Chapter 70 Rae
RAE
Don't say a word to anybody.
I don’t know where we’re going. We wind through streets I don’t recognize and take turns that seem designed to disorient.
Kir doesn’t speak and I don’t ask questions. I’m too wrung out for interrogation.
Eventually, we descend into an underground garage beneath an apartment tower I’ve never seen before. The car stops and Kir opens his door.
“Come on.”
I follow him out. My legs are stiff from the cold and the running and the crying, so I totter at first and I have to grab him to keep from falling. He catches me by the elbow and straightens me up, then, strangely, rips his hand away like he’s not allowed to be touching me.
Turning on his heel, he leads me toward a service elevator tucked into the far corner of the garage. He punches a code into a keypad and the doors slide open with a pneumatic hiss.
We ride up in silence. I’m so tired I can’t even hold my head up straight. The world has taken on an eerie, Technicolor kind of surreal tinge, and I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
When the doors open again, we’re in a long, windowless hallway painted the color of nothing.
Beige carpet, beige walls, beige ceiling.
It’s as if the place was intentionally designed to be forgotten.
There’s not a single wreath or piece of decor on any of the doors.
I start to wonder if anyone even lives here.
Kir walks ahead of me. He looks long and lean in his black suit, like if Jack Skellington was a handsome corporate scion with a killer sense of fashion.
I don’t know why I’m noticing that now—I’m starting to worry my brain might be broken. Getting tied up and edged ‘til you cry does that to a girl, I guess. So does the whole everything else that’s happened to me today.
But he really is handsome. And yet so sad. I wonder if love might heal the broken things in him, and if so, who is the right person to give him that love.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I run headlong into him when he stops without warning. Again, he catches me to stop me from falling, and again, he takes his hands off me as soon as possible and sticks them back in his pockets.
Turning, Kir faces the unmarked door. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocks it, and pushes it open.
“After you,” he says.
With a nervous swallow, I step inside.
I’m confused on first sight. The apartment is clean and neat, but sparsely furnished. It’s got the basics—a couch, a coffee table, a kitchenette in the corner—but not a single thing that would identify who lives here or why Kir has brought me here.
Until the man sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands looks up at me, and I realize who it is.
“Gideon!”
He looks whole but tired. His dirty blonde hair is greasy and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. Dark circles ring his eyes like bruises.
But he’s here. He’s alive, not dead in some alley with a needle in his arm.
“Rae?”
We meet halfway across the room. He picks me up like he always does in a tight hug. My face presses into his neck as I squeeze him as hard as I can.
The last time I remember hugging like this, overcome with so much fear and desperation, he couldn’t even stand up straight.
That was rock bottom: finding him in a stranger’s bathroom, half-conscious, skin the color of printer paper.
When I kicked in the door, he’d been curled around the toilet like it was the only thing tethering him to this life.
Now, I pull back just enough to look at him, scanning his face for the telltale signs I remember all too well from that day. Pinned pupils? Slack jaw? Hollow, disconnected gaze?
No, no, and no. None of that. His eyes are clear. Bloodshot and exhausted, but clear.
“You’re okay,” I breathe. “Oh my God, Gideon, you’re okay.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Rae, I’m fine. I’m fine, I swear. I didn’t— I didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I swear.”
“What happened?” I demand. I’m still gripping his arms like he might evaporate if I let go. “Why did you leave Westgate? They said you checked out AMA—”
“I didn’t check out.” Gideon’s brow furrows.
“These… these guys came.” He scrubs a hand over his face.
“They said they were transferring me to a new facility. Had paperwork and everything. I figured you’d arranged it or something, I dunno, but you weren’t answering your phone and they were really insistent, so I went with them. ”
I feel sick. “Gid… I didn’t arrange anything.”
“Yeah, well, I figured that out when they brought me here instead of another treatment center.” He flops a hand at the bland apartment around us. “They’ve been… fine, I guess? Brought me food, let me shower, had some clean clothes and stuff. But nobody would tell me anything.”
His gaze slides past me to where Kir stands in the doorway, face carefully pointed away from us, hands still in his pockets.
“They said you’d come,” Gideon continues. He looks back at me and squeezes my wrists hard. “Rae, what the hell is going on? Who are these people?”
Before I can answer Gideon, Kir steps forward to join us in the middle of the room.
“As you can see, Rae, he’s fine.” He sighs and rakes a hand through his dark hair. “But we needed to make sure he’d be protected from everything.” After a pause, he adds, “And I needed to make sure you’d hear me out before you did something stupid.”
I whirl on him, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “You kidnapped my brother to get my attention?! Have you lost your fu—”
“I relocated him to ensure his safety during what was clearly about to become a media shitstorm.” Kir shrugs like it’s beyond obvious that he did me a favor.
“You’re welcome, by the way. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if the press had found him at Westgate?
‘The Murderer’s Mistress and Her Drug Addict Brother.
’ They’d sell the Netflix rights before you could even fucking blink. ”
Gideon stiffens beside me. “Hey—”
“No offense intended.” Kir holds up a hand.
“Just stating facts. The point is, he’s safe, you’re safe, and now, we can have a civilized conversation about how to proceed.
” His burning silver eyes lock onto mine.
“Because whether you like it or not, Rae, there is only one way forward from here. And unfortunately… you aren’t going to like it. ”
“There’s no way forward that involves me helping you,” I snap. “Your father is in custody. You got what you wanted. Congratulations. Now, let us go.”
Kir scowls. “You think this is what I wanted? My father in handcuffs? The company’s stock in freefall? Every news outlet in the country running hit pieces about the Lazarev family legacy? Does that sound like anyone’s idea of a good time, Rae?”
He paces toward the window—which, I notice, has been covered with blackout curtains. I wonder if they’re to keep the outside from looking in… or those on the inside from looking out.
“This is a disaster,” Kir says. “For everyone. Including me. Including you.”
I plant my fists on my hips. “I don’t see how that’s my problem anymore. I’m done. With all of it.”
“No, Rae, you’re not done.” Kir turns back to face me, and again, it strikes me just how tired he looks. Worn thin in ways that go beyond the physical. “You can’t be done. Not yet.”
Gideon steps closer and tucks me behind him, like that will keep me safe. It’s silly, but it makes my heart soar anyway. Over his shoulder, he mutters, “Rae, what is he talking about?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m getting really tired of Lazarev men being cryptic.”
Kir’s mouth twitches. “Fair enough. Let me be direct, then.”
He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. Then he turns it around to face me.
I inch forward and squint down. When I realize what it is, my heart stops.
It’s a live feed. Grainy security footage, with a timestamp on the bottom, like you’d see in a police procedural. It shows a concrete interrogation room with two metal chairs on either side of a matching metal table. Overly bright fluorescent lighting tints everything a sickly yellow-green.
Sitting in one of those chairs, motionless as a statue, is Lukas.
His hands rest on his thighs, palms down, fingers splayed. His silver rings glint in the ugly light. His face is hard and cold.
He looks so alone.
“I can get him out,” Kir says.
I tear my gaze away from the screen. “What?”
“I said, I can get him out.” Kir pockets the phone, and Lukas disappears from view. “I have ways to make problems like this disappear.”
“Then do it! What are you waiting for? What’s wrong with you? He’s your father, for fuck’s sake!”
The resigned set of Kir’s jaw hardens. He looks more like his father than he ever has. “There’s something you need to see first.”
I blink at him. “What is it?”
He turns toward the door instead of answering. “Come with me.”
“That’s not an answer, Kir. What do I need to see? Where are we going?”
He pauses at the threshold with one hand on the doorframe. When he looks back at me, he’s wearing a sorrow I recognize—because I’ve seen Lukas wear the exact same shade of heartbreaking melancholy.
“I can’t explain it,” he says. “You wouldn’t believe me if I tried. You need to see it for yourself.”
Gideon’s hand closes around my elbow. “Rae, don’t. This is obviously a trap.”
“Everything is obviously a trap with these people,” I mutter.
But I’m stepping toward the door anyway, because what choice do I have? Lukas is rotting in a holding cell. My brother is a hostage in all but name. And Kir is dangling answers like bait.
The Lazarevs have their hooks in me, whether I like it or not.
All I can do is follow along.
“Fine,” I say. “Show me.”