The Hacker (Chicago Bratva 5)

And I kept denying her entry.

I thought I was staying true to Alyona, but the sense of failure to both of them pervades.

Is it possible that denying my love for Natasha is somehow also denying what I had with Alyona? That makes no sense, and yet it feels true.

I meet Nikolai’s exasperated gaze. “I fucked up.”

“Da.”

I stab my fingers into my hair. “I don’t know if it’s fixable.”

“Get your head out of your ass and figure it out.” Nikolai walks away like he’s decided his job is done.

“Yob vas.” I mutter the curse to his back, but I don’t mean it.

He’s trying to save me, as only a brother will.

Dima

Adrian shows up later to take us back. He brings his sister, Nadia, to help us clean the place, per Ravil’s request. There’s no cleaning service out here, and Ravil wouldn’t trust anyone but an insider to know where the place is.

Nadia doesn’t speak much English yet, and I think Ravil gives her jobs to try to coax her into the world of the living. She barely leaves the apartment, which is understandable. She’s suffered a trauma no human should ever have to endure.

At the moment, I find her depressing presence a perfect match for mine. I give her and Adrian quiet instructions about what needs to be done before we leave and work until evening.

When we have everything clean and our things packed, they head out to the car.

“Just… give me a few minutes,” I say.

I walk around the outside of the cabin. Every inch of it reminds me of moments with Natasha. The hot tub outside my bedroom. Movies on the couch. Spreading her open on the kitchen counter.

I follow the path from the back door, past the now-dry indentation in the earth where she fell in the mud. Where I kissed her and claimed her in a way that had nothing to do with controlling or punishing her.

I walk past it, along the path we took when we saw the deer. Twilight blots out the last rays of the sunset as I climb the boulder we sat on.

Once there, I sit and stare out at the sky.

I don’t know what I’m hoping for—a sign from Alyona? From a God I don’t believe in?

Do I want the doe to show back up as a message that I’m forgiven?

Whose forgiveness is it that I want? Alyona’s or Natasha’s?

Both, the voice in my head insists.

Of course, it’s right. I’ve dishonored both of them. I should’ve made peace with Alyona’s ghost before I ever touched Natasha.

I twist the ring around my finger. I try to call up Alyona’s face, but for some reason, I can’t quite find the memory. Can’t bring it into focus. “Alyona… mne zhal'.” I apologize. “I wanted to keep things as they were when you died, but I can’t. Too much has happened. I...I fell in love with another woman.”

I sit in silence. Obviously I don’t expect an answer or a sign, but there is a slight release of the pressure in my throat and chest that makes me feel like I’ve done the right thing.

I tug the ring off. “You were my first. I will always love you.” I throw the ring as far as I can into the rapidly darkening forest.

I don’t hear a thing—no thunk or plop when it falls. I don’t even know how far it went.

It doesn’t matter. It’s gone, like her.

It’s time for me to move on.

Hopefully, it’s not too late.

I glance up in the sky, and when I do, I see a shooting star.

Bozhe moi, I did get a sign. My eyes burn.

I can’t believe it.

“Spasibo,” I murmur to the sky, not sure if I’m thanking Alyona or God. It doesn’t really matter, either way. That forgiveness I was seeking suddenly seems to be within reach.

18

Natasha

Anxiety takes hold during the night, and I can barely focus in the morning.

I don’t know what it’s about—not the meeting with Alex, who texted back and named a nearby cafe for this afternoon.

It’s more like a pressure building inside me. The sense of something being very wrong. It’s separation anxiety. Like I made the wrong choice leaving Dima, and I need to fix it. Except I have no intention of doing that.

I’m a glutton for abuse, but I’ve taken enough. I have to muster some sense of pride and not look back.

I can’t get any food down for breakfast. I go to the gym to try to work off some of the energy, but it doesn’t help.

When I get back, I go through the neat stack of mail on the breakfast bar. Someone has taken good care of things while I was gone. The kitty litter is clean. The trash was emptied. The dishes I’d left in the sink for later were washed and put away. I think it’s possible someone even dusted and vacuumed.