9. The Safe House
Chapter 9
The Safe House
The safe house is a tomb. Silence hangs in the air, heavy as the stale coffee that’s been brewing all night. A sliver of dawn, pale and unwelcome, creeps through the blinds. My limbs ache, and my stomach growls. I’ve been home for a few hours, and everything here seems normal. I showered and changed into my pajamas when I got back, but the city’s scent clings to me. His eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—flash in my mind. Nikolai Romanov.
Zara stands in my doorway, her fingers tapping steadily against the doorframe. “You okay, ragdoll?”
My heart sinks. How can I explain? How can I even begin to process what I’ve witnessed? I’m not sure I want to. The images are still too vivid, the sounds too raw, too real. Where is Alexander?
“I’m alive,” I manage, my voice is raspy.
“Alive is good, devushka ,” Zara says, her eyes glinting.
I nod, watching her swirl out of the room.
I drag myself out of the bed and wander down the hall and into the living room. The space, with its rough-hewn wooden furniture and the massive stone fireplace, feels strangely sterile, and it’s starting to grate on my nerves. Creak, creak, creak.
Isaac, the ever-watchful guardian, is slumped in a chair, his brow furrowed, a cup of coffee perched precariously on the table beside him. He’s up early.
Have they been looking for me? I sneaked out late. I didn’t think anyone would notice.
“You’re back, I see,” he says, his voice gruff. “Where the hell were you? We were worried!” He stands, his brows furrowed. He’s like a dad who found his kid sneaking out at night.
“I was busy,” I say, forcing a light tone, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just, um, around.”
He looks at me, his eyes sharp, piercing through my carefully constructed facade. He knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t push it.
I should tell him, but how? What will he do? What will Alexander do?
“Alexander went looking for you,” he murmurs and sits down again. “He’s still out.”
“I can handle myself,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel. The truth is, I’m not sure I can. But I can’t let my fear show. Not to Isaac, not to anyone, even if I feel like I’m about to break.
My stomach growls again. And my brain . But I ignore the exhaustion that wants to pull me under. I need to get my head back in the game. Train. Prepare. Survive. Learn.
I leave the room, escaping Isaac’s blaming looks, and instead make my way to the girls' corridor. I burst into Zara’s room, which she shares with two other girls; a rush of lavender and vanilla meets my nostrils. It’s all a bit too sweet for my taste.
“Zara. We’re training.”
She groans, her eyes squeezed shut. “ Slatka —is early. I need beauty rest.”
“This isn’t the time for sleep. The sun’s up.” I grab her arm, pull her towards the edge of the bed, and give her a little push. “You can sleep when it’s over.”
She stumbles to her feet, cursing in Russian, but I don’t care. I need to train. I need to be ready.
“When what over?”
“Nothing.”
“What happened?” she grunts, her eyes narrowing.
“Later,” I say. “We’re training now.”
Zara doesn’t give me any lip this time; she grabs her boxing gloves from a pile in the corner and tosses them to me.
“I don’t need them. I’m going bare today,” I say, clenching my fists until my knuckles are white.
The sounds of my knuckles against the heavy bag reverberate through the gym. The thudding rhythm is a beat, a release. With each hit, I’m punching Nikolai Romanov’s pretty face. I move with a ferocity I didn’t know I had, each punch a way to eliminate the fear, frustration, and uncertainty. Sweat drips from my brow, a salty, cleansing release. This isn’t just about punching a bag; it’s about fighting back in this messed-up world. Zara looks like she’s fallen asleep, her back leaning against the wall, blissfully unaware of my inner frustrations.
After an hour of training, the door creaks open, and a familiar scent of sandalwood and cologne fills the air. I glance up.
Alexander stands there, a force of nature ready to unleash its fury. The light of dawn highlights the dark circles under his eyes.
I don’t fear him, though; I know he’ll never hurt me.
“Where were you?” he says, his voice a low growl, the kind of voice that makes strong men tremble. He looks like a volcano about to erupt, every muscle in his body taut.
“Nowhere,” I say, my voice flat, trying to sound nonchalant, but the truth is, my heart is throbbing in my chest.
“Nowhere?” He almost shouts. “I was out looking for you all night!”
“Well—I—” I’m not sure what to say. The truth?
“Well, what, Ava?” Alexander says, tossing his hair back with a shake.
I glance at Zara, who stands by the window, watching us with a playful smirk. “My bed is warm if you need a break from that—disobedience, Alexa, ” she says, gesturing towards me.
“Stop hitting on him!” I snap, my voice sharp, my frustration bubbling over. “You’re not helping!”
I’m so tired of feeling vulnerable, of everyone treating me like I’m made of glass. Like I’m too docile to speak up for myself. Like they can do and say whatever they want in front of me.
Zara throws back her head and laughs, a sound as sharp as broken glass. “Don’t worry, slatka . He come around to me, when he tired of you and your games.” She winks at me.
Forget about her, Ava.
Alexander turns his gaze towards me, his fist clenched by his side. “Ava?” He speaks my name like a question as if he’s trying to understand what has happened to the woman he loves.
My mind is a hurricane of thoughts. Tell him or keep it to myself? If I tell him, he’ll help and protect me, but that might mean he’ll keep me away from this. On the other hand, last night was a freakin’ nightmare. I was scared, and I couldn’t handle things by myself.
He’s looking at me, his eyes locked on mine, unwavering. He doesn’t even glance at Zara, who’s lounging in the corner. She’s like a wild animal watching the hunt unfold. I don’t have time to deal with her right now.
I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself. The truth.
“I—-I know what’s going on.”
“Where? What are you talking about?” Alexander says.
“I went out last night,” I say, my words tumbling out, “To that place.”
“You what?” He looks shocked, like I just told him I climbed Mount Everest in a tutu. “What place?”
“Let me finish,” I snap.
He takes a step back, giving me space, but his gaze is intense, studying me.
“Remember the new beauty parlor?”
He nods.
“I saw a girl there, and she looked lost, kind of helpless, and I decided to investigate. The place just looks—off.” I take a deep breath, and he opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, a silent battle raging in his eyes.
“I went inside last night, well, not there, not in the beauty shop. There’s a club under the parlor called ‘Kitty’s Port Bar.’ I think it’s a sex club, maybe a cult, or something like that. I saw lots of women there. I think it’s a hub for trafficking, or maybe a way to bring in big money for Veles, or both.”
My words sound small in the face of this darkness. It feels like the whole world is about to crumble.
“You can talk now,” I say, my voice shaky.
“You went there? Without letting me know.” His voice is sharp, laced with raw, uncontrolled anger. “Fuck, Ava! You could have been killed!”
“Well, I wasn’t,” I say, “but I saw—-things.”
“What do you mean?” Alexander says, his eyes widening. I can feel Zara’s eyes, a cold, intrigued gaze piercing me.
My mind replays the scene. Nikolai’s chilling gaze, his cold, ruthless demeanor. The twisted dance between Cavill and Nadia, the sterile tools laid out on the table. Nikolai’s breath on my neck. The sound of those two bullets exploding into Monroe’s skull.
It’s not that I liked Monroe in particular. He’d tried to kill Alexander and me. But the way Nikolai did it— It was cold. Brutal.
I look into Alexander’s intelligent eyes. It’s like he can see right through me, into my soul. I need to tell him everything. I want to tell him everything.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “There was someone there,” I say hesitantly. “His name is Nikolai. Nikolai Romanov.”
Zara’s eyes flicker momentarily, and she inhales sharply.
Alexander tilts his head. “Who?”
“Zara?” I ask, noticing her trying to slip away to avoid the conversation. “You know him?”
“He—big boss Russia. No, no messing with him,” she says, her Russian accent becoming stronger, the words clipped and firm.
Alexander looks like he’s about to explode. His eyes are lasers, ready to burn me to the ground. I’ve never seen him this angry before.
“This is the last time you run off like that!” he growls. “If I have to chain you to this house, dammit, Ava, I will!”
“Alexander!” I say, my voice rising. “I need your help. We need to help those women, take down Nikolai, Veles—somehow—”
I’m done being a ragdoll, a slatka, whatever that means.
He grabs my arm, but his grip is gentle. “You will do no such thing!” he says.
I know he’d never hurt me. But that doesn’t mean he can control me.
I loosen myself from his grip, pushing him away. “I’m not Michelle, and you can’t keep me in a glass bubble. It wasn’t your fault she was murdered! You have to let me be me.” The words spill from my lips, raw and unfiltered. The pain of the past slams into him like a physical blow. But I can’t take it back. I’m so angry and frustrated.
“It’s not just for them, Alexander. It’s for you and me— We can’t live on the run forever— This is not a life.”
Alexander stands for a moment in silence. He doesn’t say a word. Then, he walks off briskly, his shoulders slumped. The training room suddenly feels cold and empty—the light wooden floors, the ceiling-to-floor mirror, the shelves lined with an array of weapons, their metallic glint sharp in my eye.
I feel gutted. My heart aches for him, for his pain, for his hurt. And for myself. For my stupidity, for my recklessness, for my desperation to help. For bringing up Michelle. I wish I could take it back. But I can't.
I don’t even notice that Zara has left.
I sit on the floor, the cold wood biting into my skin, and let the tears flow. Bitter, salty tears for the danger I put myself in, tears for Alexander, his hurt, and my stupidity. Tears for Michelle and for my parents.
I am a mess—a tangled mess of fear, anger, and love that isn’t going away.
After a while, Zara comes back. Two other women follow her, their eyes reflecting a world that’s seen too much darkness. Zara’s presence is like a whirlwind, and she has this determined look in her eyes like she’s ready to kick down doors.
She lays a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes meet mine, a silent understanding passing between us. She wipes a tear from my cheek, her thumb brushing against my skin. Then she squats beside me, pointing to the girls next to her.
“We fight with you,” Zara says, her voice sharp, her gaze burning with an intense fire. “Nikolai hurt many of our friends. We take the big fight to him.”
I’m taken aback. Are they willing to fight? To risk their lives?
But I understand them. This is not just about the women; it’s about justice. It’s about a free Port Haven, a world where they can live without fear.
I nod, my tears still flowing. There’s a war brewing for our souls, and we will fight it.