Chapter 12 Vivika
VIVIKA
Ican't stop thinking about the way the glass exploded inward, glittering as it rained down on the screaming guests.
The sound of it shattering is lodged in my brain, playing on repeat every time I close my eyes.
I barely slept last night, and when I did manage to drift off, I dreamed of bullets and blood and Lev's body covering mine while men chased us.
"You need to eat something."
Lev's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look down at the plate in front of me, untouched and growing cold.
We're sitting at his kitchen table with a laptop open between us, video footage of Ana Veche frozen on the screen.
I'm so fucking tired of looking at Ana Veche.
Lev calls these "lessons", and I hate them.
If becoming Ana Veche means taking on attacks meant for her too, I want nothing to do with it.
"I'm fine," I say, pushing the plate away.
"You haven't eaten since dinner. You're going to make yourself sick."
"Maybe I'm already sick." I meet his eyes across the table. "Maybe I'm sick of all of this."
Lev's jaw tightens but he doesn't respond.
He reaches over and taps the spacebar to start the video playing again, and Ana Veche walks into a room full of men in expensive suits, her head held high and her stride confident.
I watch her shake hands with someone whose face has been blurred out.
She smiles, but everything about her seems shallow.
Not at all the type of woman I want to be.
"Watch how she greets him," Lev says. "The way she extends her hand, palm down. It's a power move."
"I don't care."
He pauses the video. "Excuse me?"
"I said I don't care." I push back from the table and stand up, making my chair legs scrape against the floor. "Someone tried to kill me last night, Lev. And you want me to sit here watching videos like nothing happened?"
"The shots weren't meant for you," he grumbles and presses pause again.
The frustration scrawled in deep crevices on his forehead is painfully obvious.
I've never acted out until now. I've been his little obedient puppet, but someone shooting at me rattled something loose.
I won't just sit here and be executed without fighting back.
"How can you possibly know that?" My arms fly up in the air dramatically, but I'm afraid. That really fucked with my head.
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because the Veches think you're Ana—their Donna. The woman who runs their entire organization. Why would they try to kill their own leader?"
"Maybe they know I'm a fake."
"They don't know anything." His voice is controlled, but he's not calm by any means. I've riled him up and he's boxing in his reactions. "If they knew you were a fake, they'd expose you. They'd use it to discredit us, to turn our own play against us. Killing you gains them nothing."
"Then who was the shooter trying to hit?"
"Me." He says it like it's obvious, like I'm stupid for even asking. "I'm the one holding their Donna hostage. They want me dead so they can have you back."
I stare at him as I wrap my arms around myself. "You really believe that?"
"I know that. It's what I would do if I were in their position." He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "They want Ana back. Without her, Yaros has no real authority. The whole Veche empire starts to crumble."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?
That they were trying to murder you instead of me?
" He's stupid. I shake my head and scowl at him.
As if it matters whether they're shooting at him or me. They were still shooting. And what would’ve happened if they shot him and came and took me, only to find out I'm not really their Donna?
"It should make you feel safer. You're valuable to them alive. As long as they believe you're Ana, they won't risk hurting you."
I let out a bitter laugh that scrapes my throat raw. "I'm sick of hearing that. I don't want my value in life linked to some stranger I've never met. I am a human with feelings." I shake my head, feeling the anger rising in my chest. "I've done enough, Lev. I want out."
"You can't just—"
"I want to go home," I spit, but I'm fighting back tears.
I've barely even reacted to the fact that I was kidnapped and forced to be his little pawn.
I think it's time he hears what I really feel.
"I've played your game. I've worn your clothes and memorized your videos and let people think I'm someone I'll never be.
And all I've gotten for it is shot at in a fucking theater while eating overpriced salmon.
So forgive me if I'm done being valuable. "
Lev stands slowly, unfolding from his chair. When he rises to his full height it's intimidating, though I feel a flutter of that same morbid attraction I get when he looks at me. He stalks around the table toward me, and I take an instinctive step back, bumping into the wall.
"You promised me this would help people," I say, trembling now. "I haven't heard a single thing about any women being saved. Where are they, Lev? Where are all these girls I'm supposedly rescuing?" He inches forward but I push at his chest, keeping him back from me.
"These things take time."
"How much time? A week? A month? A year?" I can feel tears burning my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "Or were you just telling me what I wanted to hear so I'd cooperate?" My fist pounds into his chest, but I'm positive I’m the only one who feels the sting of it.
Lev's eyes darken and narrow on me, and he snatches my wrist as he glares down his nose at me.
"The operation's still ongoing," he says. "When the routes open up, when we have control—"
"When, when, when!" I shout, jerking free of his grip.
"It's always 'when' with you. And it's never going to happen.
" Pushing him hard, I try to move past him, but he boxes me in.
"I don't believe you anymore. There aren't any women being saved.
I think you made up a pretty story to get me to do what you wanted, and I fell for it like an idiot because I'm a stupid woman who is trusting and gullible and you're just this handsome stranger. "
"Vivika—"
"I want to go home!" I shout again, this time pounding his chest so hard he backs up, but he grabs both of my wrists again and glares at me.
"You can't go home."
"Why? Because I'm still necessary?" I spit the word back at him like poison. "You haven't finished using me yet?"
His jaw tightens. He's fighting to keep his temper in check, and I'm a little frightened to know what it looks like when he loses his temper. "If you leave now, the plan is over. Yaros wins."
"That's your problem. You dragged me into this."
"And now you're in it whether you like it or not." Now when he steps forward pinning both of my wrists tightly to my chest, I shudder. "You think you can just go home and we'll leave you alone because we promised, but what happens when they find you?"
"Maybe I'd rather take my chances."
"You wouldn't last a week."
All the fear and anger and exhaustion I've been holding back comes flooding out at once, tears spilling down my cheeks.
He dragged me into this and I don't want to be here anymore.
But I don't get a choice. Now whoever is shooting—at me or at him—will hunt me down no matter where I run to. I'll never be safe again.
"I hate you," I whisper. "I hate you for doing this to me."
Lev turns me in his arms, loosing my wrists only to wrap an arm around my waist. His grip is so firm there's no way I'm getting loose, but it doesn’t stop me from clawing at his flesh.
"Don't touch me."
"Vivika—"
"I said don't touch me!" I scream, digging my fingernails into his precious inked arm.
It makes Lev react like a biting serpent. He whips me around and lifts me off my feet, kicking and lashing out, and starts walking through the house.
"Let me go! Lev, let me go!" I shout at him, kicking backward at his legs so he will let me loose, but his grip remains firm.
He keeps walking no matter how hard I kick until we reach a door at the end of the hallway where he shifts my weight to one arm and opens it with the other, revealing a small bedroom I've never seen before. It's sparse—just a bed and a dresser and a window with bars across it.
Bars.
He dumps me on the bed and I scramble to my feet, but he's already backing toward the door.
"Lev, don't you dare—" I hiss, charging at the doorway, but the door slams shut and the lock clicks into place.
"Lev!" I throw myself against the wood, pounding with my fists. "Let me out! You can't do this!"
Now the tears flow freely as I hear his feet retreating away from me. He thinks it's easier to lock me up than to face my real, honest questions, and maybe I'm the fool for thinking he ever had a heart. I'm so mad, so hurt that I'd give myself to someone so heartless and cruel.
"Please!" I'm sobbing now, my hands aching from hitting the door, and my ability to advocate for myself is gone.
I'm melting, willowing back toward his placating bitch because I'd rather be at that table stewing and watching video footage of Ana Veche than locked up and ignored.
"Please, I'll do whatever you want. Just let me out.
Let me go home. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Please, Lev. Please."
But there's no response at all—not a footstep or a creak in a floorboard. The house is quiet out there, and even if there were sounds, I'm blubbering and sniffling so loudly, I'd never hear them.
I don't know how long I stand there crying before my legs give out and I slide to the floor. My back presses against the door and I pull my knees to my chest, making myself as small as possible. The wood is cool against my spine, the room bone cold.
He isn't coming back.
The realization makes me feel so alone and scared.
I can't believe he locked me in here after I was so willing to help him.
I'm such a fool, so stupid for thinking we had any real connection.
Lev is a user and a creep. He never had any good intentions toward me.
He has been using me for whatever he wants since he dragged me here, including sex, which I willingly gave up to him because I'm desperate and needy and stupid!
I crawl onto the bed and curl up on my side. The sheets smell clean, unused. I wonder how many others have been locked in here before me. How many people have stared at these same walls and wondered if they'd ever leave.
How fucking stupid. How incredibly, painfully stupid I am.
The women… The trafficking. Was any of it real? I believed Lev because I wanted to believe him. He made me feel like a hero instead of a victim, and I let myself be convinced that I was choosing to help instead of being forced to comply.
But there's been zero proof that anything he told me was anything more than a pretty lie designed to keep me docile and cooperative. Not a single update or shred of evidence that those girls ever existed.
And I slept with him.
The thought makes my stomach turn and bile rise in my throat. I let him touch me and I let him put his dick inside me. I shudder as I think about how I moaned his name and felt his seed dumping into me. What is wrong with me?
But he's been taking advantage of me from the start. Every kind word, every gentle touch, every promise of safety and freedom—all of it was manipulation. Pretty lies about saving lives, and I ate them up because I wanted to believe I mattered to him as something more than a pawn.
I'm such a fucking idiot.
The tears come again, soaking into the pillow beneath my cheek. I hate Lev for what he's done. I hate myself more for believing him and for wanting him. For opening myself—my body, my trust, my foolish, hopeful heart—to a man who saw me as nothing more than a means to an end.
He will never let me go, I know that much now, but what he'll do with me if I don't keep pretending to be what he wants… I have no clue. And it scares the fuck out of me.
But I know one thing for certain.
I'm never trusting Lev Gravitch again.
Never.