32. Katya
Katya
The wire is in my coat pocket.
I've been carrying it since the café. It feels like a fifty-pound anvil, and yet I keep touching it, just to check that I haven't lost it.
Nadia left it. I'd gone back after making it a block, expecting her to be gone, and she was. I don't know why I went back, but I did. And she'd known I would because she left an envelope with my name on it with the barista.
I hate how predictable I seem to be to everyone but myself.
Having the wire in my pocket makes me feel exposed, and though I haven't fully decided if I'm going to use it, I'm aware of almost nothing else.
What I do know is that I need time to think, and I can't do that in the house. That's how I end up at Luc's place in SoHo. He doesn't say anything when he lets me in, simply starts a pot of tea in the kettle I bought him as a housewarming gift, and waits for me to talk.
"I think I have a way out," I tell him.
I need to discuss this with someone, and while Nico and Lacey were probably better options, Luc will understand. He grew up in this life, and he'll understand what I might be sacrificing if I do this.
Luc doesn't say anything. He turns the kettle off, and I expect him to say something. He doesn't. He continues making tea, adds honey, a bag, and hot water. When he does turn toward me, I see that he's mulling over my words.
His silver eyes are slightly darker, and the space between his brows is pinched. "What does that mean, Kat?"
I hesitate. I didn't come here to show Luc my hand, and yet I need to talk to someone. I know Luc wouldn't hurt me, so I reach into my pocket and pull out the wire and place it on the table.
Luc looks at it for a long moment. He doesn't touch it, but I can see the stiffening in his jaw.
"Where did you get that?"
"From someone who wants to help me."
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter?—"
"Katya." His voice is quiet and very serious. "Who gave you that?"
I bite the inside of my cheek and contemplate lying. There's no point. Luc would know. "An FBI agent. She's been?—"
"Actually, I don't want to know." He says it flatly. He gestures to it and mouths, Is it on?
I shake my head.
It's clear he doesn't believe me, so I roll my eyes and show him. "It's off. I'm not trying to set you up."
Luc shakes his head. "You need to get rid of that, Katya." I notice he's using my full name instead of Kat, a rarity.
"I'm not getting rid of it," I tell him, taking a sip of my tea. "This is my way out. I just need to get them enough information to help them get a warrant. Then they can search the house?—"
Luc snorts. "Artem Orlov has been playing these games since he was a boy. He's not just going to start listing off his sins. And he's certainly not stupid enough to leave evidence in his house. He knows the FBI is sniffing around."
I cross my arms, glowering at him. "Artem doesn't see me as a threat. I can do this."
"I'm telling you not to." His voice is firm. "Don't wear the wire. Don't meet with this agent again. I'm serious, Katya. Right now, Artem needs you, but if you become a liability, he'll get rid of you, and no one will stop him."
I swallow heavily at the implication. I want to ask if Luc would stop him, but I can't bring myself to hear the answer. "I'm not stupid. I know what's at stake here."
"Then let me get rid of it." He makes a move for it, but I snatch it back.
"No!" I hadn't been sure of what I was going to do until I walked in here. Now I'm surer than ever that I need to wear the wire. If Luc is this worried, it's clear that I'm on to something.
"Fuck, Katya." He steps closer.
I hold up a hand, stopping him. "If I don't do something, this is it. I'm trapped." My eyes water, and my hand drifts to my stomach.
Luc's eyes go wide. "Kat—" His voice is soft, and he comes closer, slowly, like I'm a frightened animal. "Let me help you. Let me find another way?—"
"The only way Artem is going to let me go is if he's in jail or dead." My voice comes out sharper than I intend. "He's going to consolidate power, become the head of the organization — you and I both know that's going to happen. And when it does, he won't need me." I wipe the tears away.
Luc sighs. "Don't trust these people, Katya. They are using you."
"Seems to be the theme of the day."
He exhales. "Katya?—"
I gather the wire. "Don't do anything rash," he says. "Just give me a week. If I can't figure out a plan by then…"
I nod, but I've already made up my mind. "Alright." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, and yet I'm not going to back down.
Nadia gave me an out, and I'd be stupid not to take it.
I go home.
Luc tried to get me to stay, but I couldn't. For one, I'm too antsy — now that I've started planning, I feel a rush of adrenaline at the idea of this finally being over.
And I don't want Luc getting caught up in any of this. Artem isn't exactly stable, and he's already lost it once because of my friendship with Luc.
If I'm honest with myself, I also don't want Luc talking me out of it. As I stop a block from the house, I attach the wire. The coolness of the plastic against my skin makes me feel safe in an odd way.
This potential lifeline is the only reason I step foot back inside.
When I do, I'm surprised by how quiet it is. As I walk further inside, I hear soft clinking, and I make my way into the dining room. I'm shocked to see dinner laid out.
Artem is seated at the head of the table, and he looks up briefly when I arrive. I inhale sharply as his icy eyes track me.
His face gives nothing away, but I still feel as though he can see through me.
I bite my lip, trying to get it together. "May I sit?"
He nods, and I hate that I even have to ask in my own house.
I sit down, and he makes a gesture. Someone comes and places a dish in front of me. I smile kindly, remembering my manners.
When they leave, I turn to look at my husband, ready for battle.
"Eat," he orders.
Automatically, I take a bite of the salad that's been served, allowing the umami of the goat cheese to mix with the balsamic, and I realize how hungry I am. I can't remember the last time I ate.
"Aren't you going to ask me where I was?"
He raises a brow. "Should I?"
My nostrils flare. "Please don't play games. You clearly know I snuck out."
"I wasn't aware it was a secret, considering you sauntered back inside like nothing happened."
I take a breath and keep my voice level. I need to play this correctly. "I think it's time we put our cards on the table. Both of us. No more?—"
He smiles in that predatory way of his, and I feel my heart rate climb. I hold still, every muscle tensing as he gets up from his chair. Artem is dangerous. He keeps showing me that, and I keep forgetting, letting my desire to one-up him overtake my sense.
"What exactly do you want to discuss, Katya?"
He stands at the end of the table, looking down at me. "Why did you marry me?"
Something shifts in his expression. "Because I love you."
His words feel like a knife in my heart, and it's why I reach under the table and press the button on the wire pack. Because fuck him for mocking me.
"I don't appreciate you mocking me."
There's something in his eyes — regret, maybe, or guilt. It's gone before I can name it.
"Tell me about Irina. You said Alexei abused her. I want to know what happened."
His eyes narrow as they always do when I bring up his sister. He walks toward me, and the heavy sound of his shoes against the rug causes tension in my shoulders.
He's in front of me, and I shiver as he runs a fingertip down the V of my blouse.
"Artem—"
He moves so quickly I can't anticipate it. He rips open my shirt, buttons fly everywhere, and I squeak as I try to close it.
It's too late. My bra and the wire are exposed. Terror pools in my stomach.
"You're going to have to be cleverer than that." His voice is completely even. No anger. No betrayal. Nothing that would indicate this is anything other than a logistical problem being addressed.
It's terrifying.
"Artem—"
"I knew about the tunnels long before we moved in here. When I realized you weren't in your room, when I came to apologize to you, I checked with your guard. He's been following you all over the city."
I swallow, not saying anything. He came to apologize? Shit. I don't even know what to do with that.
"I felt badly about what happened last night."
"You mean how you assaulted me."
He doesn't take the bait.
"I've known about Nadia for months. I was na?ve to think you wouldn't go along with her."
"Months?" He let an FBI agent sniff around the organization for months?
"Nadia Petrova should have been better at her job."
Fuck.
I open my mouth — to do what, I'm not sure — but I don't even have time. There's pressure at my neck, and I let out a gasp as I feel a sharp sting. Instinctively, my hands reach for my neck. When I pull my fingers away, I see a small smear of blood.
"Artem?"
The room tilts.
I reach for the table edge and don't find it.
The last thing I see before the dark comes up to meet me is his face, close to mine. His warm hands catch me before I hit the floor, and I swear I hear him sigh.