12. Kira
KIRA
Timur's side of the bed is cold when I reach for it.
I lie there for a minute with my hand on the empty sheet, staring at the indent his head left in the pillow.
My body feels heavy and warm and worn out.
It makes my cheeks burn as I think of the things I did with that man, and my head thrums as I turn over.
Last night was a mistake. I don't even need to go rethink things or stew over it.
Sleeping with Timur should never have happened.
I was foolish and I made stupid choices, and I drank way too much vodka.
Uncle Victor would kill me, and so will my father when he finds out.
God, if he finds out. If Timur doesn't figure out I lied to him and kill me.
I'm an idiot.
But God, he was gentle.
Everything about the way he touched me was perfect. And he knew just how to suck me in and swallow me whole then spit me back out. And I was putty in his hands, so willing to be whatever he wanted and needed. And it was worth it. He made me feel incredible.
I sit up and press the heels of my hands against my eyes until the room stops spinning.
I have such a headache and my stomach is rolling like waves on the ocean.
I may very well throw up, and when it happens it might be vodka still left in my belly that my body never had time to digest. But it's not just a hangover.
Regret feels worse than the spinning, throbbing pain. It fights back at me as I try to stand up and push it away. Mental clarity has arrived in the wake of the disastrous choices I've made, but it's too late. The deed is done and there's no putting the toothpaste back in that tube.
I get dressed and pull my hair back, check my face in the bathroom mirror.
The cut on my temple is nearly healed now, but my eyes are puffy.
I slept like hell and anyone who looks at me will be able to tell.
Walk of shame? Ha. Try humble pie. I am a total wreck, a walking dumpster fire.
I was taken by my father's enemy and I ended up sleeping with him.
It's humiliating to think of, though if anyone asked I could lie and say I did it on purpose to seduce him into letting me go.
I'd like to think I'm that heartless wretch who'd prostitute her body for freedom, but I'm not.
I'm so far from that sort of person, it would sound farfetched to anyone who knows me.
Besides, Timur was so into it. He practically worshiped me like a cherished treasure. That was not just sex. It was communion with God himself, and I was his god.
But the sad fact is none of it was as real as either of us felt in that moment.
He doesn't even know who I really am. If I told him my real last name, he never would've slept with me.
I represent a problem for him. But Kira Belova—whoever the fuck that is—is his ally, not the daughter of one of his worst enemies.
I'm not surprised to find the door unlocked when I attempt to open it.
This isn't my room. It's Timur's room, and he's never let me sleep anywhere but in his guest room under lock and key.
But Dryden's in the hallway when I walk out, probably stationed there by Timur to make sure I don’t run off.
But believe me, if he weren't there, the front door is the exact place I would run first. I'm not foolish enough to believe I mean anything to Timur Kuzin.
The instant I tell him who I am, I'm a dead woman.
"Morning," I say. "I'm going to get breakfast. Do you want anything?"
He shakes his head but follows me at a distance as I walk toward the kitchen.
I've learned the layout of this house well enough by now to find the kitchen without help, and when I get there, Sonya's already at the counter with a pot of coffee going and something baking that fills the room with the smells of butter and sugar.
"Good morning, Kira." She pours me a cup without asking and slides it across the counter at the island. Then she smiles warmly as she sips her own cup of coffee while she watches me.
"Thank you." I take the cup and sit on one of the stools, though I sense Dryden hovering. The coffee's strong and black and exactly what I need to cut through the fog in my head.
Sonya moves around the kitchen, pulling a tray from the oven, some kind of pastry I don't recognize, and sets it on a cooling rack. It reminds me of my grandmother's steady hands as she spent time baking for our family.
"How long have you worked for Timur?" I ask, curious about the way others see him. What my uncle and father told me about this family has so far been quite wrong. They say he's a violent, angry man who holds no prisoners but takes revenge.
All I’ve seen is a controlled man who thinks more than he acts, which isn't a bad quality to have. Except that if he's been thinking of me more than he's been acting, it doesn't put me in a good position considering I'm a lying sack of shit.
"Six years," she says, smiling. She wipes her hands on a towel and leans against the counter across from me. "He took me in when I had nowhere else to go."
"What do you mean?"
She studies me for a second, like she's deciding how much to share.
Then she folds the towel neatly and sets it down.
"I was married to a fighter. Branko Lazic.
He fought for one of the organizations here in the city, not the Kuzins, a smaller outfit.
He was good in the ring and terrible everywhere else. "
She says it with a bit of bittersweet sentimentality in her tone. "And he was even better fighting opponents out of the ring." Her face falls, like she's remembering something very painful, and I connect the dots easily.
"He hurt you?" I ask, cautiously. I feel bad for opening this can of worms, though how could I know what she'd say? I asked so I could learn more about Timur, not her past.
"For three years." She laughs bitterly. "Broken ribs, a fractured wrist, more bruises than I could count. I hid it well because that's what you do. The alternative is admitting that you married a monster and you don't have anywhere to go."
My stomach tightens. I set my coffee down and sigh. This is a strong woman standing across from me. I hope to God I never have to go through that.
"Timur found out by accident," she continues. "Branko was at a gathering, some kind of event connected to the fights. I was there because Branko liked to show me off when I wasn't bruised. But that night, I had a mark on my neck that my collar didn't quite cover, and Timur saw it."
"What did he do?"
"He waited until the event was over and then he followed Branko to the parking lot.
" She pauses, and her eyes hollow out as she stares at the floor.
"From what I was told later, he beat Branko so badly, the man couldn't open his eyes for two weeks.
Broke his nose, his jaw, three of his fingers.
Timur is not a fighter the way his brother is.
He doesn't train for it, but when he hit Branko, he hit him hard... "
I don't even know what to say to that. The vivid mental image of Timur beating a man within an inch of his life is so shocking against the backdrop of what I know about him, it scares me. That's who I slept with. A man who can kill.
"After that," Sonya says, looking up at me, "he came to me and told me I was done.
He said I wasn't going back to that house and he brought me here, gave me a job and a room.
And then he got me a lawyer and paid for my divorce.
Branko didn't contest it. I don't think he wanted to find out what Timur would do if he did. "
"And you've been here since." The whole story is so crazy, it's believable.
I can see that about Timur, that he'd want to do the right thing by any person who felt unjustly punished.
It's what he's done for me believing I'm an ally.
But the problem is I'm not an ally. I'm his enemy, and it means I'm on the wrong side of that fight if he finds out.
She picks up the towel again and starts wiping down the counter, though it's already clean. "He's a good man, Kira. I know what this looks like from the outside, your situation. But he's trying to do the right thing."
I don't trust my voice right now, but I smile politely at her and nod.
Her story sounds inspiring, and under any other circumstances, maybe I'd be encouraged to give Timur a chance.
I just know when he finds out I'm not a Belova girl, he'll be furious.
Whatever tenderness he's shown me will evaporate the second he learns the truth, and what replaces it won't be gentle.
He slept with me thinking I was on his side, and now all I can think about is getting out of here.
I finish my coffee and pour another cup while Sonya goes into the pantry to get something. I hear her moving things around on the shelves, glass clinking against glass, and I glance toward the hallway.
Dryden isn't there. He was there five minutes ago, standing near the entrance to the kitchen, but the hallway is empty now.
I can hear what sounds like his voice coming from the front of the house, muffled, like he's on a call, and my heart leaps in my chest as I realize I may have an opening to get out of here.
I turn toward the back door, wondering if there’s a way out through the back. Does he have a tall fence, or does it open to an alley? I've never seen out the back windows to know.
But it's only ten feet from where I'm sitting. I could run there in under five seconds, be halfway down the block in thirty... But I don't have shoes on or my phone or money or any idea where I am, but none of that matters if I can just get outside.
I set my cup down quietly and stand, glancing over my shoulder. Sonya's still in the pantry. Dryden's still out of sight. And it's too tempting. I can't just sit here and wait for something to happen. I want to go home where I know my uncle will keep me safe, so I move.
I cross the kitchen and grab the handle. The deadbolt is open so I turn the knob and pull, and the moment the door cracks open, a sound rips through the house that freezes me where I stand.
The alarm is deafening, a high-pitched electronic shriek that has me covering my ears, whimpering, and I hear Dryden's footsteps before I can even process what's happening.
He comes around the corner with his hand on his hip where his gun sits and stops when he sees me standing at the open door with my bare feet on the threshold.
"I'm sorry," I whine over the shrill, and I don't have to fake the panic in my voice because the alarm scared me half to death. "I just wanted to sit outside with my coffee. I didn't know there was an alarm."
He scowls at my hands, empty, not holding coffee, and I know he sees right through my explanation, but he says nothing.
He walks past me to a panel on the wall near the door and punches in a code.
The alarm cuts off and my ears are ringing.
Sonya has appeared in the pantry doorway looking startled but sympathetic.
"I'm so sorry," I say again, turning to Sonya. "I didn't mean to scare anyone. I just thought some fresh air would be nice."
"It's alright, dear." Sonya puts a hand on her chest and takes a breath. "You just have to let Dryden know before you open any doors."
"I will. I'm sorry." My eyes flick from hers to his as I wonder if she, too, is somewhat a prisoner. Does she know the code? Do they let her go in and out alone, or do they have to type it in for her too? Frustration mingles with my fear, but when Dryden opens the back door, I feel a bit relieved.
"I'll sit with you," he growls, and I get the feeling he's not fond of my idea for fresh air.
But I pick up my coffee and force a smile at Sonya as I step into the cooler air, pulling a patio chair out to sit down. So my plan was foiled, but it doesn't mean I'm giving up.
From what I can tell, Timur's friend is hellbent on destroying my family.
They had zero mercy when they barged into our meeting and killed everyone.
The only reason I'm alive is because of a lie.
If they think the Mirovs are gunning for them, they won't hesitate to wipe out the entire family, and I may be the only one left. Or I could be the one to stop it.
Timur likes me. That much is true. So if I can use that to my advantage, I will.
Until then, I have to keep pretending to be someone I'm not and pray he doesn't find out.