19. Ruslan
19
RUSLAN
“There is always someone trying to kill me,” I tell her.
“But I’m pretty sure all the people in my inner circle are loyal to me.”
“You don’t believe me now, but you will.”
“If you’re who I think you are,” I say, pacing to the window, my grip tightening around the phone, “we are not on the same side.”
“I am not at all who you think I am,” she replies, with a slight pause, like she’s letting the implication hang between us.
“The world is full of smoke and mirrors. Rarely is something what you think it is on the surface.” A slight pause.
“For instance, I know roughly three people in your life who are lying to you, and it's not just to you.”
“If you’re talking about my sister, I already know that,” I assure her. “If you want to get my attention, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
“Let’s see how good your memory is and if you understand what I’m sending you.”
A notification pings. It’s an encrypted message. I open it and scan the attachment—it's a black-and-white photo. I frown. Is this? I hold it. My eyes fall to the writing at the bottom of the picture.
“Is this what I think it is?
” I ask, my eyes falling on the date.
“The breadcrumb that will lead you to the proof that you and Tara are being lied to by people close to you,” she says.
“Everyone has their own agenda.”
“Including you,” I point out.
“My only agenda is the safety of those I treasure most in the world,” she replies.
“Your agenda is similar.”
“How do I know you’re not leading me into a trap?”
“You don’t,” she says frankly.
“I’ll give you two hours to go find the proof, and I’ll call you in two hours.” She pauses.
“Oh, and I’m going to need you to switch out a file for me and hang on to the one in the filing cabinet.”
“You want me to steal personal files?” I hiss.
“Really?” She scoffs.
“You’ll steal weapons and drugs from the Mirochins, but you draw the line at files?”
“They are personal,” I reply.
“So is the mother who holds her dead child in her arms from the guns or drugs you’ve let be distributed on the street,” she points out.
“It’s business,” I defend our business.
“Don’t you kill people for a living?”
“Would you rather I did it for fun?” she quips.
“Now, will you swap the records?”
“Why not?” I drawl.
“Let’s add theft of personal files to my B&E charge.”
“Great. Wait on the corner near the building. A courier will walk past and hand you an envelope. Swap the documents. I will call you back in two hours.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at it for a moment.
I look at the photo again and know exactly where I’m going.
I wait outside the target building and watch as the employees pile out as the day ends.
Finally, the last person locks up, and I break in.
I go straight for the records, and within a few minutes, I’ve found the two files I’m looking for.
I go through the first one, snapping pages.
I get close to the end and freeze.
What the fuck!
I snap as many shots of the last few pages in the thicker file.
Then I turn to the second, smaller one, flip through, and by the time I’m done I must look like I’m catching flies with my fucking mouth.
I swap the contents of the file, flip through, and get the horrible feeling that I’m not going to like the plan the woman on the phone is concocting.
I snap all the pages, put the files back in place, then leave as if I’ve never been there.
Forty minutes later, I’m sitting in a corner coffee shop nursing a cold cup of coffee and staring at the reports in awe.
I think I know what this means.
I’m not sure how I feel about it right now.
What I do know is the frost queen is right—I’m being played.
And the thing is, I’m not sure she isn’t one of the players.
The phone rings.
This time it's an unknown number.
“Da,” I answer.
“Now, do you realize what I’m talking about? You’ve been manipulated and lied to,” she tells me.
“All this cloak and dagger for what?” I hiss.
“The oldest three motives in the book are power, greed, and love.”
“If I help you, how do I know you won’t cross me?”
“You don’t,” the woman says. “That’s what trust is about. Right now, you don’t seem to have a lot of people you trust.”
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“Do what you do best,” she says. “You’re going to be the biggest dick on the planet. It’s time to scare out the cockroaches. The first thing you’re going to do is warn Tara,” she says.
I listen to her plan wondering if I’m mad to do this but the more I listen to her the more I realize she’s right.
“When this is over,” she promises, “we’ll get the Dragunov territory back.”
“Wait!” My eyes shoot up. “You’re from Dragunov Territory?
“Born and raised,” she tells me. “I’ll be in touch.”
The line goes dead, and I sit looking at the phone as it goes to magically conjure her name. But obviously it doesn't.
I take a deep breath.
“Time to go be a dick.”
TARA
The burner phone stares up at me from the kitchen counter like it’s taunting me.
One week.
That’s how long it’s been since Konstantin gave it to me, and it’s also how long I’ve gone without hearing from him.
I keep telling myself I don’t care.
That I’m mad.
That I want nothing to do with him or the mess he pulled me into.
But my hand still twitches every time it buzzes.
Nothing.
Again.
I wrap my fingers around a dotty ceramic mug and flick the kettle on.
Tea.
That’s what I need.
Something warm.
Something soothing.
Something that isn’t this swirl of confusion and fury and.
.
.
longing.
God, I hate that I miss him.
I knew what I was getting into.
He never pretended to be a nice guy.
But still.
He had this way of making me feel like I wasn’t just a means to an end even though we both knew I was.
Steam curls up from the spout, fogging the window.
I pull the tea bag through the water and stare out at the tree line behind the cabin.
The late afternoon sun makes everything look a little too golden, a little too peaceful.
Like nature’s mocking me for how fucked up everything’s become.
I press the mug to my lips just as a blur of motion flashes past the window.
My heart drops into my stomach.
I jump back from the sink and grip the counter, breath frozen in my chest.
Then I see him.
Stocky, blond, square-jawed—Clyde.
I press a hand to my chest and try to calm the thundering in my ribs.
He raps twice on the back door.
I unlock it and swing it open.
“Clyde,” I breathe.
“What are you doing here?”
He gives me that easy, good-ol'-boy smile. “Just came to check in. Thought you might want to go for a walk. Clear your head.”
I glance out. The wind’s picking up and the air smells like a storm is building.
“Not right now,” I tell him. “I was just making tea. Want to come in for a cup?”
He shakes his head. “I’m in a walkin’ mood. Another time.”
I nod slowly, trying to keep the tension out of my voice. “Sure. Another time.”
He gives me a nod and strolls off down the path.
I close the door and bolt it, leaning against the frame for a beat. What the hell am I doing out here? How did I go from finishing my PhD to hiding out in some no-name town with burner phones and secret watchmen?
I grab my tea and head into the living room, still dunking the teabag out of habit. I have a destination in mind. The comfortable, warm couch. I walk, head down, staring into the swirling liquid like it holds answers I can’t find anywhere else.
“Don’t freak out.”
The voice punches through the silence like a gunshot.
I scream and launch my mug in the direction of the sound. Hot liquid splashes through the air, and the cup clatters against something solid.
“Fuck—Tara!” he groans.
“Konstantin?” My eyes go wide. I stand, still trembling, my knees feel like jelly. “What the hell—are you insane?!”
“I caught it,” he says, holding the still-dripping mug. “Mostly.”
I blink at him. He’s standing in the middle of my living room like he didn’t just break every unspoken rule of cabin exile. And how the fuck did he find me?
“How—why are you here?”
He shrugs. “I have my connections.”
“Clearly.” My voice sharpens. “What do you want?”
His expression tightens. “We need to talk.”
I cross my arms and scan the space behind him. “Where’s your boss? Damien Romanov? Or should I say Ruslan Dragunov?”
Konstantin winces. “You know.”
“Of course I fucking know. That’s part of why I’m hiding out here, remember? Your Bratva boss had a one-night stand with me and then sent you to be my shadow and ensure I don’t go near his brother-in-law.”
“That’s not—Tara, please. Can I get a towel?”
“No,” I snap. “You can get out.”
He lets out a slow breath, chest rising and falling under the damp shirt. “I know you're angry. You have every right. But you can be mad at me later. Right now, you and your baby are in danger.”
I laugh—sharp and bitter. “Isn’t that why I’m here in paradise? To avoid being dragged back into your boss’s twisted chess game?”
Konstantin steps closer. “This isn’t about Ruslan anymore. When you and Gavriil started digging into Lidiya Zorin, you caught the attention of the RMSAD. They’ve dispatched someone. Someone... dangerous.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not Lidiya Zorin. There’s no proof.”
“There is,” he says quietly, pulling a packet from his jacket and handing it to me.
The pages rustle in my hands. It’s mostly redacted, but what I can see it’s some kind of genetic program. Then my eyes land on a page titled: Test Subject #11. I see the photo. My photo. Except it’s not. I’ve never seen this photo before. The child in it has the same face. Same eyes. Same scar above the brow. My heart slams against my ribs.
There’s a blue mark under her arm.
“That’s not me,” I whisper.
“Why not?”
I lift my shirt sleeve. “No diamond mark.”
He reaches out and brushes his fingers against a red spot on my skin. “What’s this?”
“I had a mole removed. I remember. Even at three, I remember it hurting like fucking hell.”
“It could have been a tattoo,” he says, voice low.
A third voice cuts in. “It was.”
I spin around.
“Sam?” My eyes lock on him. “What do you mean? Who tattoos a toddler and then removes it?”
“It had to be done, sweetheart.”
My stomach twists.
“Great. So I’m not just a walking incubator—I’m a genetically modified tomato that got tattooed long before I could walk, let alone drink alcohol or smoke.”
Konstantin actually chokes on a laugh, but catches himself. “You’re not a lab rat or a tomato. But we don’t have time to unpack this here. You need to come with me. Now.”
Sam nods. “Clyde’s going too. You’ll be okay.”
My voice comes out flat. “Sure. Just your average Tuesday—mad Russian dragon lords, hitmen, and a secret Russian genetics project. Let’s go.”
They take me to another cabin—this one older, deeper in the hills. Creepy as hell. My skin crawls as we pull up.
“I’ve seen this movie,” I mutter. “It ends with me screaming and running barefoot through the woods. With an axe murderer chasing me, and his face is covered with a distorted mask.”
Clyde stays in the car. Konstantin leans over me to open the door and places a hand on my back. I yank away.
“Touch me again and I’ll bite you.”
He raises both hands. “Fair.”
He opens the door. I step in—and freeze.
“Hello, Tara. It’s good to finally see you again.”