Chapter 19
LIESL
The SUV smells like blood to me.
I press myself against the far door, as far from Andrei as the seat allows, and watch the estate disappear through the tinted window. Smoke rises from somewhere near the east entrance. Bodies are being loaded into vehicles. Men move with urgency, scanning for threats.
We just left a war zone.
I should be grateful—relieved that he got me out, that I'm alive, that those men didn't succeed in dragging me through that broken window.
Instead, I feel numb.
The driver doesn't speak. Andrei doesn't speak. The silence in the vehicle is suffocating, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio as his men report in. I can feel him looking at me.
I don't look back. My hands are folded in my lap, perfectly still, but I can feel them trembling.
I can feel my whole body trembling, actually, a fine vibration that I can't seem to control.
Adrenaline, probably. Fear. The aftermath of watching men die and nearly being taken, of seeing Andrei at his most violent again.
He killed them for me.
The thought should comfort me. It should make me feel protected, valued, safe.
That's what he wants me to feel, right? But I don't feel that way, because he's also the reason they came.
The reason men are dying. The reason I'm sitting in this vehicle fleeing to another prison instead of home in my own bed, safe and untouched by any of this.
And I'm part of the reason, too. So is my father. All of us are tangled together in this awful, bloody web now, and I don't know how to ever get out of it.
Andrei is the spider, drawing me in with poisonous venom, making me want more every time he injects it into my veins.
"Liesl." His voice is low and careful, like he's approaching a wounded animal. I don't respond. I don't even turn my head. "Are you hurt?"
"No." The word comes out flat. I sound like him—like the cold, controlled version of him that interrogated me in that expensive room weeks ago.
The one who looked at me like I was a problem to be solved rather than a person.
Maybe that's what I need to be now. A problem.
A transaction. Something that doesn't feel.
"We'll be there in two hours," he says. "The safe house is secure. You'll be—"
"Safe?" I turn to look at him finally, and I see him flinch at whatever expression is on my face. "Is that what you were going to say? That I'll be safe?"
His jaw tightens. "Yes."
"I was supposed to be safe at the estate too."
"The estate was compromised. This location isn't. No one knows about it except my most trusted men."
"Your most trusted men." I laugh, and it sounds wrong. Brittle. "Like the ones who want me dead because I'm making you weak?"
"Liesl—"
"Don't." I turn back to the window. "Just don't."
He's quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry."
The apology catches me off guard. I wasn't expecting it. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting anything except more commands, more justifications, more reasons why this is all necessary and I should just accept it.
But I don't know what to do with his apology.
So I say nothing. The silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable, and I watch the city give way to suburbs, then to rural landscape, then to forest. Trees press close to the road on both sides, their branches forming a canopy overhead that blocks out the fading light. It's beautiful and isolated.
The perfect place to hide someone you don't want found.
—
The safe house appears suddenly, a rustic cabin nestled among the trees like it grew there naturally, with windows that reflect the darkening sky. It's beautiful in an old-fashioned kind of way.
It's also the most isolated place I've ever seen.
The driver pulls up to the entrance and Andrei gets out first, scanning the perimeter with the automatic wariness of someone who's survived by being paranoid. Then he opens my door and offers his hand. I ignore it and climb out on my own, clutching my bag against my chest.
His hand drops. His expression doesn't change, but I see something like hurt, or frustration, flicker in his eyes.
I don't care.
"This way," he says, his voice calm and neutral, as if nothing that just happened affected him.
I follow him inside. The interior is warm and comfortable, and not much to write home about. Simple furnishings, wooden floors, everything clean and in its place. The windows aren't very large, probably for security, but the view from them is beautiful.
"Your room is upstairs," Andrei says, leading me to a staircase. "First door on the right."
I climb the stairs without responding, feeling his presence behind me like a shadow.
The hallway at the top is short, with only three doors.
He opens the first one and steps aside to let me enter.
The room is beautiful, and comfortable, just like everything else in this house.
It's clearly meant to give the feeling of safety, even if the reason for coming here is that the person in the house is literally not safe.
There's a large bed, a wing chair by the window with a small table and reading lamp, a closet and wardrobe. The bathroom is, I assume, down the hall. And the window has that same gorgeous forest view.
"There's toiletries in the bathroom," Andrei says from the doorway. "Everything you should need."
"How thoughtful." My voice is still flat and empty.
"Liesl—"
I set my bag down on the bed. "I'd like to be alone now."
Andrei lets out a slow breath. "I need to go back. To handle the situation. I don't know how long I'll be gone."
"Okay."
"There are guards posted around the property. You'll be safe here."
"You said that already."
There's another silence. I can feel him standing there, wanting to say something, to bridge this distance between us somehow. I don't turn around. Don't give him anything to work with.
"I'll come back as soon as I can," he says finally.
"Okay."
I hear him take a breath, start to say something, then stop. Then his footsteps retreat down the hallway, and a moment later I hear the front door close.
I'm alone.
The loneliness hits immediately.
I stand at the window, watching darkness swallow the forest, and I feel the weight of isolation settle over me. The house is silent except for the faint hum of heating and the occasional creak of settling wood. The guards are all outside. It's just me and this empty room. No one else in the house.
I should be relieved—grateful for the space, the distance from Andrei, his violence and his impossible demands.
Instead, I feel like I'm suffocating.
I move to the bed and sit down, then stand up again. This is what you wanted, I tell myself. Distance. Space. Time away from him to think clearly.
But thinking clearly just makes everything worse. Because when I think clearly, I remember the way he moved through the estate, killing without hesitation to protect me. The way he looked at me in my room with bodies on the floor, possessive, and completely unrepentant.
The way he held me two nights ago, tender and vulnerable, so unlike the monster everyone says he is.
I don't know which version is real. I don't know if both can exist in the same person, or if I've been fooling myself this whole time, seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was actually there.
I go down the hall, strip off my clothes, and step into the shower. The water is hot, almost scalding, and I stand under it until my skin turns pink and the bathroom fills with steam. When I finally emerge, I'm so exhausted that I tumble onto the bed, still wrapped in my towel, and fall asleep.
—
The first day passes in a blur of nothing. I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the forest in shades of green and gold. Objectively, it's stunningly beautiful.
I hate it.
I get dressed, go downstairs, and make myself breakfast with what's in the fridge.
Hours pass, and I wander through the house, try to read, eat at the appropriate times, and try not to think too hard.
I can see guards from my window, patrolling the perimeter with weapons visible.
They go back and forth, scanning the tree line, communicating through radios.
Protecting me, or keeping me contained. Maybe both.
I think about calling out to them, trying to start a conversation to have some human contact and feel less alone.
But then I remember Dmitri, and the way Andrei looked at him for the crime of being friendly to me. I remember the guard with the knife through his eye for the crime of looking at me in my pajamas.
I stay silent. I'm terrified that if I talk to these men, if I try to befriend them or even just exchange pleasantries, Andrei will find out, and he'll hurt them. Or worse. So I stay in my room, alone, watching the guards from a distance and saying nothing.
The isolation is crushing.
The second day is worse. I wake from nightmares I can't quite remember, my heart racing and my sheets tangled around my legs. The room is too quiet, and the silence presses in on me from all sides.
I try to read again, but I can't focus. I try to sleep, but I've been doing too much of that, so it doesn't work, either.
I see the guards again. They never look up at my window or acknowledge my existence. I'm a ghost in this beautiful house. A prisoner no one will speak to.
By evening, I'm crying. I don't even know why. I just sit on the floor by the window, watching the sun set through the trees, tears streaming down my face.
I miss him.
The realization makes me cry harder, because I shouldn't miss him. I shouldn't want him here. Shouldn't feel this aching need for his presence, his voice, his touch.
He's the reason I'm here. The reason I'm alone. The reason my life has become this nightmare of violence and fear.
But I miss him anyway.