I give him a nod as we come to a stop in a graveled clearing. “Let’s do it then.”
“There are flashlights in the trunk,” Anatoly tells us, and I’m grateful for his forethought.
Steeling myself for the worst, I climb out of the SUV and look around, looking for clues on where to start.
The air is thick with humidity and the chirping of insects. I scan the area, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Five ramshackle buildings loom before us, their weathered wood and rusted metal roofs a stark contrast to the lush greenery surrounding them.
"Split up," I command, my voice low. "Darian, take the two on the left. Yuri, take the one in the middle. I'll check the other two. Anatoly, keep watching those heat signatures and warn us if anything moves."
We move silently, weapons drawn. The first building yields nothing but cobwebs and rotting furniture. Over the comms Darian reports much the same. My heart pounds as I approach the larger structure. Something about it feels different.
The door creaks as I push it open, my flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. The smell hits me first. Not because it’s bad, but because it’s different from the others. Fresher.
"Lyah?" I call out, my voice echoing in the empty space.
No response.
I sweep the flashlight around the room methodically, noting overturned chairs and signs of a struggle. It looks fresh and causes a pang in my chest.
In the underworld I navigate, my arranged marriage was a strategic gambit, a safeguard against emotional entanglement. The rationale was pragmatic; marry to solidify alliances, to create a lineage that would carry my legacy, and keep my heart encased in ice.
Lenka has ties to the old world Bratva back in Russia. Marginal, but enough to call a favor if ever I needed it, and a common cause in our fight against Red Scorpion, whose roots go back to the early days of the USSR. But more than that, those ties were intentionally tenuous. It meant there was no powerful family looking over my shoulder to get disgruntled over their daughter, sister, niece, or whatever.
Because when I agreed to marry Emylyah, it was with the intention of maintaining an emotional distance, a gulf that would preserve both of us from the vulnerabilities of attachment. Yet, life has a way of mockingly upending the best laid plans.
Emylyah, against all intentions and expectations, has woven herself into the very fabric of my existence.
There are reasons why I initially chose this path so clearly. The haunting memories of my half-sister, Agnieszka, and her tragic fate still gnaw at my consciousness like hungry shadows. Her loss taught me the kind of pain I vowed never to endure again, and it etched that lesson into my soul.
Emylyah was only ever meant to fill the role of a partner in formality alone, bound by convenience rather than affection. But somewhere in the quiet moments shared between us, within the whispers exchanged in the darkness of night, an unexpected bond has formed. One I’ve been blind to until now.
This wasn’t supposed to happen, but I was a fool to think three years in each other’s constant orbit could pass without feeling. And now, here I am, realizing each day we spent together chipped away at my defenses.
Despite every effort to remain aloof, I’ve succumbed to the subtle warmth of her presence—an unanticipated solace amid chaos. Her gentle defiance and relentless spirit has slipped under my skin like a blade hidden in silk.
There is no escaping this revelation now. She’s carrying my child, our child - a living testament to our unexpected bond. In seeking to avoid vulnerability, I have unwittingly opened myself to it on a scale I never imagined possible. This reality terrifies me more than any enemy could, yet it emboldens me too; for if any harm has come to her because of me or anyone else’s machinations...
I walk through to a second room, and that’s when I find what I’m looking for, although the sight of her clothing strewn across the floor does little to calm me.
"Darian!" I shout, my composure slipping, fear clawing at my insides as I push my reeling thoughts away. A necessity to allow me to function. "In here!"
He comes running in, an emotion in his eyes I don’t want to acknowledge and takes in the scene of quiet disarray. “I found something too,” he tells me, his tone flat as he holds out an iPhone. “It was thrown into the underbrush just beyond the clearing.”
I already know it’s Emylyah’s. I recognize the blinged up case. It’s bespoke. One of a kind. A Christmas gift I commissioned for her last year.
My fingers close around the phone, the jeweled case digging into my palm. For a moment, I'm frozen, staring at the device as if it might reveal Lyah's whereabouts. But it remains stubbornly silent, a cold piece of technology that offers no comfort.
"Any signs of..." I can't bring myself to finish the question.
Darian shakes his head. "No blood, no signs of serious injury… that’s a good thing,” he finishes quietly, like I need the affirmation. Maybe I do.
“So where is she then? We both know they wouldn’t have moved her out.”
“The everglades…” he begins, and I think I want to vomit.
Chapter 20
LYAH
