Midnight Lies (Tasarov Bratva 2)

ADRIK

The sun is a distant memory. The air is dust and smoke. I cover my mouth and try not to breathe, but it still finds its way into my throat, scratching and clawing on its way down to my lungs.

The explosion in the dungeon worked just like I’d hoped. One level fell into another like a house of cards tumbling down. But that didn't stop the mess from spreading.

My ears are ringing. I was close enough to the explosion that I’ll probably have a nice hum in my eardrum for a couple hours at least. But I can still hear the sirens coming from the front of the house.

The cops are coming, but they’re the least of my concerns. Only two things matter right now.

I need to get out of here.

And I need to find Yasha.

I move towards what I think is the treeline, though it’s hard to tell through the smoke and debris. If Emery listened to me—and I hope to fuck she did—she should be halfway to Stefan’s by now. I want so badly to go to her, to sweep her and Isabella up in my arms and vow to them both that everything will be okay.

But I have something else that needs attending to.

At first, I thought Yasha was probably driving as fast as he could in the other direction of the compound, trying to get distance from the scene of the crime and establish an unshakable alibi. Why would he stick around and risk being involved in his own setup?

But as I flung myself out of the collapsing wing of the house, I realized Yasha wouldn't miss this spectacle for the world.

He’s always had a flair for the dramatic. This is all his play, his elaborate production—and there is no fucking way he would miss the show.

The further I walk, the clearer the air gets. Eventually, the sky above me is a dusty blue instead of murky brown, and I risk taking a deep breath. The air down my throat is still gritty. My lungs protest against all the smoke and dust I’ve inhaled.

When I look up through the haze, I see the eagle’s nest.

“The eagle’s nest?” I said. “I thought you’d be more original than that, Yasha.”

He was only seventeen, still scrawny but starting to fill out. He flipped me off from the comfort of his recliner. “Don’t be jealous, Adrik.”

I cackled. “I’m going to inherit a mansion. I don’t mind if you have a sad little playhouse in an abandoned building down the road.”

Yasha stood up and crossed to the windows. They ringed the highest level of the building, offering a panoramic view of the surrounding land. We would have demolished the old shithole, except it was the perfect place to affix security cameras. Our eye in the sky, looming over anyone who tried creeping too close.

“Nowhere on the compound has this view,” Yasha argued. “This is cooler. No one comes here. No one wants it.”

“No wonder you like it. No one wants you, either.”

“Shut up,” he laughed, shoving me away. “I just like being able to see what’s coming.”

Back in the present, I look up at the eagle’s nest. As far as I know, he hasn’t been up there in years. But I’d bet every cent to my name that he’s up there now.

The question is whether he can see me coming.

Once I make it to the trees, I find one of the lockboxes that are hidden at various points all around the property. This one is one of the smaller ones, wedged into the hollow of a partially rotted tree. Inside is a first aid kid, a pistol, and a couple magazines.

I take the gun and ammunition and leave the first aid kit. I’m sure I could use it, but there isn’t time. Not if I want to catch Yasha.

We used to play games through here. Hide-and-seek, when we were little, though as we aged, the name of the game did, too. Hunt or Be Hunted was the final evolution. Appropriately grim.

I’d give him a fifteen-minute head start and then track him through the trees. At first, he was easy to pursue. I’d follow his clumsy footsteps and the broken branches straight to where he was hidden. It didn’t take him long to improve. By the time he was thirteen, he knew how to run. How to hide. How to scheme.

I glance up, half-expecting to see him perched in a branch above me, a fake gun aimed at me.

“Bang,” he’d say, pulling his imaginary trigger. “You’re dead.”

I shudder. I wonder if the seeds of his madness were taking root even then.

I walk through the trees with nothing but gut instinct to go by. It’s never failed me before, though. Sure enough, the trees suddenly part, opening to a level piece of ground with the factory planted in the center.

There used to be a gravel lot around the rusted-out building, but it has long since been swallowed up by weeds. One of the light posts fell down years ago. It’s still laying on its side like roadkill, the bulb shattered. The other one is still standing, but barely. It looks poised to collapse any day now. Vines crawl up the sides of the building, creeping into shattered windows and choking out the drainpipes.

I don’t see a car in the lot, but that doesn’t mean anything. There are lots of places on the Tasarov compound to hide what shouldn’t be seen.

But there’s nowhere for me to hide here. Between the treeline and the building is a good thirty or forty yards of gravel. No cover to speak of.

“Can’t turn back now,” I mutter.

I can practically hear Emery’s voice in my head. Of course you can turn back! Why can’t you turn back? You stubborn ass!

I grimace. Hopefully, she’ll be able to say all of those things to me later.

After Yasha is dead.

I step out of the trees and take a few steps. The gravel, buried under layers of vines and clover and grass, crunches under each of my steps. Out here, away from the explosion and the sirens, it sounds impossibly loud.

I’m only twenty feet from the edge of the trees when I hear another, much louder sound. A thunderous metallic bang.

Like a large door opening.

“Shit.” I take off at a sprint around the side of the building. As soon as I round the corner, I hear a second bang.

Yasha is opening the double doors to escape. I’ll bet my left fucking nut that he’s got a car idling inside the garage and any moment now, the engine is going to roar and he’s going to fly off and there isn’t shit I’ll be able to do about it. He’ll give me the middle finger and laugh and disappear altogether.

I run past the doors and turn the corner into the factory. It’s dim inside, most of the windows boarded up or greased over with black, but I can see the car just inside the doors. The headlights are bright, the engine purring.

But it’s empty.

“Bang. You’re dead.”

I turn to the right and Yasha is standing there, a gun aimed at my head. But unlike in the game we played as boys, there’s nothing pretend about it. This gun is real.

“Let me guess: you already saw me?" he asks. Then he shakes his head. "No, I don’t think so. I think I got you this time, big brother.”

“You’re certainly trying,” I admit, taking a few cautious steps back. “Leaving Pietro's body at the house was a bold move.”

“Those are the only kind I make, Adrik.”

“Is that what you call it when you sneak into a woman’s bedroom in the middle of the night?” I ask. “Is that you being bold? Because it looked fucking cowardly from where I’m standing.”

Just talking about it has my blood boiling. I should shoot him right now. End this quickly and get back to my family. It wouldn’t be difficult to dodge his shot and take him out before he can recalibrate.

But Yasha isn’t some idiotic foot soldier. He’s trained. He’s violent. And more than that, he’s my baby brother. He deserves parting words.

Yasha shakes his head. “I thought your wife and I could handle our business without involving anyone else.”

“You and my wife don’t have any business,” I growl.

“So protective!” Yasha smiles. “Do you think taste in women is genetic? It would explain why you and I have the same appetite.”

Rage sparks inside of me, and I’m ready for this to be over. I’ll shoot him between the eyes and leave him to die. The little boy I knew—the little brother I loved—can’t be the same man standing before me.

So what am I really losing by killing him?

Nothing I haven’t lost already.

“I just needed to know why she ended up married to you. How she ended up married to you,” he says. “Are you fucking with me?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you. She married me because I told her to,” I bite out. “The real question is, how the fuck did you end up raping her? Especially after what you went through. How could you do it?”

His face darkens. “We were drunk. It wasn’t the same thing.”