Chapter 8 - Raya
I’ve now been kidnapped twice, which means, in my opinion, I can officially call myself a professional kidnappee, if that’s even a word.
Which also means I get to vent my opinions on the whole experience.
And that opinion is: yes, it’s terrible.
I obviously would not recommend it, but it is also, and I say this as someone who has lived it, extremely boring for large stretches of time.
Nobody tells you that part. There is no dramatic soundtrack for the bit where you have seen everything on TV, read everything available, more than once, and are now lying on a couch in a strange house counting the ceiling tiles because there is genuinely nothing else to do.
Yakov’s arm is useless. He won’t say it, because he’s a man and that’s what they do the world over, unless, of course, they’re dying from a simple cold, in which case everyone knows about it.
He would rather pretend he’s fine with one functional arm indefinitely than admit to any kind of limitation.
How is it that he is so like my own brothers?
Ugh. It is painfully obvious from the way he moves carefully, compensating, attempting things and abandoning them.
I change his dressing twice a day. His first aid kit—like the one at the last house—is a whole cupboard, packed to the brim for a gunshot wound kind of situation. Not disconcerting in the slightest.
I’ve been dying to ask about his tattoo since I saw the edge of it on—what do you call it?
Kidnap day? The first day we were together?
The day we met and married? That day, either way.
I wait till I’m doing his dressing before breakfast. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless—getting anything on over the sling is more trouble than it’s worth—and I’m working behind him.
The cross on the inside of his forearm is right there, so I ask.
“That’s a nice cross.”
“Mm.”
“Not what I’d have guessed.”
“No? What would you have guessed?”
“Something scary, like a skull, or a wolf. Or a hit list, maybe?”
“The cross has been intimidating people for two thousand years.”
I smile, not that he can see me behind his back. “Does it mean anything, personally?”
“It reminds me of my grandmother,” he says. “She was religious, saw the good in everybody. She died when I was young. I got it at eighteen.”
I work for a moment, cleaning the wound. “I’m surprised you don’t have Dostoevsky’s face tattooed on you somewhere, seeing how you admire him so much.”
“Who’s to say I haven’t?”
I stop and look at the side of his face.
He is looking at the wall, poker face locked down.
I genuinely cannot tell if he is joking, and I have the strong suspicion that this is deliberate.
I tape the last piece of dressing down and come around to check the sling.
I don’t ask about the Cyrillic script along his left ribs, even though I am dying to reach out and trace those letters with my fingertips.
There’s something about the dark ink against his lightly tanned skin that, against my better judgment, I find enthralling.
I take a deliberate step back, trying to break the gravity of his presence, but my eyes linger on his torso.
He catches me. His gaze shifts from the white cabinets to the line of my vision with a slow, predatory awareness.
He doesn’t shift away from my inspection.
Instead, he braces his good arm against the wood, his chest expanding with a slow, deep breath that forces the hard muscle of his abdomen to flex beneath the dark ink.
“You’re doing it again, malysh,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that skitters down my spine.
“Doing what?” I demand, forcing my chin up, refusing to let him see how much his bare skin is short-circuiting my brain.
“Looking at me like you’re starving,” he says, a tiny, infuriating glimmer of amusement lighting up his eyes. “If you want to touch me, touch me, Raya. I think you know I won’t bite.”
“I’m checking for signs of infection,” I lie smoothly, though the heat is already beginning to gather beneath the collar of my shirt. “Your skin is flushed. I’m wondering if the fever from the roadside is coming back.”
“The fever is gone,” Yakov replies, his gaze dropping to my mouth and lingering before returning to my eyes, pinning me to the linoleum floor. “But my blood is running hot, yes. That much is accurate. Though I don’t think a doctor would blame the bullet for the temperature in this kitchen.”
I swallow hard, my fingers curling tightly around the roll of medical tape in my palm.
“Shut your mouth, Yakov,” I mutter, turning my back on him to pack the medical supplies back into the cabinet, a trickle of sweat trickling its way down my spine.
He’s quiet for long enough that I glance back. He’s not grinning anymore.
“Raya.” He’s dropped the teasing edge from his voice. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, then tell me, and I’ll stop.”
I turn to look at him; there’s none of the arrogance from a moment ago.
“You’re not,” I say.
“Good. There’s something else I need from you. While we’re being honest.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“You need to call Matvei. Not have Selene passing messages to Simon that go to Matvei like Chinese Whispers. You, directly.” The shift in his tone tells me this isn’t a suggestion, however considerate he was being before it.
“I understand why you’ve been hiding behind her.
I would too. But your brothers aren’t just going to sit on their hands while their sister is effectively MIA.
Selene isn’t going to be the thing that stops them acting.
You are. This has gone on too long now; they need to hear your voice”
He’s right, which sucks. What’s worse is that a part of me has been grateful to let Selene carry this for me.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Let’s get this over with. Give me the phone.”
Matvei picks up before the first ring finishes. “Where. Are. You.”
It’s a demand more than a question, each word its own sentence. It’s the way he talks when he’s already decided violence is the answer.
“I’m safe, Matvei—”
“You’re with a Mykros.” He spits the name.
“Do you understand what that family did to Selene? They kidnapped you and the twins for fuck’s sake!
I don’t care what bullshit story he’s spun you, Raya; he is not safe, and every hour you stay there is an hour I have to worry like hell something’s happened to you. ”
“You know, Matvei, I’d completely forgotten about the kidnapping. You’re missing the bit where he’s the only reason I’m alive.”
“He’s the reason you needed rescuing in the first place. His brother, his father, his blood.” Something smashes in the background. “Give me the address. I’ll have you home tonight.”
“Selene’s brother, Selene’s father, Selene’s blood. You hear the hypocrisy, right? This is a shit situation, Matvei; it’s not what I’d choose for myself, but no, I’m not coming home just yet.”
The silence on the other end is enough to make me sweat. “No is the wrong answer, Raya. I’m in charge of this family, and I know what’s best for you. Tell me where you are, now, and I will personally come and get you.”
“The answer is still no.” My hand is shaking; I press it flat against my thigh to stop it. “We had to move. His father found the last house. He sent some men. Yakov’s been shot.”
From the level of noise that comes through the earpiece, it sounds like he just flipped his desk or something crazy. He’s definitely not happy.
“You were shot at. And you’re telling me this now? On a phone call, like you’re telling me about a shopping trip?”
“I’m telling you because I don’t want you finding out secondhand and doing something stupid.”
“Too fucking late. I’m already going to do something, but stupid it’s not. I’m getting in a car, and I am going to go fuck some Mykros shit up. Don’t think I’ll be missing out on the son currently keeping my sister as collateral damage—”
“He killed both of them, Matvei. The men who came for me. He didn’t hesitate to protect me, and he took a bullet doing it. That’s not collateral damage. That’s the only reason I’m alive to have this conversation with you.”
“I’ll send a fruit basket, shall I?” His laugh has no humor in it at all.
“Your security failed once already. They got to me in broad daylight on a public street, taking out all four guards. I won’t feel safer with more of it. I feel safer here.”
“You don’t get to make that call. Not about this.”
“It’s my life.”
“And it’s my job to keep you in it.” He roars. “You know what? If you don’t give me a location, I’ll find you myself, and I promise you I will not be gentle about how I get you out.”
“Do you not think that’s exactly what his father is banking on? This time it’ll be you who leads him straight to us. You may get us killed!”
“I’m going to speak to your other brothers, and we will decide what to do next. When I ring, answer your phone. Understand?” The line goes dead before I can answer.
Yakov stays quiet for a moment, then he says, “That went about as well as I expected.”
“He’s going to come anyway, isn’t he?”
“Maybe. Probably not tonight. For what it’s worth, you handled that better than I would have. I’d have told him to fuck off after ‘where are you.’”
A short, surprised laugh escapes me. “He really would have burst a blood vessel then.”