Chapter 12
ANYA
Viktor’s made the coffee too strong again.
It burns going down, bitter and overdone, but I drink it anyway.
I need the caffeine after another bad night of sleep and an early morning of sickness.
I know it’s not the best for baby, but I limit myself to one small cup a day.
I just wish he’d get us an actual cook if he’s planning on keeping us here indefinitely.
Viktor is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking his overly strong coffee and reading something on his phone.
I open the fridge and take out a carton of eggs.
I shut it harder than necessary, because he seems to think I’ve gotten too quiet.
I would’ve thought that would make him happy, but he seems to be concerned by my lack of disrespect.
“You’re up early,” Viktor says gently.
“Yeah, well lack of physical and mental stimulation doesn’t exactly lend itself to good sleep,” I answer truthfully.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t do that thing men like Mikhail do where they pretend they’re amused so you feel small for having a backbone.
I turn my back to him as I scramble up some eggs and put some bread in the toaster.
I purposely ignore him the whole time, making a show of it. He doesn’t deserve peace anyway.
When my food is ready, I plate it and sit down across from him.
He’s still reading on his phone, also making a point not to look at me.
I swear, though, when I look down to take a bite of my food, I can feel him watching me.
I look up, hoping to catch him in the act, but he’s still looking at his phone.
We eat without speaking, and it’s strange how comfortable it feels. There’s no tension at all, and I realize with mild horror that we’ve settled into a routine.
Mikhail tried to force me into a routine in his home.
When it was clear to him that I wouldn’t be pushed into his ridiculous regimen, he lashed out.
It started with locking me in my room for days at a time, then escalated to violence.
He could never control me, and he hated me for that. So, instead, he tried to break me.
Is that what Viktor’s done? Have I broken without even realizing it? Or, maybe, this is what peace really feels like. No shouting. No plates breaking. No berating me with the cruelest, most vicious words.
The more attention I pay to the silence, the less peaceful it feels.
It makes me uncomfortable. I keep waiting for him to say something, to start a conversation with me, but he just keeps reading on that damn phone.
I sigh loudly, but he doesn’t look up. I clatter my fork, and he either doesn’t notice or he pretends not to.
“What’s so damn interesting?” I finally ask, hating that I can’t sit in silence for five damn minutes.
“Do you really want to know?” he counters. “It’s pretty grim.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve heard worse,” I answer honestly. “Especially if it concerns Mikhail.”
He nods at this and sets his mug down slowly. The movement is controlled, measured, like he’s aware of how much space he takes up even when he’s doing nothing at all. He’s always like that, and I hate that I clock it so easily. I hate that my body responds to him subconsciously.
“He’s closing in,” he finally says as casually as possible. “It’s likely only a matter of time until he finds us.”
“Then what?” I ask, suddenly wishing I hadn’t asked.
“We’re monitoring the situation,” he says carefully. “At present, we don’t think there’s anything to be worried about. Just relax.”
“I am relaxed,” I say, though even as I do I can feel the tension in my neck and the straightness of my spine. I couldn’t be further from relaxed, and we both know it.
“Maybe another afternoon in the garden would do you some good,” he says, distracting me. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“I’m Russian, of course I’m pale,” I shoot back, unable to stop the laugh that rips through me. “It’s an unfortunate condition of our existence.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I just think a little sun would do you some good. It can get stuffy in here.”
He doesn’t know the meaning of stuffy. He’s never been locked into a small bedroom for days, with only occasional protein bars passed under the door to keep you alive.
“That’s not a bad idea,” I say, looking back down at my plate and trying to block out the memories.
I hear him hum under his breath, and I feel like he wants to say something else. I never really know what he’s thinking, which is probably for the best. Still, I wish he would just say whatever’s on his mind and stop keeping me guessing.
I swallow another mouthful of coffee and let it scald my throat.
“Another good idea would be you learning how to make a decent cup of coffee,” I say after a while. “This shit is undrinkable.”
“And yet, you’re drinking it.” He smirks. “It must not be so awful.”
“It’s the worst coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” I deadpan. “Prisoners get better coffee than this.”
“I didn’t realize you were so well-versed with the penal system.” He laughs, and it’s such a bright, all-consuming sound. It almost makes the space feel cozy.
Then a car door slams outside and we both flinch, reminding us how tenuous this peace is.
Both of us glance toward the window at the same time.
The movement is so synchronized it irritates me, because it reminds me that we’re trapped in the same rhythm whether I want to be or not.
Viktor’s eyes narrow, and I watch his hand shift slightly on the table, subtle and ready to reach for a weapon.
“It’s not him,” he says, looking at me carefully.
“I didn’t think it was,” I tell him, although my heart is pounding in my chest.
It took me no time at all to realize that I likely wasn’t going to survive life with Mikhail. Between the restrictive diet and his obsessive control, I knew that marrying him would be a death sentence. That was never clearer than the day he had me pick out my wedding dress.
I didn’t get to go out to a boutique like most brides.
He had some fashion intern bring in a few dresses for me to try on.
They were all incredibly conservative and hideous.
He told me they were traditional, and what everyone would expect the wife of a pakhan to wear.
By then, I knew when to pick my battles.
This wasn’t a fight that needed to be had.
Unfortunately, his restrictive diet hadn’t had the effect he’d hoped.
Starving me for weeks didn’t matter when they brought sample-sized dresses for me to try.
His frown grew deeper and deeper with each dress that the intern had to close with a clip at the back.
The intern kept saying that was totally normal, but Mikhail wasn’t happy about it at all.
Once the fitting was mercifully over, Mikhail cleared the room.
He was silent for a long time, which only allowed for my anxiety to bloom even more.
What could I have possibly done differently?
Finally, he got into my space and slapped me so hard across the face, it knocked me over.
I clutched at my stinging cheek as he towered over me, glaring.
“You’re so fucking weak-willed,” he spit. “You can’t even stand your ground.”
“Then why are you marrying me?” I’d challenged him in a fit of courage.
That earned me a swift kick to the ribs.
He wanted to break me. That was always his goal, but I was stronger than he ever gave me credit for.
He should have just let me go then, told my father that the match wasn’t a good fit, and the marriage wouldn’t continue.
He was too prideful for that. So I knew that I only had one option. I had to run.
“Everything okay?” Viktor asks, bringing me back to the present.
I look at him in surprise, realizing I have my fork midair. I quickly set it down and shift uncomfortably in my chair.
“I’m fine,” I lie, though I know it’s no good.
Viktor has an annoying way of seeing through my lies.
“I’m going to go read,” I say, grabbing my half-eaten plate of eggs and scraping what’s left into the trash. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.
He says nothing as I go, and I hope he doesn’t notice the way my hands are shaking. Knowing him, he probably does. He notices everything. It’s his most annoying quality, and there are many.
I go into the living room, grab a book, and plop down into an oversized chair.
This has become my favorite room in the house.
I hate having a favorite room. I hate that I’ve allowed myself to become comfortable in my prison.
A false sense of security has fallen over both of us, and I’ve actually allowed myself to believe that there’s any safety here.
Unconsciously, my hand moves to my flat stomach.
This poor child is going to be born into a world where violence is the only language.
Going back to Mikhail pregnant isn’t remotely an option.
The child will obviously not be his, and he would gravely punish me for it.
I’d be lucky if he allowed the child to live.
The alternative is telling Viktor the truth about the pregnancy. That’s not much of an option, either. He’s already crazy possessive. Adding a child to the mix will only increase his insanity, which is not something I’d like to experience.
As if conjured by the thought, Viktor appears in the doorway, watching me cautiously.
“Okay if I join you?” he asks.
He usually doesn’t ask, so this is a nice change.
Maybe it should put me more on my guard, but it actually endears him a little more to me.
I blame the pregnancy hormones. Damn this baby with half his DNA.
How could I not feel a small bit of affection toward him?
I push it as far down as it will go and roll my eyes at him.
“It’s your house,” I say without any real bite.
“It’s yours too,” he says quietly. “For now, at least.”
I feel his words wash over me, and I know that I should hate him for giving me this false hope.
For now. For now, I’m away from the monster who won’t be satisfied until I’ve completely conformed to his will.
For now, I’m in a beautiful house with a lot of space.
Even though it’s not my home, and even though Mikhail is still a looming threat, it is safe.
“What’s Sergei going to say when he calls?” I ask him, wanting the cold splash of truth to remind me exactly how precarious this position is.
“I’m not a psychic, Anya,” he replies.
“You know what I mean,” I say seriously. “What’s going on out there? How much longer do we reasonably have until Mikhail finds us?”
“You really don’t need to concern yourself with the details,” he answers. “The situation is well in hand. Everything is going to be okay.”
I slam my book shut and glare at him. “Viktor,” I say coldly. “We’re both dead when Mikhail finds this place, so I need you to take this a little more fucking seriously.”
“We’ll be long gone before that ever happens.” He smiles reassuringly.
I realize that he truly thinks he has the ability to outsmart and outlast Mikhail. That’s the most dangerous part of this all.