modest-looking black sedan. "That won't matter by then."
She follows me as I walk to the car. "The guards at the gate are trained not to question anyone leaving from the garage," she explains. "They will not give you any trouble."
I open the driver's door, then pause. "Thank you, Daria."
Her weathered face softens slightly. "You will break his heart by doing this, Aurora."
"I know," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Believe me, I know that."
The crushing weight of guilt settles on my chest. After everything Ruslan has done to protect me, I'm choosing to abandon his protection and head straight into danger, straight into the arms of the monster we both know will destroy me.
"Tell him..." I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "Tell Ruslan this isn't because of him. This has nothing to do with how he's treating Mikayla or anything that's happened between us. I'm doing this because Hannah is my friend, and I can't let another person die because of me."
I grip the car door tighter, my knuckles turning white. "Hannah has been there for me when I had no one else. I can't abandon her to the monster who destroyed my life."
Daria's stern expression softens.
"Tell Mikayla, Sofia, and Stella goodbye for me too." The words catch in my throat as I force them out. "Tell them... tell them I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."
God, those girls. In such a short time, they've wormed their way into my heart. Sofia with her gap-toothed smiles. Stella with her timid but inquisitive gaze. And Mikayla—brave, fierce Mikayla—who's standing in that office right now, being interrogated by the uncle she both loves and fears.
Tears begin to well in Daria's eyes.
In all the time I've known her, I've never seen her express anything beyond stern disapproval or tight-lipped approval.
"Don't cry," I whisper, reaching out to touch her arm. "Please don't cry for me."
The sight of her tears nearly breaks my resolve. If stoic unshakable Daria is crying, then I truly am walking to my death.
She reaches out and takes my trembling hands in hers.
"You are brave, Aurora Castellanos," she says. "Foolish, perhaps, but brave. Not many would walk willingly toward their nightmare to save someone else."
I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. "I've been running from this nightmare for seven years. It's time I wake up and confront him head-on. Ruslan taught me that."
Daria pulls me into a fierce, unexpected hug. Her arms are thin but strong, like steel cables wrapped in silk. But her embrace is gentle and soft, and it reminds me of home and safety.
"Good luck," she whispers against my hair. "The pakhan... he will come for you."
"I'm counting on it," I whisper, though we both know it might be too late by then.
The lump in my throat makes it impossible to speak. I give her one final nod, climb into the car, and start the engine.
The key is in the ignition as promised. When I turn it, the engine comes to life with precision. Through the windshield, I see Daria press a button on the wall, and a section of the concrete wall begins to slide upward, revealing a ramp to the outside world.
I draw a deep breath, shift the car into drive, and press the accelerator. As I ascend the ramp, sunlight floods the car, blinding and unforgiving.
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white as I pass through the wrought iron gates of Ruslan's estate. The guard doesn't even look at me—just as Daria promised—and I feel a pang of guilt at the betrayal I'm committing.
But I have no choice. This is my mess. My monster. My responsibility.
With trembling fingers, I dial Hannah's number and put it on speaker. Each ring feels like an eternity, my heart hammering in my chest.
"Jamie, you're calling early." Kristofer's voice fills the car, sending a chill down my spine. "I'm not sure if that means you're eager or desperate."
"I'm on my way," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "I'll be there on time."
Three black cars drive past me, but all I can focus on is my phone and the road ahead.
"Good girl." His tone oozes satisfaction. "You know, I never stopped looking for you. Even after I saw that police report about how you died out in the Eastern Sierras. And look how my patience has been rewarded."
My stomach twists with revulsion. "Let me speak to Hannah."
"All in good time," he says. "You haven't even asked about the photos. Those little girls are so photogenic."
Rage boils inside me, momentarily overpowering the fear. "If you so much as think about touching them?—"
"You'll what?" He laughs. "You're not exactly in a position to make threats, Jamie."
"Jamie Fields is dead," I say through clenched teeth. "She died seven years ago when you murdered her family. My name is Aurora Dragunov, and I'm coming for you."
The line goes silent for a moment, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. More black cars appear on the road, speeding past me in the other direction.
Then he chuckles, low and dangerous. "Call yourself whatever you want. It doesn't change who you are on the inside. Just a scared little girl who only knows how to run."
"Not running now, motherfucker," I spit.
"No, you're not," he says. "But maybe you should have. Maybe you should've left this life behind too. Because when I get my hands on you, Jamie, don't think for a moment that I'll ever let you out of my sight again."
"Whatever happens, just let Hannah go," I whisper. "This is between you and me."
"Oh, she'll be allowed to walk away from this," he says, mockingly emphasizing my name. "I'm a man of my word. Just don't be late, Jamie."
The line goes dead, and I'm left with nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing and the hum of the engine as I drive.
My hands shake for a moment as I reach over to the glove compartment.
Inside, just as Daria promised, is a sleek black handgun. My breath stops in my throat as I lift it out.
It's heavier than I expected. Colder. More real.
How many times have I handled prop guns on set? Dozens? Hundreds? I've checked them for blanks, handed them to actors, taught them how to hold them convincingly.
But this isn't a prop. This is real. And soon, I'll have to use it.
I examine it carefully, my fingers moving with muscle memory I didn't even know I had. I check the magazine and find it's full. I reinsert it with a solid click that echoes in the quiet car.
I feel a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat.
All those years of handling fake weapons and teaching actors how to look convincing, it's been preparing me for this moment.
To face Kristofer.
To kill him.
The thought should horrify me, but instead, a cold calm settles over me. I take the safety off, rack the slide back, and feel the satisfying resistance of a bullet loading into the chamber.
I place the gun on the passenger seat where I can reach it easily.
No more running. No more hiding. No more innocent people getting hurt because of me.
Seven years ago, I fled from Kristofer after he murdered my family. I let Jamie Fields die so Aurora Castellanos could live.
Kristofer was right.
Jamie didn't die. She's been here all along, waiting for the day when she would face her monster.
That day is today.
I'm done being a victim. I'm done letting him control my life through fear.
This ends today.
One way or another.