Did she fool me?
No. What we had was no dream.
What we had was real and certain, and... fuck.
I love this woman.
Yuri holds his daughter to his side and faces us.
"Prekratit' ogon'!"
Cease fire?
Why the hell is he calling this ambush off? I don't even know what to think or do. I look to Demyan, but he's gone after Larissa. They're retreating, all of them, cars pulling up and men jumping in. I can't get a clean shot, but I have to stop him. I will not let Yuri take her.
I take off at a run.
Sprinting, I spray bullets in their direction. What the fuck is going on?
Jesus Christ. If Yuri thinks he can take Olena from me like this, he's woefully mistaken.
I don't fucking care if they kill me. I don't care if he runs his car straight into me. I'm not letting him drive away with his daughter in that car, even if she did betray me.
I pull the trigger on my gun, aiming to take out his tires, when something burns me in the back of the neck. I flinch and my vision blurs, but I go on, stumbling, falling toward Yuri's car, but I can't get to it. He's pulling away. I can't fucking save her.
"Olena!" I scream, falling on the ground. The world is spinning. Hazy. Tires spin, squealing, and his car pulls off in a cloud of dust.
She's fucking gone.Chapter 18Olena
It takes every effort I have not to cry.
My heart is torn in half. Rent into pieces.
Fuck it. I am crying but passing it off as trauma or... or something.
Maksym. I left Maksym.
I saw when he was shot. I saw him fall. I saw the blood, the way he fell.
Oh God oh God oh God.
I've been so foolish and hasty. I can't believe I left him.
I left him.
I told Larissa he'd been terrible to me and begged her for a chance to escape. I told her the truth, but... well, I elaborated. I did everything I could to get her sympathy. She led me to the library and showed me how to get out. It was easier than I thought.
But as soon as we got out... as soon as we left, I recognized the cars that were approaching the compound, and I knew I couldn't let my father ambush them, but I couldn't get there fast enough. Guns were drawn, shots were fired.
It was me they were looking for. I knew it.
So, without conscious thought, I did the only thing I could.
I ran to my father and told him to stop the attack. I told him I'd escaped. And I let him take me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, reaching a hand out to brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear. But the way he touches me makes my skin crawl. After the tender gesture from Maksym, my father’s touch is unwanted. Sacrilegious.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, but I’m not. I’m sobbing, and I can’t seem to control this.
“What did they do to you?” he asks, but he isn’t looking at me. His gaze is over my shoulder, distracted. What do I tell him? If I tell him anything about Maksym… I need to keep my head on straight. Why did I do this?
“They were terrible to me,” I tell him, but I don’t look at him. “I’m just glad I’m gone.”
“Did you tell them anything about me?” he asks. I blink.
What?
“About you?” I ask. A chill skates down my spine when his eyes grow cold. “Well, no,” I stammer. “What would I tell them about you?”
The concern he immediately showed has vanished.
This was a mistake. On impulse, I ran from Maksym, then on impulse, I threw myself at my father to save Maksym. With no thought or plan, I’ve risked everything.
I close my eyes as my father talks on his phone in rapid Russian, giving orders. It isn't until I hear the word opros that I freeze. My tears stop.
Interrogation.
I turn to face my father, incredulous.
Wait.
He's going to interrogate me? My heart skips a crazy beat, my palms sweaty.
He hangs up the phone. "What do you know?" he says.
"Know? About what? I know nothing," I tell him. "I was kidnapped. Taken!"
"You told me if I ceased fire, you would come with me."
My skin feels too cold, prickly with awareness. He took me to use me. Nothing more, nothing less.
What the hell was I thinking?
"I didn't want unnecessary bloodshed," I say, though I know he'll never buy my words. "I didn't want everyone to die. No more. God."
But the cold, calculating eyes on me are ruthless. These are the eyes of a trained killer.
And he knows I'm lying.
I begin to tremble. I'm not safe with him.
He cocks a pistol and aims it at my temple. "Tell me everything you fucking know."
My hands shake. "I don't know if there's anything I can possibly tell you that you don’t already know. They held me in a room. They asked questions, but I knew nothing to tell them."