14. Kira
KIRA
Lunch outside has become routine for the past few weeks, though I've been counting every day for the past three since I got here.
Dryden still insists on sitting out here with me, but at least it doesn't feel as much like he's babysitting me now.
He does whatever he does on his phone while I sip Sonya's latest concoction and draw.
Besides, with an eight-foot privacy fence and padlocks on every gate, there's no way out, even if he gave me ten solid minutes to negotiate some sort of escape.
Today, my mind wanders around aimlessly, snagging every so often on that question Timur asked me. Would I consider dating him once he lets me go home? I don’t know.
My first thought was hell, the fuck, no.
He locked me up here. Why would I date him?
But then I got so fucking lost in him again.
Nearly twenty years older than me and the man knows his way around a woman's body.
Why would he want me? I'm half his age and I have desires—like having kids and a family, or maybe going back to college for something other than accounting.
He's not going to have energy to chase babies around while I'm doing double duty working for my father and doing school at the same time and—
Who the fuck am I kidding?
My cheeks burn as I realize I'm letting myself daydream about a life with him when it's not even possible. The instant he finds out I'm not a Belova, I'm dead.
A lump forms in my throat as I flick a glance at Dryden's phone, mounted on his hip on a belt clip.
He carries it on him every day, but today's the first time I've really considered what it would mean to have it in my hands for five minutes.
And it would be so easy to lift it off him for a minute, make a quick call.
No one in my family knows I'm alive. After that night, who knows what they think?
They could've even had a funeral for me or something and the thought of my father standing over an empty grave makes my chest hurt so badly, I have to look away from the phone and stare at my notepad until it passes.
I don't want Dryden to see me crying and ask what's wrong.
When the urge to cry passes, I write a few lines of poetry.
Something about birds and fences that isn't very good but keeps my hands busy and my babysitter thinking I'm occupied.
Dryden's doing paperwork today. It looks like some kind of log or report that Timur probably asked him to fill out.
He's got a clipboard balanced on his knee and he's writing meticulously, so focused, he probably isn't paying attention to me at all.
He's distracted, enough that his attention is split between the clipboard and me.
Usually, he's not like this for more than a few minutes, but he's usually on his phone too, not doing paperwork.
His eyes flick up every thirty seconds or so to check on me, but between those checks, he's focused on whatever he's writing.
The phone is right there. No more than a foot from his hand, clipped to his belt, facing outward.
If I were standing next to him and he turned his body the right way, I could lift it off the clip with two fingers.
The holster is open-top. There's no snap, no strap, nothing holding it in place except gravity and the tension of the clip itself.
I write another line of poetry and my hand is shaking slightly. I press the pencil harder into the paper to steady it. If he sees me eyeing it too closely, he'll get suspicious and move it, so I have to control myself and steal glances at it. But a plan is forming in my mind.
Sonya comes through the back door with a tray laden with fresh cups of coffee and sets one beside me and one beside Dryden. "Anything else, dear?" He doesn't even look up at all this time. It's like he knows she's here so he lets her watch me for a second while he really focuses.
"Actually, yes." I set the notepad down and shift in my chair.
"Can I use the bathroom?" My heart starts hammering, making me feel nervous and flighty.
I could really do this—steal his phone, sneak into the bathroom, and call my uncle.
He could be here in a matter of twenty minutes to rescue me and I could go home.
Dryden looks up from his clipboard. His eyes move from me to Sonya and back, and I see how bored he looks.
He doesn't like letting me out of his sight, even for a few minutes.
Every time I leave the patio or move to a different room, he has to follow me or trust that the house is locked down tight enough.
But this time, his work and laziness win out.
"Sonya, go with her," he says, and it sends my heart into a tailspin. I'm fluttery and flustered as his eyes turn back to his work, and one hundred percent of me knows if I get caught, Timur will be so upset. But I have to try it.
"Of course." Sonya smiles at me and gestures toward the door, then she starts off in that direction with her back to me.
I stand on wobbly legs and pick up my notepad and take a step toward the door but pause.
I look down at my pencil and flick a glance at him, still consumed with his work, then drag my hand on the table as I walk.
The motion causes the pencil to roll from the table and fall to the patio paver stones where it rolls under Dryden's chair.
"Sorry," I mutter, bending to pick it up. My right hand closes around the pencil. My left hand, hidden by my body and the angle of the chair, finds the phone on his hip.
The clip releases easier than I expected. The phone slides free and I curl my fingers around it, pulling it against my thigh as I straighten up. I tuck it into the pocket of my pants in one motion, pressing it flat against my leg so it doesn't bulge, and then I’m moving, praying it doesn't ring.
My heart is beating so hard, I can hear it in my ears. I don't look at Dryden. I just hold the pencil up like that's all I went down there for and follow Sonya through the back door into the house.
The bathroom is down the hall from the kitchen where Sonya busies herself. At first glance, it looks like she's baking bread, but I am too nervous to care as I slip into the bathroom and lock the door.
My hands are trembling as I pull the phone out of my pocket and tap the screen.
The phone wakes on command, and I open the dialer and punch in my father's number.
It's the only number I have memorized besides my sister's, drilled into me since I was a child because my father is old-fashioned and believes everyone should know their family's numbers by heart.
It rings twice. Three times. Four...
He's not answering because he doesn't know this number, and I whimper and plead silently for him to not do this to me right now. I've seen him ignore calls before, and this is not a time for him to be anti-social. When it rings through, I dial again and again.
Finally, on the fourth call, he answers.
"Hello?" His voice is rough, like he's emotional and depressed. It makes my chest ache, but I am so close to being home now.
"Dad," I whisper, afraid Sonya can hear me talking.
I hear him gasp and then, "Kira? Kira, is that you? Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Kira—"
"Dad, I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm safe." The words tumble out fast because I can hear him unraveling and I need to hold him together. "Listen to me. I don't have much time. I'm okay. I'm not hurt, but I don't know where I am."
"We thought you were dead. We thought—" His voice cracks, and I hear him pull the phone away from his face. There's muffled talking, another voice in the background, and then shuffling.
"Kira." It's Uncle Victor and he doesn't sound happy.
I want my father, but I know why he's on this line.
If Dad is falling apart, Victor is the one who will take charge and get me home safely.
"Where are you?" He sounds angry, and rightly so.
It's been three weeks and no one's heard from me, not a ransom or anything because I lied and told Timur I am a Belova.
"I'm at a man's house. His name is Timur Kuzin. He's been keeping me here since the night of the attack. I haven't been harmed. He thinks I'm someone else."
There's a pause on the line and when he responds, he sounds confused. "Who does he think you are?"
"Kira Belova. I told him I was Sergei's niece so he wouldn't kill me." I chew my lip, listening to the water running in the kitchen. It's been long enough that I should’ve been back by now. If Dryden checks his hip, I'm fucked.
There's a pause. I can almost hear Victor deciding what to do with this information. He's always been the strategist. My father is the heart of our family but Victor is the brain, and right now, I need the brain.
"That was smart," he says. "Listen to me carefully. The man who took you is named Morin."
"I know," I say with a lot more disgust than I've felt in weeks. "We've met." I hope that man dies in a fiery wreck or chokes on his pelmeni or something. I hate him.
"He's been working for the Kuzins for years, but what they don't know is he's been playing both sides. He's been feeding information to anyone who'll pay for it, and now he's gone on a rampage. He's been killing our men in cold blood systematically."
My stomach drops and I splay my hand over it to stop the nerves from making me shake.
"The Kuzins think they're at war with the Mirovs," Victor continues.
"And they are, partially. But Morin is stoking it.
He's escalating the violence because he doesn't want us to rat him out...
Playing both sides." His grumbling to my father in the background is so obvious, as is my father's sobbing. If it were him, they’d be on the way to get me right now, but I have a feeling Uncle Victor is going to want me to do something for him first. "Does Timur know? "
"I doubt it. Morin's his closest friend. From what I've gathered, Timur trusts him completely." If Timur knows about his friend, he's covering for a maniac who is mercilessly killing my family.
I close my eyes and press my forehead against the mirror. The glass is cool against my skin and I stay there for a second, trying to keep my thoughts organized.
"But I could tell him," I say. "If I pass this information to Timur quietly, he might—"
"Absolutely not." My father's voice cuts through. He's back on the line, or maybe he's been listening the whole time. "You're not getting involved in this. You stay quiet and you stay safe, and we will find a way to get you out."
"Dad—"
"No. I lost you once. I am not going to lose you again because you decided to play spy."
Victor's voice comes back, calmer but firm. They have to have me on speaker. "Let her talk."
The line goes quiet, my father taking his place as second in command to our Pakhan. I can do this. Whatever it is he wants me to do, I will do it for our family.
"If she has access to Timur and he trusts her," Victor says, and I can tell he's speaking to my father but loud enough for me to hear, "then she's in a position none of us can replicate. We don't have anyone inside the Kuzin organization."
"She's my daughter, not an asset."
"She's both. And she's smart enough to handle it." Victor's voice comes closer to the phone. "Kira. If you can pass information to Timur without exposing yourself, do it. Carefully. If more intelligence surfaces on Morin's activities, I will find a way to get it to you."
"How?"
"I'll figure that out. For now, keep doing what you're doing. Stay close to Timur. Keep the Belova story intact. And don't take risks like this phone call again unless you absolutely have to."
"Okay, yes, sir," I tell him, feeling tears welling up at the prospect of having to stay here longer. Hearing my dad's voice made me want to go home.
"Your father wants to say something."
There's a shuffle and then Dad's voice comes across the line. "I love you, sweetheart. Please be careful."
"I love you too, Dad. I'm okay. I promise."
I end the call before I lose control of my voice and start sobbing, then I stand there shaking like a leaf in the wind. I give myself fifteen seconds to calm down, but that's all I can afford. I have to put it away and walk back out there like nothing happened.
I open the call log and delete the entry. Then I check recent calls one more time to make sure it's clean. The number's gone with no record to suggest this phone was used for anything other than whatever Dryden uses it for.
I stare at the screen for a second longer. Part of me wants to call my sister. Just to hear her voice. But Victor said don't take risks like this again, and he's right. Every second I spend holding this phone is a second closer to Dryden noticing it's gone.
I flush the toilet for the sound of it and run the sink. Then I unlock the door and step out. Sonya's waiting with her hands folded in front of her.
"Everything alright, dear?"
"Fine. Just needed a minute."
She walks me back to the patio and I follow her through the kitchen and out the back door. Dryden's still in his chair, clipboard on his knee, pen in hand. He glances up when I sit down and gives me the usual once-over before going back to his paperwork.
I pick up my coffee and take a sip. It's gone cold, but I drink it anyway because I need something to do with my hands. The phone is a brick in my pocket, incriminating me if he finds out, and I need to get rid of it before he notices it's gone.
I wait for two minutes... three. Dryden writes something on his clipboard and shifts in his chair, turning his body slightly away from me.
So I reach into my pocket and ease the phone out, then lean forward to set my coffee down and in the same motion, I place the phone on the ground between our chairs, face down, angled like it slid off his belt.
It's about as close as I've come to getting caught as a person can get as he glances up at me, and I wiggle my pencil between my fingers and he glowers at me. But he doesn't look down at the ground or pay any closer attention to me at all.
I pick up my notepad and stare at the blank page.
Timur actually asked me if I'd consider staying here with him, and strangely, my heart honestly wants to do that.
He's so incredible and kind and loving and patient.
But he's the enemy. And listening to my uncle tell me that the Kuzins are slaughtering my family, I know I can't do that.
Even if Timur is nothing like the rest of his family, they can't be trusted.
It makes me feel sad. But I have to do this. I have to tell Timur what Morin's been up to and hope he sees that my family isn't his enemy as much as he thinks we are. If Morin is trying to kill off every last one of us, would it change Timur's mind to hear that I am a Mirov?
Or would he let Morin kill me too?