I (One)

by Lana Sky

  But even Mischa let his guard down around Sergei.

  I can’t afford a single mistake.

  So I ignore the tray and sit on the bed with my back to it. Closing my eyes, I think.

  If Mischa were here, what plan would he compile? Something reckless and violent, no doubt. Though maybe that’s the only way to counter methodical planning—brute strength.

  Had I his knife, he’d probably urge me to stab the next person to bring me a meal. Stab Sergei afterward. Run.

  But I know, even as I let the fantasy play in my mind, that my method needs to be different. Desperation is what Sergei expects. As Mischa claimed, a man like him is already one move away from checkmate.

  The only way to beat such a foe?

  Play a different game.

  As my mind parses over every potential escape, I barely hear the door open.

  “You haven’t eaten,” Sergei remarks with feigned surprise. “Maybe you’ll find your lunch more palatable?”

  Ignoring him, I eye the wall as he replaces the trays, and finally, he leaves. Newer smells tickle my nose in his wake. Soup? It’s no matter. I close my eyes and focus on a game—but one far simpler than the elaborate chess match I grew up in.

  The same one I can hear Mouse and Eli playing right now, innocent of everything else.

  Cat and mouse.

  And the most effective chases require only bait.

  And sheer desperation.

  Chapter 27

  When the tattooed man returns with my dinner tray, I stand and face him.

  “Take me to Sergei,” I command, meeting his startled gaze directly. “Now.”

  He frowns, but I suspect that Sergei warned him that I might make such a request. Without hesitation, he turns and beckons with a jerk of his chin. “Come but stay close.”

  And don’t you dare run.

  I follow him down the hall and nearly sigh with relief when we pass the sitting room. As if conjured by a miracle, Anna, Mouse, and Eli are already inside it.

  “Ellen?” Anna lurches to her feet. Her eyes dart to the man in the hall, but there’s a grim resignation in her gaze. Years with the Winthorps haven’t made her naïve. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I force a smile. “Mouse?”

  The girl sits hunched on the floor beside Eli. I don’t doubt she’s already picked up on the inevitable shift in the atmosphere as well. Her eyes are sharp as they meet mine, as guarded as always.

  Still smiling, I make my voice deliberately soft. “You and Eli should play a game. Remember the one you and Mischa played?” I pray to God that she understands. “This time, he is the flower.” I point to Eli, who wrinkles his nose.

  “I don’t want to be a flower—”

  “Hush, darling,” Anna scolds. She tracks the silent communication between me and the girl, biting her lower lip.

  “Wouldn’t that be fun, Mouse?” I say, hoping the fear isn’t apparent in my voice. “A game?”

  With her as silent as always, I can’t gauge her reaction. It’s like Mischa gave her lessons in masking her emotions as well as knife fighting. Finally, she nods.

  “Come, miss,” the man prods. His hand brushes my lower back—a warning.

  Reluctantly, I follow him down the stairs and across the foyer. Instead of the drawing room, he leads me to a different space, closer to the staircase: a study. Inside it, Sergei is sitting behind a desk, studiously eyeing a pile of documents.

  “Can I help you, Ellen?” he wonders without looking up.

  “I wanted to know when you were sending me back,” I demand. “Because you are, aren’t you?”

  “What an odd coincidence.” He shuffles his papers and finally looks up. “I was just about to make the arrangements. You’ll return to your husband tonight. I was merely waiting for confirmation.”

  My stomach sinks at his cold, mocking tone. “C-confirmation?”

  He slides something across the desk toward me. My eyes process the item in pieces: silver blade. Leather handle.

  It’s a knife, long and battered. Recognition shreds my heart. It’s Mischa’s knife. Only now, blood streaks the surface its owner strived so hard to polish.

  “No…” My breath catches on a moan as I sink to my knees. At the back of my mind, I never believed he was dead.

  But this…

  Logic goes to war with blind faith, utilizing my heart as their battlefield.

  Alive.

  Dead.

  Alive.

  Dead…

  “That is one matter of business handled,” Sergei says. His callous tone is a harsh anchor, grounding me amid the wave of grief threatening to drown me.

  I can’t lose focus now, and Mischa’s old mantra returns to haunt me. Breathe! I inhale raggedly, and through a screen of tears, I watch Sergei stand and rummage through a drawer.

  “Now for the other.” He looks at the man behind me. “Retrieve the boy—”

  “No!” I lunge to my feet, but I barely go a step before a hand latches onto my arm from behind, locking me in place. “No! Don’t you dare touch him!”

  Oblivious to me, the tattooed man ascends the stairs. Seconds later, he returns—but my knees buckle with relief.

  He’s alone. He doesn’t have Eli.

  “The woman said they are ‘playing’,” he tells Sergei.

  I fight to smother any reaction I might reveal, despite how my heart hammers. Mouse listened. I can only pray that she can stay out of sight long enough.

  “Playing?” Sergei wrenches me around to face him. Whatever he sees makes him grunt in appreciation. “Make sure he’s found.”

  “What do you want with him?” I risk asking. “He’s a child. He’s too young to inherit anything regardless—”

  “Is that so?” His jaw clenches. He doesn’t want to tell me, and I half expect another slap. But he sighs. “By tomorrow, I’ll have him in Moldova, nestled away in a family compound—”

  “Why?” I place my hand on his shoulder imploringly. “Why not let him stay with me? His mother—”

  “Why?” He smooths his hand along my cheek. “And let you plant foolish ideas in his head?”

  Pain bites into my jaw as his nails flex against the skin, robbing any kindness from the gesture.

  “So that you can mold him the way you’ve twisted Mischa—”

  “Let go of me!” I cringe out of his reach. “Don’t touch me!”

  He releases me so suddenly that I trip and fall to my knees. Then he sinks into a crouch and meets my gaze. “You haven’t asked, but I know you’ve considered it: How could I let you go back if you could easily tell Robert all you know?” He raises a brown bottle that I didn’t realize was in his grasp and shakes it. “Mischa has an associate who likes to use unwitting innocents as drug mules. To keep them silent, he had some unethical physicians concoct a poison that paralyzes the vocal cords, rendering the victim unable to speak.” He cuts his gaze to Eric. “Hold her.”

  The man grabs me from behind. I struggle, but it’s no use. Together, the men pry my lips apart and Sergei pours the liquid down. It’s bitter, like copper. Or blood.

  The second it hits my tongue, I put all my energy into choking, spitting out every drop.

  “Swallow,” Sergei demands. His hand encircles my throat, squeezing until my eyes water. When he finally releases me, I instinctively swallow, gasping for air.

  Fire sears down my esophagus. Any noise I make comes out hoarse and broken.

  It’s like he struck a match inside me and chased it with gasoline.

  “Get her in the van,” Sergei commands loudly enough to rise above my wheezing.

  The man grabs me, dragging me to my feet. My eyes stream as he ushers me from the manor and unceremoniously shoves me into the enclosed space minutes later. I scramble to get my bearings and reach for the door, but it’s already locked. I’m in the back. I feel around for an emergency lever or anything I can use as a weapon, but I find nothing.

  Seconds later, the van begin
s to move, pitching me forward. To protect myself as much as possible, I curl into a ball and try to steady my breathing. My only hope is that Mouse got Eli away. Just long enough…

  For what?

  It terrifies me that I didn’t think that far ahead.

  But now…

  I have to find my own way to keep them safe. Even if it means dropping to my knees before Robert. Even if it means selling my soul in the process.

  I’ll do whatever desperate, dirty thing required to prevent Sergei from getting the upper hand.

  But in the meantime, he has the last laugh; all I can do at the moment is suffer and wait.

  We must travel for hours. By the time the van finally stops, I can’t tell how far we are from Sergei’s property. It’s still dark out. In the early morning hours, I’m guessing. As the door opens from the outside, I tense.

  “Come on.” The man, Eric, grabs me and drags me from the van before I have a prayer of mounting an attack.

  I blink to make out our surroundings as a gravel-like substance irritates the soles of my bare feet. The moon illuminates snatches of bushes and looming shadows—but a familiar stench makes my heart lurch. Fresh roses.

  Like the kind that bloom on Winthorp manor.

  Before I can be sure, Eric unfurls a strip of cloth from his pocket and wraps it around my eyes, snagging pieces of my hair in the process. Then he shoves me forward over uneven terrain that quickly gives way to a smooth, firm surface.

  The air here feels thinner. Colder. A basement or garage?

  “Be careful with her,” a chillingly familiar voice commands from up ahead. “That’s close enough for you. Let her go.”

  Grunting, Eric releases me, and I hear his footsteps echo as he retreats.

  I’m left shaking, tears welling behind my blindfold. My body quakes down to my core, resisting the confines of my old cage as the doors to it figuratively slam shut. I’ll never escape before it’s too late. Eli and Mouse are already recaptured. So much for my so-called teaching. I’m just a pathetic doe, always on the run. I’m trapped. Forever…

  Enough. Gritting my teeth, I bite any sobs back as heavy footsteps approach me. The time for self-pity is over.

  Mouse.

  Eli.

  They consume my concern. To save them, I’ll do anything.

  Even if it means placating Robert. He’s the one approaching me, his steps unsteady over what I sense is concrete flooring.

  “Elle…” Soft fingers swipe at my cheek in their search for my blindfold, undoing the knot—but that’s as much as he’ll allow himself to touch me. “Are you hurt?” Robert scans me from head to toe. His finger hesitates near the corner of my mouth.

  Licking the area, I taste blood.

  “She’s bleeding,” he says before swallowing in distaste. Anger distorts his expression, and my heart pangs as I catch the subtle resemblance between him and Eli. They both can’t hide their emotions for long, and now? Robert is murderous. “You bastards will pay—”

  “R…” I try to speak. “Rob—”

  “Sir!” A louder, masculine voice cuts me off. A man dressed in a black suit brushes past me and leans toward Robert, murmuring something into his ear.

  “Damn it,” Robert hisses, his hands clenching into fists. “Put her with the other one. They won’t look for her there.”

  Before I can react, the blindfold is drawn over my eyes a second time.

  “This way, miss.” Someone grabs my arm and steers me in a different direction.

  I strain my ears, desperate to track any other figures nearby or any clue as to my surroundings.

  “Mr. Winthorp will see you shortly,” the man adds. “You’ll be home soon enough.”

  Home?

  Rather than elaborate, the man leads me forward until he comes to an abrupt stop. I stiffen as he tugs at my blindfold, removing it. Frantically, I blink to make my vision come into focus: vast darkness. A heartbeat later, a door closes behind me.

  I’m in a room. That much I can tell.

  I feel along the nearest wall in search of a light switch. Despite flicking it, no light comes on. Eventually, I wind up sinking onto a carpeted floor with my back to the wall. Only now do I realize I’m not alone. A slender figure creeps through the darkness toward me.

  I stiffen, but they’re too slight to do much damage, almost as tiny as Mouse.

  “Hello?” a woman whispers, her voice familiar.

  The closer she comes, the more of her I can clearly make out as cold recognition robs me of any urgency for a precious few seconds. Bright, familiar curls drape her shoulders. Her pale skin gleams in the darkness, and her huge blue eyes glisten like mirrors, reflecting my own terror back at me.

  “Ellen?” Briar whispers. Her hand brushes my shoulder and she jerks it back as if burned. “Is that you?”

  I can’t speak, though my throat isn’t the cause. In a relatively short amount of time, I’ve gone through so many wild emotions when it comes to my sister. Nearly twenty-four years of devotion have been reduced to a grim uncertainty.

  Did I ever really know her?

  Did she ever even love me?

  All this time, I thought I was Marnie’s dirty little secret she hid in shame. Now, I know the truth—she loved me enough to risk her life for me, countless times.

  And she loved Briar enough to gamble her freedom.

  And ultimately forfeit it.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” my sister whispers, demanding my attention. “I don’t…” She breaks off, her mouth flat. “I know you hate me. I… You don’t understand what it’s like. The wedding, and Father, and—none of this was supposed to happen!” Her voice shakes. “When Robert volunteered to lead the wedding procession to the airport, I knew.” She laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “I knew there was a reason. But I didn’t… I just thought if he were planning something, he’d get a big fucking shock if I outsmarted him for once. I didn’t think you’d be hurt.” She runs her fingers along her uninjured cheek. “Or maybe I did. Maybe I knew something bad would happen and I wanted you gone.”

  Hearing her admit as much out loud stings—far worse than I could have anticipated. Old wounds sear over my psyche: that constant fear of being unwanted. Of never fitting in.

  Of being a burden.

  Despite everything, I risk irritating the sore flesh of my throat to ask, “Why?”

  She shrugs. “I spent my entire goddamn life being compared to you. Perfect Ellen. Sweet Ellen. Servants. Friends. Robert…even Mother loved you more. Maybe I wanted to know what it would finally be like if you were gone and I was just Briar without the more appealing shadow.”

  She sounds so young. So…desperate. Any hatred or resentment I may have felt disintegrates. Now? I only feel pity.

  “Ellen, please say something!”

  In silence, I reach for her hand, curling my fingers around her thin, trembling ones. Then I lean my head against the wall, close my eyes, and try to gather my strength.

  Because this war isn’t over yet.

  It hasn’t even started.

  Chapter 28

  Mouse. Eli. Mouse. Eli. It’s the only mantra I have left worth clinging to. Mouse. Eli…

  Faint thuds jar me from my reverie and I stiffen, lurching into a crouch.

  “What’s that?” Beside me, Briar scrambles to her feet. “Something’s happening,” she whispers, dragging me upright as well. “Did you hear that? I think the guard is leaving! I don’t know what’s going on.”

  But I do. Distant shouts allude to only one kind of danger.

  Sergei.

  Damn. I start searching the room, cursing myself for not having done so sooner. How could I be so damn pathetic? No matter, the time for self-pity is over. There’s a window in the corner of the room. I scramble toward it and attempt to open it.

  “It’s locked,” Briar whispers, creeping to my side. “There’re guards nearby too—”

  I turn away from her and stop at a sideboard table. There’s noth
ing on it but a lace doily and a vase—a metal statue. I grab it, pushing any doubting thoughts back. Then I turn to the window and slam it against the glass with all my might.

  Glass rains down with an alarming crack as it gives way. Heedless of the pain, I knock away any loose shards, creating an opening barely large enough to slip through. Warm liquid drips between my fingers, but I ignore it.

  “Come,” I croak to Briar. God, speaking even that little hurts. Despite everything, a vain voice inside me wonders if the damage is permanent.

  How ironic: I find my voice, only to die silenced.

  “What now?” Briar asks, eyeing the makeshift opening.

  I grit my teeth, grounding myself to the present. Now? If we’re lucky, the guards aren’t already on their way.

  We’re on a lower level, I realize with a sense of relief that nearly barrels me over. A carefully manicured terrain stretches out: flower beds, and paddocks, and enclosed paths. Even in the dark, I recognize it: the west gardens. Meaning we must be imprisoned at, of all places, the guesthouse.

  Of Winthorp Manor.

  “What now?” Briar asks again.

  “Climb,” I croak, shoving her forward.

  “Ow!” She whines, struggling to maneuver her limbs through the opening. Finally, she disappears and her soft groan alludes to the fact that she made it safely below.

  I scramble after her, feet first. Glass bites deep, and more alarmingly, hot liquid coats my limbs. When I let go of the sill, I grunt, landing hard on an earthen surface. Bolting upright, I grab Briar’s hand and run, heading toward the back of the property.

  But we’re already too late.

  Briar screams as a smattering of gunshots pierce the air dangerously close. Once again, Sergei lied to me; he won’t even give Robert the chance to enjoy our little reunion.

  He’ll kill us all first.

  “What’s going on?” Briar squeals.

  It’s a good question. From this part of the estate, the only way forward cuts through the expansive gardens between the guesthouse and main manor. The whole damn manor could be on fire for all we know.

  Heading there at all would be foolish.

  But it’s the only way out. From the garage, I could steal a car or a van and find my way back to Sergei’s manor. I could find Mouse and Eli on my own.