4. Kira
KIRA
It would be easier to stay angry and sharp if the mattress were terrible, but it's not. It's thick and warm and the sheets smell like lavender, and my body wants to sink into it so badly that I have to force myself to stay upright.
I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Nika's face covered in blood and hear the sound of gunfire ripping through that room.
My ears are still ringing from it, and my head still throbs where I knocked into that trunk latch, but at least the bleeding has stopped.
Though, I'm sure the excess of alcohol I drank tonight so far isn’t helping.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a while, staring at the window. The curtains are drawn, but there's a gap where they don't quite meet and I can see a glow outside.
I get up and pull the curtain aside just enough to look through the glass.
There's a man standing about three meters from the window with his back against the side of the house.
He's got a cigarette between his fingers and a holster visible under his jacket.
It's my only way out of this room and he has it guarded.
At least he was nicer than the assholes who dragged me out of the building tonight, but his even and calm temperament doesn't negate the fact that he's holding me against my will.
I've thought through this a million ways and the only reason I think I'm still alive is because the trigger happy idiots who mowed my family down don’t have the same morals as the man they gifted me to.
I think he doesn't quite know what to do with me.
And I hope maybe rationalizing with him will convince him to let me go.
I'm smart enough to understand why he doesn't want me out there.
Uncle Victor can handle this. We don't need police.
I turn to the door and bang on it with the flat of my palm, hoping Timur will come back. It's been a while. I don't know if he's gone to sleep or if he's out there pacing the floor like I'm doing in here, but the alcohol has made me brave enough to not want to sit on this anymore.
After a few minutes, the door clicks and swings inward, and Timur walks through carrying a plate with a sandwich on it, and he looks like he hasn't slept, either.
His eyes are heavy and his jaw is tight, but he's changed into a T-shirt and shorts since I last saw him.
He holds the plate out to me like a peace offering.
"I'm not hungry," I tell him plainly. The dumplings from dinner might well come up and make a reappearance before this night is over.
"Alright, I didn't know... I didn't want you to drink on an empty stomach." He sets the plate on the dresser and holds out a glass of water, which I didn't notice him holding until now.
It pisses me off, but I keep my face calm.
He's too nice for this job. He should be angry with me or threatening.
I don't know how to take it with him being so kind.
But I take the water because my throat's dry and the vodka left a film on my tongue.
I drink half of it standing there in front of him, and the room spins just slightly when I set the glass down.
I'm a little drunk, but not enough to be stupid.
Still, it dulls the edges of my emotion and makes my mouth a little too loose around a man I know nothing about except that he's part of an organization I've been warned about repeatedly.
I didn't have to hear his last name to know it, either.
When those men stormed into the building shooting, I had no clue who they were.
But just his first name gave him away. It's a rare name—only heard it once in my life when I was told about him.
"I need to go home," I say, and I realize as I'm talking that my words are slurred. It's embarrassing, but I swear I'm sober enough to have this conversation. "My father's going to worry about me. He doesn't know where I am and when he finds out what happened tonight, he's going to lose his mind."
Timur leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. He doesn't look annoyed with me, which is strange. He looks tired and maybe a little sorry, though I don't trust that.
"I understand," he says. "But I need at least one day to figure out how to handle this. I can't let you walk out of here tonight, Kira." Timur sounds so kind, almost gentlemanly. But how can a real gentleman keep me locked up? It's wrong.
"You can't keep me here indefinitely. My family will come looking. You will have problems you don't want."
Timur huffs out a sigh and his shoulders drop. "One day," he says. "That's all I'm asking. Let me make some calls and sort out a plan. If there's a way to get you home safely, I'll find it."
I want to scream at him. I want to throw this glass at his head and shove past him and run until I'm outside. But there's a guard at the window and probably one at the door and I don't even know where I am. I don't know what city I'm in or how far I am from anyone who could help me.
"Get out," I tell him, and I realize it sounds harsh against the backdrop of his kindness, but he's stupid if he thinks being calm while locking me up is kind.
I'm not a stupid woman. I'm a Mirov and I've been trained to know how to handle men like Timur Kuzin.
I just never thought I'd ever have to use that training.
"I'm sorry," Timur says, turning to walk out. I have half a mind to throw that sandwich at him as he's leaving, but I'd miss anyway. My vision is blurring and it's dark in here. Not to mention I suddenly feel ravenous, though I know I shouldn’t eat.
When he's gone, I climb back into bed, far away from the half-empty bottle of vodka perched on the dresser, and pull the covers over my head.
I don't know what I hoped to accomplish by calling him in here, but clearly, I was mistaken.
Timur has no intention of turning me loose yet.
It sounds to me like he isn't proud of what his soldier did and that he's looking for a way to clean up that man's mess.
The problem is, I know too much. I have seen their faces and if he lets me go, he thinks I'll go rat him out.
He doesn't realize who I am, that my Uncle Victor runs the Mirov bratva and that when he finds out what's happened, he's going to light this whole city on fire searching for the man responsible.
Nika and Alexei were so young, not to mention my cousins and uncles who were there, who were invaluable to the organization.
They're irreplaceable. The amount of knowledge lost in that one hit will cripple our family for months.
Without me, how will they rebuild? Victor will do anything to get me back. I know it.
I just have to survive long enough for him to find me.
And I have to appeal to their sense of justice and mercy.
And I know just how to do both of those things.
The Kuzins are aligned with the Belovas—it was a recent thing that happened within the last six months or so, a forced-hand sort of job.
But I'm sure it's not strong enough yet to know every single woman born of a Belova male.
If I pass that name off as my own, it could buy me days or weeks.
And that's all the time Victor would need to save me.
My eyes shut and the alcohol really starts to take hold now that I'm more at ease about my near future. With a plan in mind and as late as it is, exhaustion starts to pull me under and sleep comes easily.
If I wake up and he starts asking questions, I know exactly what to do. I just hope he buys it.