Page 11 of Beautiful Agony

Serena.I think.It has to be.

The two of us stare at each other, and time seems to freeze. Neither of us moves as our eyes—so much like Mom's—drink in every detail.

There's recognition Serena's eyes, and for a moment, I'm a boy again as I stare back through a haze of tears at Polina to look at me one last time before Pyotr ripped me from her arms.

Then, a gentle hint of citrus and lavender comes drifting over, and my eyes find Lacey. Her amber-flecked irises shimmer in the light, and relief floods through me.

My hands shake as I holster my weapon and rush towards both of them.

"Zvyozdochka," I whisper. "I should have protected you better. I should have known Olga would?—"

"Vadim, listen to me!"

Lacey's voice is panicked and insistent. But I can't stop the words tumbling out, desperate to erase the fear in her eyes. "I'll make this right. I swear I'll?—"

"VADIM!" Her voice cracks like a whip. "Stop apologizing andlisten!"

My hands still on the ropes as I finally register the urgency in her tone.

"This is a trap," she says, her words coming fast now. "Sayanaa called the police. She's setting you up to take the fall for everything—the trafficking, the murders upstairs, all of it."

Ice spreads through my veins as the pieces click into place. The too-easy phone trace. The systematic executions upstairs meant to eliminate witnesses.

Even Sayanaa's theatrical phone call makes sense now.

She wanted me emotional, reckless, charging in without thinking.

And I did…

"The police are already on their way," Lacey continues. "She wants them to find you here, in charge of all this. We need to go,now."

I finish untying her bonds, my mind racing. If what she's saying is true, we have minutes at most before this place is surrounded.

"Wrap it up and get ready to move now!" I shout up the stairs in Russian. "Police are coming!"

My men respond immediately, herding the shell-shocked women toward the exits. None of them speak English, and none of them are responding to Russian either. I look at their faces, seeing the characteristic features of Tuvans from the Russian Far East, and realize that there isn't a single person here who can talk to them.

I stare at the women huddled in the rain, their terrified faces illuminated by flashing lightning. Every fiber of my being screams at me to help them, to get them somewhere safe and warm. But police sirens are already wailing in the distance, getting closer with each passing second.

"Get in the car. Now." My voice comes out harsher than intended as I usher Lacey and Serena toward our escape vehicle.

Serena pulls back, those storm-gray eye—so like my own, so like Mom's—fixed on the group of women. "But what about them? We can't just leave them here!"

The sirens grow louder. My men are already peeling away in their vehicles, following our predetermined escape routes.

"Listen to me carefully," I grip Serena's shoulders, forcing her to meet my eyes. "I cannot help anyone if I'm arrested. These women will be taken care of by the police. But if they catch me here, everything I've been doing will fall apart. Do you understand?"

She nods, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks.

"Get in the car. Now."

They climb into the backseat together, Lacey wrapping a protective arm around my sister. I slide behind the wheel, my hands clenching white-knuckled around the leather.

The first police cars zoom past us just as we turn the corner, their lights painting the wet road in strobing red and blue.

I force myself not to look back at the women we're leaving behind, and my self-loathing deepens by the second at the choice I've made.

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