Chapter 17 - Lily
Even after weeks of enduring the circumstances I’ve found myself in, Mikhail is still vague about most things despite bringing me into the fold. He expects me to go where he wants without asking questions, but of course, I ask them anyway.
The drive is longer than I anticipate, and as we leave the Las Vegas Strip behind and continue down the highway, we move into bleak territory. At the very least, where the city turns more desolate.
The view moves by us in a blur while Mikhail pushes one of the Range Rovers on, and soon enough, we come across narrow roads and older houses. It’s quiet out this way while the sun hangs lower in the sky, preparing for the last portion of its descent.
I held my tongue for most of the drive, but now, curiosity gets the better of me.
“Where are we going?” I ask, glancing over at his side profile. His expression is cold and unreadable, of course, but he seems a little more serious than usual.
Mikhail doesn’t even look at me. “To a job.”
No further details.
Letting go of a slow breath, I sit back in the seat and focus on the prickle of irritation in my chest. “Most people would say they’re visiting a friend or going to the store or something and not leave the other person in the dark.”
He almost smiles in response. “I’m not most people.”
That much is obvious.
That familiar silence stretches on as Mikhail pulls off the main highway and takes a winding road that becomes increasingly secluded. More out of sight.
The houses are modest at best, and run-down at worst. Some of the front porches are caving in or have long since lost their paint. The yards are overgrown and not at all inviting. Even looking at the homes makes my stomach turn in knots.
A terrifying thought enters my mind as we continue to pass the occasional house, but the farther we go, the more scarce they become.
He’s taking me somewhere remote. Somewhere, most people wouldn’t look for a body.
My mouth goes dry, and my heart rate picks up.
My mind flits back to what he said about him burying me if he were a worse man, and it sticks with me.
I know I’ve been a pain in the ass the last few weeks…
But surely not… surely, he wouldn’t do that after everything? The longer I think about it, the harder my heart pounds against my ribs.
Then, the Range Rover slows in front of a house at the end of a dead-end street, tires crunching the gravel. Keeping the headlights on, he reaches over me and pops the glovebox open, then grabs a pistol with a silencer attached.
My eyes widen.
“Mikhail, what is this?” I ask, prepared to full-out panic.
Not answering my question, he undoes his seatbelt and gestures for me to follow. “Just stay close, and don’t wander off…we’ll be out of here in ten minutes.”
It’s not at all comforting, but he’s already out of the vehicle before I can ask any follow-up questions.
Getting out from my side, I follow him reluctantly up the front steps and across the closed-in porch. It’s a small place with chipped paint and remnants of an old chain-link fence, half-buried in the overgrown grass.
The property hasn’t been maintained in years, if ever.
There’s no car in the driveway, and I would assume nobody was home if it weren’t for a light on in one of the rooms.
Mikhail knocks, and even after a moment, nobody answers. He tries the door, and the knob moves with ease.
“Mikhail—” I whisper, only for him to raise a finger against his lips, quieting me before he begins inside.
Everything about the situation feels incredibly wrong, and even being near the house raises goosebumps along my arms. I don’t like the situation one bit, but he doesn’t give me any other option.
Swallowing back the dryness in my throat, I hesitate on the porch and watch as he slowly disappears into the dark entrance. Without any clear instructions, I don’t know if I should follow the whole time or wait. But either way, I damn well don’t want to be caught out there alone.
Urging myself to be brave, I silently follow, hearing muffled voices from a room over.
Immediately, the house smells musty and off-putting, but Mikhail apparently ignores it entirely as he moves to the next room.
As I do the same, I spot the blue-white glow of an old TV screen. The voices become clearer as I realize it’s the harmless chatter of a children’s show. And in front of the TV is a little boy sitting by himself.
My brows furrow, and I try to throw Mikhail a questioning look, but he just keeps moving, walking around the boy before slipping into an adjacent room. He leaves the door open a crack behind him, but for the most part, he’s out of my sight, making my chest squeeze.
A surprised-sounding voice comes from that room, followed by what sounds like Russian words being exchanged. Mikhail’s voice is firmer and more commanding, and I have the feeling he’s the one dominating the conversation.
With no clue of what to do, I stand there like an idiot, keeping my back to the nearest wall while the TV screen alternates between various colorful frames, and those childish voices send a chill down my back in contrast.
I look at the little boy as he glances over his shoulder at me, eyes wide and uncertain. He has a ratty-looking stuffed bear in his lap, and his clothes look too small for him as the hem of his pajamas reaches just above his ankles.
He can’t be older than four or five.
Just from taking in the wariness in his gaze, I can tell he has seen things he never should’ve been exposed to. And the way he looks back at me tells me he’s wondering if I’m a friend or foe.
He’s so small…and clearly underfed.
My heart lurches while the voices in the other room rise, noticing how he just barely shakes.
Taking a few short steps closer, I crouch down and try to keep my movements steady and slow. My voice leaves me softly, “Hi.”
The boy doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look away from me either.
“What’s your name?” I ask gently, growing more curious and concerned.
He still doesn’t speak, and he blinks back at me as if the words don’t completely register. Instead, he holds his stuffed bear up, and his eyes look slightly less fearful.
Seeing it as his version of a peace offering, I offer him a small smile and try to keep him distracted while the shouting grows louder in the next room. Mikhail’s voice seems to lash out at whoever’s in there with him, and it’s somehow even more intimidating when I can’t understand him.
Something slams hard. A drawer maybe?
Straightening my back, I glance towards the room, but I still can’t see into the space.
A moment later, a muffled pop breaks the shouting. Then, something heavy hits the floor—like a body collapsing.
Instinctively, I wince, but I don’t move. The boy pulls the bear closer to his chest and squeezes it.
Several more minutes pass, and the door opens just enough to let Mikhail out again. He wipes his mouth on his bare arm just beneath where his black button-down sleeves are rolled up, then sets his gaze on us.
He moves calmly and with his usual confidence, but without the bravado. The pistol is nowhere to be seen in his grasp while he approaches.
With ease, Mikhail crouches beside the boy and gives him a small, disarming smile. He says something else in Russian, using a smooth, almost soothing tone.
The words register this time, and to my surprise, the boy perks up and responds with similar words.
I can only stand there in near awe as Mikhail speaks with the small child, pulling short responses from him. He does it so effortlessly while presenting himself as a trustworthy person, acting as a sentinel for him.
When he says something else, it strikes a chord with the boy, and his eyes well up with tears before he gets up and clings to Mikhail. Not even a flicker of hesitation.
Frozen while I watch everything unfold, I can’t voice a single question gnawing at me.
Gently, he lifts the child and holds him against his chest. The boy wraps his arms around his neck and presses his cheek to Mikhail’s shoulder like he could never do anything wrong. In a way, it looks like he’s done this before.
Finally, Mikhail looks at me, and he subtly gestures for me to follow.
Wordlessly, I do exactly that.
Soon enough, we’re standing outside of the Range Rover while he secures the boy in the backseat, making sure he’s as safe as possible without a car seat. He closes the door, turning to face me while I nearly gawk at him.
I keep my arms crossed. “Mikhail, what the hell is happening?”
Well aware he can’t just say nothing, he sighs and leans back against the vehicle. “The boy’s name is Ilya. He’s the son of someone who used to work with my father in Russia when he was still around—someone I owed a favor to.”
My brows pinch together in question. “What’s he doing in America then?”
A look of anger moves through his features, but it isn’t aimed at me. “Ilya was abducted by his uncle Abram, the man I took care of in there. He was days away from selling the boy for quick cash to traffickers…after that, who knows where he would’ve ended up.”
My heart silently breaks for Ilya, and my stomach turns. “Jesus…”
“Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t kill for pleasure, Lily,” Mikhail says, keeping his gaze on mine, full of a serious yet vaguely caring edge. “Out of my brothers, I aim for peace, but I kill for good reasons. It might make me a monster, but I don’t regret putting that sick man down.”
Given the lack of remorse in his tone, I know he means it. Every word is cold and steady, yet I can’t ignore the protectiveness packed into each one.
I only look back at him for another moment, and then Mikhail puts a hand against my lower back and guides me towards the passenger door. He pulls it open for me and lets me get in before closing it again.
All the while, he walks back around and climbs in, I can’t get the image of him kneeling next to Ilya out of my head. How he spoke to him so gently, managing to connect with him over a shared language. How he carried him out like it was the most normal thing in the world to him.
Mikhail is intimidating and dangerous, capable of committing heinous crimes. And yet, he’s also this…kind and nurturing when the moment calls for it. Caring for a child who isn’t even related to him.
That messes with my head more than I care to admit.
On the way back to the city, the little boy falls asleep in the backseat, and the silence between us is somewhat heavy, knowing what just happened, and knowing the fate Mikhail just saved Ilya from.
I glance over at him a few times, watching how he keeps his eyes on the road, occasionally looking back at Ilya through the rearview. His jaw shifts as he thinks, clearly getting lost in thought.
“Where’s he going to stay?” I ask eventually.
“With Elena for now,” he answers, focusing on the road again while he takes a breath and drives through the dark. “At least until his dad secures a flight back here to get him. He’ll be safe with her.”
I nod, looking out the front windshield as I mull over everything that happened tonight. How he caught me completely off-guard.
A few minutes pass before I find myself speaking again. “I didn’t expect that.”
Mikhail glances at me. “Expect what?”
“How you were with him…how you did all of this to help,” I murmur, still trying to come to terms with it. “You were kind.”
He looks over in my direction for a moment longer before turning back again and just barely tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Mercy and kindness are luxuries in my world…but for children, it’s necessary. They deserve better.”
I find myself softening at his words, finding something hidden beneath the surface of his words. Something that seems close to home.
Unable to shake the memories rolling in my mind still, I knew he didn’t have to take the child. He didn’t need to be gentle, either. But he was anyway.
Not only did Mikhail surprise me by bringing me along and exposing me to even more of his world, but he also managed to shift my perception of him, confusing me more than anything else.
He helped the child escape a nightmare, all while killing the man responsible in the same breath. He is both a monster and a protector.
And as much as I want to keep seeing him as a morally skewed man, I can’t ignore the spores of understanding while they settle within me.
I might not be able to make sense of the duality that is Mikhail Lukov, but I can acknowledge that he isn’t a lost cause.