Page 127 of Kept in the Dark

Tears in my eyes, I decide to try pleading, “Why are you doing this, Kyle?”

He rolls his eyes. “A fuck-ton of money. Fucking obviously.”

“Okay, fine… everyone wants to be rich. But you’re not a bad guy, right? You don’t have to do it this way. You don’t want blood on your hands like this, right?”

The look he levels at me proves just how futile my plea was—apparently, appealing to his (nonexistent) good side was the wrong gamble. “I’ve got so much blood on my hands, spilling yours doesn’t make a difference. I’m a Volkevich, you stupid bitch,” he spits. “Bratva.Family first. I’ve killed for my family, did everything my uncle told me to…” he trails off, his voice lowering like he’s no longer speaking to me. “Matt agrees to marry some ugly cunt, and suddenly I’m not good enough anymore? It was supposed to be mine.Mymoney.Mylegacy.Mine.”

Okay. Motive. He stole the money because he clearly felt cheated out of his future. I can work with that. “And that’s not fair that they took that from you,” I say, trying to be gentle and sound sincere when the thought of his entitlement is turning my stomach. “I’d be pissed, too.”

“It was supposed to be me!” he roars.

He swings the gun around, finger pressed against the trigger, landing with it pointed at his own head. I hold my breath, hoping this issue is about to sort itself out, but he just scratches his scalp with the silenced end of the barrel.

I swallow my disappointment and try again. “Are you sure this is the best plan, Kyle? Have you really thought this through?” I ask as he crosses the room back towards the kitchen and the other lines of coke waiting for him on the quartz countertop.

He doesn’t answer for a few long seconds, staring longingly at the white lines on the counter.

“Whoever freaked that guy Felix out is probably on his way. Maybe it would be a good idea to—”

“Enough!” he screams, making me flinch.

He pulls out his phone and presses it to his ear. When the person on the other side picks up, he starts speaking rapidly in Russian, glancing at me periodically. I tense, waiting, trying to pick up on a single word in the unfamiliar language. His tone brightens, and it makes my stomach sink further and further. He’s happier now, and I can’t imagine that means good things for me.

He hangs up, closes his eyes, breathes deeply in through his nose, and focuses back on me. That edge of mania in his eyes has shifted to something that looks a hell of a lot more like triumph. Oh fuuuuck.

“Time to talk, bitch. Where’s my money?” he asks. It’s the most lucid and calm he’s sounded yet.

I wish I’d bothered to come up with an answer before now—a lie that might sound true. “I… I don’t have it on me,” I whisper.

“Fucking obviously! Where is it?! Where is my fucking money?”

He takes a few steps towards me, lifting the gun. When he’s within arm’s length, I turn my head, and he presses the tip into my cheek.

I’m shaking so hard it’s making the chair vibrate. “I don’t know, but I can bring you to the people who do.” My throat tries to close around the words several times as I attempt not to dissolve into sobs. If I can stall, or hold out, or get him to take me somewhere out of here where he has to stow that gun…

“I don’t believe you, cunt. Sounds like you need to be taught what happens when you lie to a Volkevich.”

40

Dimitri

Be strong, Nicole. I am coming.

The apartment complex is not yet open to the public, so it was laughably easy to discern that Kyle is occupying the penthouse—it is the only floor with lights on in the fading daylight. Once we tucked the van in an alley of two adjacent buildings, Wesley pulled up the building plans so we could determine how I will get in.

“It’s actually a pretty smart location—highly defensible up at the top. He’s got a good visual, potential rooftop surveillance, looks like those windows are reinforced glass, and I’m sure there are alarms. Limited egress, but likely hidden escape routes through service elevators or maintenance tunnels.”

As he speaks, I follow the movement of Wesley’s finger across the screen, pointing to various spots on the blueprints of the unfinished high-rise.

“Penthouse floor has its own elevator. If you use another one that stops just below, you might be able to switch over and climb up the shaft the rest of the way—” Wesley cuts himself short, squinting at the video feed from the back entrance. “Wait… Is that… Is that Eleanor? AndFelix?”

Without a second thought, I am out of the van. I can hear Eleanor crying, begging to be released, an instant before they come into view.

And what a sight it is—a familiar tall, handsome man with a death wish, holding a sniper’s woman by the wrist, dragging her towards awaiting car, and struggling with her while he tries to get the door open. If James were here, Felix would already be dead. James is going to be very upset that he was not here and that he cut the line moments ago to focus.

“Felix!” I roar. It is not to get his attention; it is to let Eleanor know I am coming.

Felix spots me as I lift the knife in my hand. “Whoa!” he calls, taking a half step behind Eleanor.