Chapter 36
2280words
DAYS LATER
Without Mila's phone number, my only way of contacting her is to wait for her to show up at the mansion. It would be faster and more reliable to ask someone for her info, or ask them to reach out to her for me. But it's risky. Everyone here works for Asher, and I can't risk him finding out what I'm up to.
He'd never approve.
In the meantime, I'm forced to tiptoe around my mother. When we spot each other in the hallways, we go in opposite directions. Her meals are taken in private. I saw Masha delivering a tray to her last night. She gives me an apologetic nod whenever I catch them walking out of her room. It's no secret that my mother and I are at odds. Both of us are being as subtle as elephants.
Mom doesn't want to be here, and I don't know how to be around her without prying into what she's hiding. But one thing is for sure. There's no question she knows something about Yannick.
Asher isn't much easier to be near lately either. He stalks around, glaring at nothing, clenching his jaw. He checks his phone constantly … taking calls at all hours. More than once he's glanced at a message while we're in the middle of sex. He won't tell me what's going on, but I'm not dumb. His mood is black because he's no closer to reaching his goal of destroying Yannick.
How can one man affect so many people?
Though I hate seeing Asher on edge, I also have to be thankful. It's because of his frustration that Mila shows up today. She strides through the front doors of the mansion like it belongs to her. Her ever-present motorcycle jacket adds bulk to her upper body. It makes the silhouette of her trim waist and round hips more prominent in her tight, faded jeans. I marvel at how she moves silently in those boots. The tread on the heel has the ragged shape of alligator teeth. They look like they must weigh a few pounds each.
I watch her from the landing of the stairs, wondering how I'm going to get her to agree to help me.
She speaks without looking up. 'You know I can see you there."
Cringing, I approach her with a shrug. She smiles as I get close. 'I'm not as good at sneaking around as you are."
'Well, don't beat yourself up. I'm an expert."
'Funny, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Mila arches her fine eyebrows. 'Oh?"
Shooting a quick look around, I motion for her to follow me. She makes a curious face. Together we go to my room. I shut the door tight. 'I need a favor."
'Careful, Camila Marakov," she replies. 'Asking for favors in our world is never free."
Lowering my voice, I lick my lips nervously. 'There's something I need to find out about. But I'm pretty sure the information is at my family's dance studio. And I'm still not allowed to leave the mansion."
'Ah," she states bluntly. 'You need me."
'Yeah. It's a lot to ask, but?—"
'Sure, I'll help."
I do a double take. 'You will? Just like that?"
'I agree with Asher on a lot of things. But locking you up is too far." She says it with such conviction, like she speaks from experience. 'Nobody should be a prisoner."
'How will you get me out of the house without Asher knowing?" I ask.
Mila sneers, crossing her arms over her chest as she struts toward my bedroom window. 'Have some faith in me, Camila Marakov."
'But he has guards everywhere."
'Yes, and cameras," she agrees. 'The man is paranoid. For good reason, I might add. But I know what he will be watching. Which means I also know what he won't be. Be downstairs in the kitchen at 1:00 a.m."
Rushing toward her, I grab her hands, squeezing. 'Thank you, Mila!"
She frowns, but she doesn't brush me off. Once I let go, she moves gracefully to the bedroom door. 'Oh, and wear black. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go tell Asher some bad news."
'Bad news?" I ask with concern.
Mila gives me the closest thing to a sympathetic smile as she can manage. 'At this rate, he'll start associating my visits with misfortune. How sad. He used to always look forward to hearing from me." She shakes her head, hands in her pockets as she heads toward Asher's study.
I don't think she brings misfortune. Not at all.
If anything … now that I've seen her, I believe my luck is changing.
The house is dark. Nobody is awake at this hour. Nobody except me.
On the balls of my feet, I creep silently into the kitchen. If anyone spotted me, they'd instantly know I was up to something. Who would dress in a full ensemble of black sneakers, tights, and a loose-fitting sweater while prowling around the house?
If Asher does have cameras in here … he'll have a lot of questions when he sees this footage. I have to hope no one checks. I can't give them a reason to. But to be extra cautious, I make sure my head is ducked. I hope that it's enough to prevent my face from being recognized. It's an irrationally unrealistic belief, yet I cling to it the way I do every fragment of control I can access lately.
My heart is racing, but I won't shy away from the plan. I can't—it's too important.
Crouching in the kitchen, I barely make out the shapes of things thanks to the light streaming through the windows. Asher has floodlights on the distant gates, but it's the moon that does the real work. Straining my ears, I glance around wildly, unsure what to expect.
She said to be here. Well, I'm here. Where is Mila?
There's a tap on the window that sends me jumping straight up. Gripping the front of my sweater, swearing I can feel the shape of my heart slamming through my ribs, I gawk at the figure on the other side of the glass. Mila points at me, then she points to the top of the window. Getting the hint, I climb on the sink until I can reach the lock.
'Dobriy noch, Camila Marakov," she whispers when the window lifts upward. 'Ready for some fun?"
With a final glance back at the kitchen, I hook my leg over the frame. She helps me wriggle out from beneath the sill. Together, we stand in the grass—she carefully shuts the window. 'Now what?" I ask.
'Your carriage awaits, princess," she smirks.
Mila leads the way alongside the house. I follow her footsteps, ducking under bushes and behind some garbage cans. I've never been in the yard. In the distance, I make out the shape of the rose garden. I think I hear water trickling—a fountain? Part of me wants to linger here, under the moon, drawing this out so I can experience what Asher has denied me for all these weeks.
But I'm afraid to lose sight of Mila. If I do, I'll be entirely on my own and I might get spotted by the guards. Hunching lower, I rush after where I saw her go.
Thicker hedges rise in front of us. I'm wondering how we'll climb over when she suddenly crawls underneath. Baffled, I copy her, struggling through the tight branches. I come out the other side with leaves stuck in my hair and to my clothing. Picking them free, I throw them to the ground only to realize that the space I exited was hiding a gap in the fence.
The road is in front of me. I start to squat, worried a passing car might see me, but there's nobody coming. Asher lives in a remote enough area that traffic would make little sense at this late hour.
Parked on the shoulder is an emerald-green motorcycle with charcoal leather seats. Mila walks up to it and swings one leg over gracefully.
'Davai." She slides her helmet into place. 'Get on."
I approach reluctantly, as if the vehicle will bite me. 'I've never been on a motorcycle before."
Her chuckle is muffled by the helmet. 'In that case, you need to promise that you won't scream."
She hands me a second helmet, miming for me to put it on. When I do, the nighttime noises fade away under the foam lining its insides.
Carefully, I settle on the seat behind Mila. I notice her thick jacket and the lining on her pants. She's wearing an outfit designed to take damage. I'm hyperaware of my flimsy clothing. 'Will this helmet be enough to protect me if we crash?" I ask nervously.
'We won't," she says, annoyed at the idea. 'And the helmet is to keep people from recognizing you."
Before I can reply, she twists the handle, revving the engine. I barely snap my arms around her waist before the inertia sends me flying off. Clinging for dear life, I push my face into the center of her back and scream silently inside my helmet.
Mila steers us along the strip of road illuminated only by the moonlight and stars above. Once, my parents took me to an amusement park. I'd seen roller coasters in movies and, burdened by no fears at the age of eight, was convinced I'd love them.
One ride later and I knew I was wrong.
At first, being on the bike is like that ride. My stomach convulses, and my heart tries to wiggle out of my mouth. All I can do is close my eyes and pray the trip ends without me splattered on the asphalt. Though, if it ended the ride instantly, it might not be the worst thing.
'Look," Mila yells over the roar of the wind. 'Over there!"
Peeking through the helmet's visor, I search for what she's referring to. Mila raises her arm and points. It's impossible to miss the field of tiny lights that make up the city. They glimmer on the water hugs it along one side.
The docks stink like dead fish, but at this distance, I only smell salt.
The city I've known my whole life is shadowed by crime. It's filthy from physical dirt and the thick stain of corruption. Here, though, gazing at it from the freedom of the bike, the city is beautiful.
I've never seen it like this. It's remarkable … and it makes me forget my fear. The tickle of the thrill takes hold in my blood. Loosening my hold on Mila, I sit up, making sure I have a good view. I don't want to miss a thing.
It's not much longer before we zip around another curve. In a rush of buildings, we're suddenly downtown. The familiar sight of the studio is up ahead. Part of me wants to see the damage from the shootout with my own eyes. Are there bullet shells still littered around? Are glass shards still scattered on the sidewalk?
No, it's too dangerous. His men could see us. Before she gets close, I tap her on the shoulder. 'Don't park in front! He has security watching the place. There are cameras in the lobby too!"
Mila gives a curt nod. She pulls the bike behind the studio via one of the busted-up side-streets. Once she's turned the engine off, I hop free, yanking the helmet off my head. I suck in familiar fetid air, my legs shaking as I make my way to the studio's rear.
'I have a key," I explain as I quickly unlock the alley door. 'I don't think Asher was watching anything but the front. We should be able to get into the office without being spotted."
'Look at you," she chuckles. 'You're on your way to becoming a proper burglar."
I cringe at her comment. 'Please don't call me that."
'Got a problem with being a criminal?"
'A bit, yeah."
'And yet you agreed to marry one," she replies. 'Oh, sorry, pretend married. Is that a crime? I'm not up to date on all the laws in this city."
Shooting her a disapproving glare, I creep through the unlit hallway that leads to the cramped office space. It's strange to be inside this place after so many weeks, and I've never seen it without the lights on.
'Don't judge me. You work for him."
'Yes, which makes me an expert on his particular bad behaviors."
Something about how she phrases that causes my stomach to flip. I guess she does know him pretty well …
'How long have you worked for him?" I ask as we enter the office.
Mila follows me in, holding up her phone to use as a flashlight. The white beam glides over the disorganized space. Mom hasn't done much to clean it up. I guess she doesn't have to since it's staying under our control.
'Now that I think about it," she replies. 'It's been around ten years."
I look at her in the dark, trying to discern her features. 'I thought you were my age. No way you've been working for him since you were fourteen."
'Life is funny like that, Camila Marakov," she replies cryptically.
'Okay …" I say softly. She's known him a lot longer than me. Suddenly my mind is racing with all the ways Mila and Asher are better connected than he and I are. The experiences they've shared outnumber mine. And to top it all off, she's gorgeous.
Talented, beautiful, and deadly. A total package.
