I glance at them, wanting to make sure I put them back in the correct folders. “This one looks like shipping info,” I whisper to myself. One folder is labeledtransfers, so I slide it in there.
I grab another page. “More shipping in—” I cut myself off as my name catches my attention.
Frowning, I try to read the rest of the page. It’s been written in cursive by someone with messy writing, but I can mostly make it out.
05/28 — $350,000 -transferred
06/10 — 1,000 AK47 -delivered
07/12 — $400,000 -transferred
08/02 — 1,500 AK-47 -delivered
08/08 — Wren Rivers - TBT
12/06 — 2,500 chyornyy ozhog
My brain freezes, not understanding what I’m reading. What does that even mean? The fourth line has today’s date on it. Isn’t an AK-47 a type of gun?
And why is my name on this? What does TBT mean? Using the other lines as context, a pit starts to grow in my stomach. Could that mean…to be transferred?To where? The date listed beside it is only six days from now.
The last line, with a December date, has the Russian translation of Robert’s last name, Blackburn. Was he getting transferred too? Or did that mean he was getting 2,500 guns on that date?
I flip the page over, but there’s nothing else. I look at the other pages in the folder, but most are nondescript. That is, until a small scrap of paper falls from the pile, landing on myknee. I shove the others back into the folder and pick up the slightly crumpled, handwritten note.
IS will send the subsequent three shipments (guns + parts) through the usual channels. First batch arrives by mid-June. Payment: $350k up front, another $400k a month later, followed by the second batch at the beginning of August.
RB will transfer WR to IS and the new batch to be sent through upon completion at the end of year. Wedding to take place in RUS.
My fingers tremble as I re-read the note. WR, that was me. RB must be Robert, and IS… must be Ivan Sokolov. But that can’t be right… My brother would never trade me, especially for weapons. What’s he going to do with a bunch of guns?
My mind flashes to all the times I’ve noticed the guards with holstered guns. I thought it was to protect us. But he’s buying thousands. Why does he need so many?
I feel the blood slowly drain from my face and place my hands on my cheeks as my mind reels at all the times Robert’s brushed off my interest in the family business. How I’ve noticed some of the guards with busted up knuckles, and how he’s kept me completely isolated from everything.
I pick up the note again and re-read the last line. A Wedding in Russia? Is that what RUS means?
Oh no. No, no, no no no.My brother is giving me to Ivan, to take back to Russia and…marry?!
“Chyort poberi!” I yell in Russian, jumping to my feet inhorror. Unsure what else to do, I shove the note in my pocket, then carefully place all the files back in the drawer. Even though there aren’t many guards inside the house, I try not to run and to look calm. I don’t want to alert anyone to my sudden change in emotion, even if I am freaking out on the inside.
Knowing that I need some water before locking myself in my room, I head to the kitchen, noticing the mail on the counter. I run over, and my heart leaps at the sight of a letter addressed to me. I grab it along with a bottle of water and sprint up to my room, unable to slow myself down any longer.
Closing my door, I lock it quickly and shove a chair under the handle for good measure. Not feeling even close to remotely safe anymore.
I jump on my bed and rip open the envelope. Jagger’s letter rests on top and I pick it up, hoping that reading it will help calm my nerves.
Hello, my tiny flame,
I read your words over and over until they blurred. Your pain struck me deeper than any sentence a judge could hand down. Your brother doesn’t deserve someone as loyal and kind as you. You deserved celebration, not absence. He does not know what it means to have you. He does not see the light he overlooks. I would never forget. Even here, behind these bars, I carry you etched into me like scripture.
And this man—Ivan. You must not trust him. Stayfar awayfrom him. If he makes you feel uncomfortable, then he’s not worthy of your time, your presence. He may attempt to court you, but he will never endure you. He will never survive the storm of who you are. I have already given my life to that storm. I am already buried deep in it. And here in this cage, where I will rot and vanish, you are the one thing I keep alive inside me. You are my fire, Wren.
I may be the one behind bars, but you’re in a cage, too, my tiny flame. I wish you could see what we see. That your brother is keeping you from the world, not saving you from it. You were not made to settle, Wren. You were made to thrive, to live.
I would give my life if it meant getting to see you, just once. If there were any way out of here, a way to come and take you away from them, I would take it.
As always, I eagerly await your next letter, knowing there’s nothing else here that brings light to my life anymore.
