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“No offense intended.” Kir holds up a hand. “Just stating facts. The point is, he’s safe, you’re safe, and now, we can have a civilized conversation about how to proceed.” His burning silver eyes lock onto mine. “Because whether you like it or not, Rae, there is only one way forward from here. And unfortunately… you aren’t going to like it.”
“There’s no way forward that involves me helping you,” I snap. “Your father is in custody. You got what you wanted. Congratulations. Now, let us go.”
Kir scowls. “You think this is what I wanted? My father in handcuffs? The company’s stock in freefall? Every news outlet in the country running hit pieces about the Lazarev family legacy? Does that sound like anyone’s idea of a good time, Rae?”
He paces toward the window—which, I notice, has been covered with blackout curtains. I wonder if they’re to keep the outside from looking in… or those on the inside from looking out.
“This is a disaster,” Kir says. “For everyone. Including me. Including you.”
I plant my fists on my hips. “I don’t see how that’s my problem anymore. I’m done. With all of it.”
“No, Rae, you’re not done.” Kir turns back to face me, and again, it strikes me just howtiredhe looks. Worn thin in ways that go beyond the physical. “Youcan’tbe done. Not yet.”
Gideon steps closer and tucks me behind him, like that will keep me safe. It’s silly, but it makes my heart soar anyway. Over his shoulder, he mutters, “Rae, what is he talking about?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m getting really tired of Lazarev men being cryptic.”
Kir’s mouth twitches. “Fair enough. Let me be direct, then.”
He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. Then he turns it around to face me.
I inch forward and squint down. When I realize what it is, my heart stops.
It’s a live feed. Grainy security footage, with a timestamp on the bottom, like you’d see in a police procedural. It shows a concrete interrogation room with two metal chairs on either side of a matching metal table. Overly bright fluorescent lighting tints everything a sickly yellow-green.
Sitting in one of those chairs, motionless as a statue, is Lukas.
His hands rest on his thighs, palms down, fingers splayed. His silver rings glint in the ugly light. His face is hard and cold.
He looks so alone.
“I can get him out,” Kir says.
I tear my gaze away from the screen. “What?”
“I said, I can get him out.” Kir pockets the phone, and Lukas disappears from view. “I have ways to make problems like this disappear.”
“Then do it! What are you waiting for? What’s wrong with you? He’s your father, for fuck’s sake!”
The resigned set of Kir’s jaw hardens. He looks more like his father than he ever has. “There’s something you need to see first.”
I blink at him. “What is it?”
He turns toward the door instead of answering. “Come with me.”
“That’s not an answer, Kir. What do I need to see? Where are we going?”
He pauses at the threshold with one hand on the doorframe. When he looks back at me, he’s wearing a sorrow I recognize—because I’ve seen Lukas wear the exact same shade of heartbreaking melancholy.
“I can’t explain it,” he says. “You wouldn’t believe me if I tried. You need to see it for yourself.”
Gideon’s hand closes around my elbow. “Rae, don’t. This is obviously a trap.”
“Everything is obviously a trap with these people,” I mutter.
But I’m stepping toward the door anyway, because what choice do I have? Lukas is rotting in a holding cell. My brother is a hostage in all but name. And Kir is dangling answers like bait.
The Lazarevs have their hooks in me, whether I like it or not.
