Page 9

MIA

The whole ride over to Brad’s, Yulian stays silent.

It makes me want to scream. He’s punishing me; I know that. After I bared my heart to him, after I came clean about it all, he’s still choosing silence.

He’s still choosing to be cold to me.

And yet, while he was holding me… he felt warm. Real. Like he did back then, before the secrets tore our lives apart.

I’m still shocked and reeling from the kidnapping, from Desya—all of it. I thought I was going to die. I thought my baby was going to die.

I thought I’d never see Eli again.

Which is why I need to put everything else out of my mind now.

The car pulls to a stop behind Brad’s mansion, next to the service door. It’s the only place that isn’t warded off by electronic gates, and therefore doesn’t require Brad’s passcode to enter. Just the key I stole off the maid six weeks ago.

I glance at the dashboard clock: 4:15 P.M. Eli should be on his way home. I’ve still got time.

Yulian unfastens his seatbelt, but I stop him. “It’s fine,” I tell him. “Brad never picks up Eli in person. He’ll still be at the gala. It’ll be faster if I just go in alone.”

He hesitates. I can tell he doesn’t want to let me go by myself.

“Please,” I add.

A curt nod. “Make it quick.”

Then I’m back into Brad’s mansion.

The smell is the same as always: new leather and bleach. It makes me sick to breathe it in. He lives so close to the ocean, and yet he refuses to let the breeze in.

I throw every window open in a fit of vengeance, then head upstairs.

I pack a quick getaway bag for Eli. He doesn’t have many things here—Brad was adamant that toys were, and I quote, “for pussies.” He splurged on a few collectibles and action figures for his son, but they were all characters Eli was unfamiliar with, from old comic books and movies.

Didn’t play with them once. Honesty, I always thought Brad just wanted them for himself, but needed an excuse to justify the purchase.

I leave them on the shelf and grab two changes of clothes, Eli’s school books, and his nightlight.

I don’t pack a bag for myself. Everything in my room can burn for all I care.

By the time I’m done, my watch reads 4:25 P.M. In around five minutes, Andrew will pull up at the front gate. I should go meet him there, but I linger.

Brad’s studio is tucked at the end of the hallway. It’s the most private position in the house—couldn’t be more obvious he was hiding something.

What could you possibly get in five minutes?

“Everything,” I whisper.

Brad’s studio isn’t locked. Weird, but not unprecedented. He usually locks up at night, and if he’s too drunk, he’ll forget. And last night, he was pretty fucking out of it.

I head straight for the laptop. Until now, I’ve played it safe, only transferring a few files at a time on my flash drive. But now, I’ve got nothing left to lose.

So I might as well grab the whole thing, right?

When I touch it, the screen lights up. I know I’ll have plenty of time to look over the contents once I’m out of here, but for a second, curiosity gets the best of me.

I look.

“What’s this?” I mutter. It looks like a folder I’ve never seen before. Password-protected, but now open, the first stroke of luck I’ve had in forever.

Just then, a warning comes up: Battery low.

Shit. The second the battery dies, it’ll shut down everything. I don’t have the resources to crack this open again—not on my own.

I make a split-second decision and plug in my flash drive.

The transfer is slow. Maddeningly slow. I have no idea if it’ll even fit, but part of something is still better than nothing, right?

“Mommy?”

My head snaps back.

Eli is in the doorway, blinking up at me with confusion. “What are you doing in Dad’s study?”

“Nothing,” I blurt. “Just, um. Checking on stuff.”

My heart gives a hopeful flutter. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me of his own accord—the first time he’s called me “Mommy” in ages.

I pocket the flash drive and kneel by his side. “Eli, I need you to listen to me now. We have to leave, okay? And we can’t let Andrew know we’re leaving.”

“But—”

“I know you’re mad at me now, but please, trust me. This is for the best. Will you come with me?”

He gives a little nod.

Relief crushes me. “Good. Then?—”

“But Andrew’s out sick.”

“What do you mean?” I frown. “Then who?—?”

“Me.”

I stand up so fast, black spots dance in my vision. But those are nothing compared to the man at the center of it, smack in the middle of the hallway.

“Brad.”

“Mia.”

I pull Eli behind me. “W-what are you…?”

“What am I doing in my own house?” He scoffs, his feet dragging closer. “I think the better question is, what the hell are you doing?”

“I was, um… looking for something.”

“Behind a locked door?”

“It wasn’t locked .”

“Liar.”

Brad crosses the threshold. I back up against the wall, keeping my body between him and Eli. “Brad, please,” I whisper.

“‘Please’ this, ‘please’ that. You’re always fucking asking for shit, aren’t you?”

“Don’t swear in front of?—”

“What, like he understands? ” He shoots Eli a scornful look. “I fucking wish. Then at least he’d be able to string two words together.”

My jaw sets. I want to scream at him that, if he’d been a halfway decent father for even a day, Eli wouldn’t shut down when he’s with him. That he wouldn’t be afraid to say the wrong thing if Brad hadn’t taught him to fear him.

“Don’t talk about my son that way.:

“ Your son,” he spits. “Have you forgotten he’s mine, too? Or did you just fuck your way through too many men to remember, you stupid whore?”

“Don’t call her that!” Eli shouts, slipping from my grasp and throwing himself in front of me. “Stop being mean to Mommy!”

I try to push him back behind me, but he won’t have it. “Eli, don’t,” I whisper, terrified.

“My mom’s not stupid!” he screeches, sticking to the part of Brad’s insult he understands. “ You’re stupid! You’re always drunk and mean all the time! I liked it better when you were dead!”

Brad’s face turns red with rage. “One more word, young man?—”

“I HATE YOU!” Eli screams. “I don’t want you as a dad anymore! I want Yulian back!”

It happens too fast for me to stop it.

Brad’s palm collides with Eli’s shoulder. It’s just a shove, but Eli’s so small, it sends him sprawling on the carpet on the other side of the room.

Then Brad’s on me.

“Let me go!” I scream, completely unhinged. “You hurt him, you piece of shit! Let me go to him!”

Eli starts crying. It pulls at something primal inside me. Call it mother’s instinct, call it desperation.

I claw at Brad with all my strength?—

“OW, YOU BITCH!”

—and four red gashes open on the left side of his face.

It’s grotesque. Like a lioness took a swipe at him and didn’t miss. I had no idea I was capable of such viciousness, such brutality.

I search for regret, but I don’t find it.

Brad is clutching his face now. I realize there’s caked blood there, bruises I didn’t make. A huge Band-Aid on his nose. When did that happen? Was it at the gala?

Was it Yulian?

“You fucking bitch,” he spits, nasally and outraged. “It’s all your fault that he hates me!”

“No,” I whisper. “That’s your own fault.”

“You turned him against me.”

“I didn’t— ugh! ”

Brad’s forearm lodges under my chin. My throat feels like it’s about to be crushed, trapped between his arm and the wall at my back. I can’t speak—I can’t breathe.

“Mommy!” Eli calls, desperate.

“You’ve ruined me,” Brad accuses. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, even now, in the middle of the day. Scotch and rotten wood. “You’ve ruined everything. All I wanted was for us to be a family.”

You wanted us to be yours, I try to croak but can’t. You never wanted us to be a family. You just wanted us.

“But you went and got yourself knocked up again. So I’ll do what I should have done five years ago.” His hungry gaze flicks down to my belly. “And this time, I’ll do it right. No more bastards out of you.”

Just like that, I realize what he’s going to do.

I kick, but it’s no use. Try to plead, but my voice won’t come.

I watch Brad make a fist, reel it back?—

“ARGHHH!”

—and then his arm snaps .

“Touch my woman one more time,” a deep, rumbling voice growls, “and I’ll take both your arms, you mudak. ”

Yulian.

Brad howls in pain. Yulian slams his elbow into the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

I fall to the floor, gasping for air.

“Mommy!” Eli yells, rushing to my side.

I hug him tight. Right against my belly, with his sibling. My babies, both safe.

I gaze up at Yulian. “Thank you,” I whisper, hoarse.

He looks at me with fire in his eyes. Hot, roaring fire, smoldering from irises gray as cinders.

Then he addresses Eli. “You okay, little one?”

“Yulian!” Eli half-sobs, half-cheers. “You came to save us.”

“You did that all by yourself. I know a battle scar when I see one.”

Eli touches his forehead. There’s a scratch there from his fall—tiny, easy to miss. “I tried.”

“You did good, buddy. Now, I need you to do something else. See that backpack?”

Yulian’s gaze flicks to the floor. Eli’s follows it. It’s the getaway bag I made—the one I left by the desk.

“Could you carry it to the car? It’s out back.”

Eli glances at his father on the ground. “Will he be okay?” he asks, voice small.

“Of course,” Yulian says. “I just put him to sleep.”

Eli considers the scene for a moment. It breaks my heart he had to see it. Then again, he’s seen worse in Bond movies, so maybe this won’t scar him for life.

He looks to me for confirmation. I give him the best smile I can muster. “Go,” I whisper. “We’ll be right behind.”

“Okay,” he finally concedes. “See you soon?”

“If we’re not back within five minutes, I’ll owe you three scoops.”

He grins shyly and grabs the backpack. “Bye, Dad,” he says from the doorway to Brad’s limp body.

Then he’s gone.

Yulian waits for his steps to fade. Hallway, stairs, foyer.

Then he whips out his gun.

My heart jumps in my throat. “Yulian,” I plead. “Don’t do it.”

“He’s a piece of shit,” he says. “He hurt Eli. He hurt you.”

“And you’re better than him,” I beg. “So let him go.”

He gives me a dark look. One that says, Don’t be so sure.

But he still holsters his gun. “Last time,” he warns. “Last fucking time I let him live.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He crouches down and lifts me. His arms are warm, strong— safe. “Need anything else from here?”

I don’t think about the laptop. I don’t think about anything but my children. My son, waiting for me downstairs, and the child in my belly.

“No,” I croak. “I’ve got all I need.”

He carries me downstairs. Through the threshold. Into the backseat.

And then we’re driving, Brad’s house growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until at last it’s finally gone.