Chapter 41 #2
Not that she knows that.
Like me, Kenzi dabbles in the art of paranoia and knows what it means to let her guard down. It is a matter of life or death. I can understand her reticence.
Without having to look at her, I already know that her gaze is sweeping the cemetery for threats. Her eyes are counting the shadows behind her, judging the distance of the people behind her by how close their shadows loom.
“If Christian doubts that I believe him, you’ll have another host of problems on your hands that you can’t afford,” Kenzi points out. “Plus, I wanted to kill him the night of the gala, remember? You’re the one who was adamant in letting him live.”
“Christian is just a pawn,” I remind her. “If you kill him, we risk not finding out who the man behind the curtain is.”
“Is that a Wizard of Oz reference?” she teases. I grumble half-heartedly at her, cursing her name. “I knew you’d watch it, you big softie.”
Some of the real Kenzi is coming out to play.
“It was our favorite movie growing up,” she admits, a twinge of sadness lacing her words once again, but this time she doesn’t pull it back.
“Every Friday night we used to do movie night together. Me, Ava, and—” she pauses, her breathing growing rapid as memories of her dead sister push and pull at her fragile mind.
For just a moment she is a vulnerable nineteen-year-old again.
“Anyway…” The false Kenzi is back. “I knew you’d like it. ”
“Never said I like it,” I mumble.
“People don’t quote movies they don’t like.”
God give me strength.
“I’ll admit I like the movie if you tell me more about the Dollhouse.”
“Nice try.” She rolls her eyes, I know it.
I have a sixth sense for those things. “I already told you what I know. I thought I was going to college like he promised. Instead, when I arrived in England, they took me. The moment I stepped off the plane they grabbed me. No one batted an eyelash. Not one person in that terminal lifted a hand to help me. That is how much power they have.”
“Then what?” I push. I need more information; you can’t fight an enemy you can’t see or find. Information is power and Kenzi has that information, she just needs to see the power it gives her. “Where were you taken?”
“It was all very Red Room,” she admits. The false Kenzi fades away to something new.
Someone devoid of emotion, her voice sounding far away.
She is disassociating from her memories, protecting herself against the trauma she endured.
“The very first day they stripped us of our clothes. Made us do everything naked. They said it would desensitize us. They wanted to get us used to being naked and if you push back—” she shivers slightly, her cold, detached persona dropping minutely before her shell fixes itself back in place.
“They show you just what they will do to ensure you understand what it means to not comply.”
I stop once we reach the SUV and gaze down at the woman standing with me.
In many ways, she is still just a child.
Then again, when you grow up in a household like Elias’s, was she ever really a child?
Trauma and pain are two key essentials in casting childhood aside, like a wet rag that can no longer be used.
From what I learned from Ava, Kenzi was an outcast in her own home.
In the game of chess, she was the first pawn to be sacrificed.
How many times had Elias told her she had no worth?
No meaning because her womb is barren, and she couldn’t be married off?
Even if she could, I doubt that Elias would have fetched a worthy enough alliance with another family when she couldn’t bear an heir.
That would explain why he sold her. With no chance of an alliance, money was the only other use she had.
“Get in,” I murmur, opening the door for her. Kenzi’s gaze flickers to her surroundings before she slides into the running vehicle. Leon is already behind the wheel, waiting.
“Here’s your tablet,” he reaches back to hand Kenzi a small black tablet that had been sitting on the passenger seat. “Mark said he loaded everything for you.”
“Thanks,” Kenzi nods as she takes it and powers it up.
“We’re not done with this,” I warn her. “You’re holding back.”
Kenzi huffs and reaches forward to dial Mark on the small screen attached to the seat in front of her. The seat in front of me has one as well that mirrors hers, so there is no need to lean over and share. “We’ll see.”
I grunt. We are not done with this, and that is a promise. The Dollhouse and the Chameleon Agency present a big problem. I can’t have families selling their children for cash to fund underground assassination agencies or worse, selling them to brothels or pedophiles.
“Kenzi,” Mark’s warm voice greets from over the crisp video feed. He is sitting in the office we gave to him, his guards visible in the background. He needs to earn our trust back after the incident with Archer and he is well on his way to doing so. “Sir.”
I nod my head in greeting and leave the rest to Kenzi. The pair have been working closely the last week to find the information I requested. The pair of them are like the nerd hacker wonder twins.
“Alright,” Kenzi places the tablet in the cradle that sits between us. It allows for me to view the information without having to pass it back and forth. “You gave us quite the task when you asked us to search for this Kirill Kasyanov guy.”
“Shouldn’t have been all that hard,” I drawl. “I even provided a photo.”
Kenzi blows out her lips. “Yeah, the only problem is that Kirill Kasyanov doesn’t exist. At least, not anymore.”
“So, he is dead.” This is what I hoped for but the look on Kenzi and Mark’s faces tells me another story.
“Nope,” Mark shakes his head. “The problem is that Kirill Kasyanov literally doesn’t exist. His surname isn’t Kasyanov, it’s Tkachenko.”