But I guess so much has happened in such a short space of time that I’ve mechanically fallen into the routine. The main thing that I’m not used to is the lack of alcohol. No matter how much I fill my stomach, my temples throb, demanding liquor.
There’s one more thing I’m not used to. The sting in my ass. It’s like needles, uncomfortable as hell, but my mind keeps playing last night like it’s the latest, most thrilling movie I’ve ever seen. All the details are engraved in my memories like a sacred script. Including the part where I actually told Adrian to not go to her. That must’ve been another nightmare.
This place has been made by Satan himself—aka Adrian. Ever since I stepped inside, I’ve had one terrifying nightmare after another.
After breakfast, I take Jeremy to play in the garden. Something for which Ogla twists her lips, and I remind her ever so casually that Adrian said I have access to any part of the house.
I’m already cooped up here as it is. I want to at least smell some fresh air.
It’s cold today, even though the sky isn’t completely gray, so I make sure Jeremy and I are suited up in our coats before we step outside.
A few guards dressed in black army fatigues and jackets are scattered all over the property every few yards. Some of them have gigantic rifles hung over their shoulders or chests, and their faces are solemn, closed off and without any emotion. Just like their dictator boss.
I tighten my hold on Jeremy’s hand, afraid they’ll somehow hurt him, but he seems oblivious to them. He must’ve gotten used to their presence over the years. How sad is it for a small kid to grow up in the midst of dangerous people and weapons like this?
He leads me into a built-in wooden gazebo beneath a large tree. There’s a table in the middle and two long benches on either side. Endless soldiers and toys are already waiting for him there.
I drop the iPad Ogla shoved into my hand this morning to learn about the Bratva and blah blah onto the table. I’ll throw a look at it later, because I sure as hell don’t want to give Adrian one more reason to punish me.
As soon as we settle in, a guard gets into position close behind us. Please tell me he won’t be watching over us with a rifle dangling from his shoulder.
I lift my head and instantly feel a sense of familiarity. Crooked Nose—Yan—stands at the entrance of the gazebo, and although he’s dressed in black fatigues like the rest of them, he’s not showcasing his rifle. I’m sure he has a weapon somewhere, but I’m thankful he’s not shoving it in my face.
“Morning, Yan,” Jeremy says absentmindedly, as he gathers some of his toy soldiers. He’s sitting so close to me that his thigh touches mine and his feet are dangling off the bench.
“Morning,” Yan replies, nodding his head in my direction.
“Morning,” I blurt out, not sure how I should talk to him.
Now that he’s not being overshadowed by Kolya and Adrian and I can watch him up close, I see how beautiful Yan actually is. His build is leaner than both Adrian’s and Kolya’s, his features are softer, less guarded, and he has thick eyelashes that are almost girly. That and his long hair make him somehow more approachable than the other two.
He also doesn’t have a permanent scowl like the rest of them. His expression isn’t welcoming either, just neutral. All those combined make Yan the one person I think I could get the closest to here. For some reason, I feel like I need allies aside from the angel sitting beside me.
“Do you watch over Jeremy all the time?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Yan plays with me sometimes,” Jeremy informs me. “It’s okay, Yan. I have Mommy now.”
I smile at that, and even though Yan doesn’t return it, his expression softens.
“Have you been here long?” I ask Yan.
“Since I was three.” I notice that as he speaks, Yan doesn’t make eye contact with me, choosing to focus on Jeremy, so I do the same while picking up a couple of his toys, no clue why.
“That’s a long time.”
“You could say that.”
“Did you…know Lia?” I murmur, not wanting Jeremy to hear. “I mean, me before I…you know…”
“Kolya and I got you from that parking garage, Mrs. Volkov. We know.”
Right. They did. So along with Adrian, Kolya and Yan also know I’m an imposter. That makes me feel closer and more at ease with Yan. “Please don’t call me Mrs. Volkov.”
“You are.”
“You know I’m not.”
He widens his stance but says nothing, so I repeat, “So did you know her?”
“Yes.” His answer is short but not clipped, which means he’s not opposed to other questions.
“How old was she?”
“It hasn’t been long since she turned thirty.”
“How long was she married to Adrian?”
“Since she was twenty-four.”
That’s six years—a long time to spend in the devil’s company. I’ve been here for just two days and they feel like an eternity.
“How old is Adrian?”
“Thirty-six—and that’s the only question I’ll answer about him.”
His meaning is obvious. Yan will satisfy my curiosity about Lia, but not Adrian. It’s an admirable type of loyalty, even if that leaves me in the dark about my fake husband.
I should start calling him my captor and dehumanize him a little.
“Were you close with Lia?”
“I was her guard when the boss didn’t need me.”
“Let me guess. Now, you’re stuck with me?”
“It’s my duty.” His voice is quiet with a hint of hesitation, as if he wants to say something else.
My gaze slides to him so that I can read his expression, but he shakes his head the slightest bit, still staring at Jeremy.
I lower my eyes and brush my fingers through the boy’s hair as he struggles with an endless Lego-like game.
“How did she die?” I murmur.
“She just died.” Now his voice is clipped, closed off, not offering any room for more.
The message is clear—question time is over.
But a multitude of them keep multiplying in my head. Like what type of woman was she? Mother? Wife? Did Adrian love her?
I scoff internally at that question. That devil isn’t capable of emotions, let alone something that requires giving more than taking.
But he went to great lengths to replace her with me, so maybe he felt something for her.
Or maybe he was merely obsessed with her and he’ll inflict that on me. He called me his thing, and people like Adrian don’t like their property taken away.
It’s not that they like them, but more that they crave the sense of power that comes with owning those things.
The things being Lia—and now, me.
Ghostly fingers scratch down my spine at that thought and I quickly shoo the feeling away, choosing to focus on Jeremy.
Apparently, he’s trying to build a war zone for his toy soldiers by using Lego-like plastic thingies. Seems easy enough.
Wrong.
Assembling them is a lot harder than I anticipated and I have to cheat using YouTube. Yan catches me searching on my phone behind Jeremy’s back, but says nothing, his attention quickly returning to stare into nowhere.