The Spy by Sophie Lark

33

Nix

“Come on,” Adrik says, looking over the map once more. “If we came up here, in the center . . . I think we should go this way.”

“How do you know?” Dean says. “We don’t know where they’re holding Ivan.”

“I’m guessing,” Adrik snaps. “Do you have a better idea?”

Hedeon isn’t listening to the argument. He’s walking the opposite way, out of the chamber, following something he seems to hear rather than see.

“Stay together,” Leo calls, but Hedeon ignores him, pulled onward by whatever’s drawing his curiosity.

“For fuck’s sake,” Rafe mutters. He follows after Hedeon, which means I’m following too, since Rafe has a firm grasp on my arm.

Hedeon is a long way down the dark corridor already. We jog to catch up to him, Rafe hissing, “Hedeon! What are you doing?”

Hedeon turns to face us, still looking around in the gloom.

“Do you hear that?” he says.

Now that we’re standing quietly, out of the echoing chamber, I do hear it . . . distant and steady, a faint churning sound. Running water.

“I think there’s another river,” Hedeon says.

“That’s not on the map,” Rafe says.

“Well, the map’s shit,” Hedeon replies, with a shrug.

Rafe can’t argue with that.

We keep following the sound of water, taking two wrong turns before we double back and find the source: an underground dock with a boat tied up against the pull of the river.

A dock guarded by three armed soldiers.

They fire at us, the first bullet hitting the wall a foot from my ear, sending several shards of stone flying across my face, cutting my cheek.

Rafe yanks me down.

Adrik comes running up the tunnel, Leo and Anna close behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts, already taking position to return fire.

“We might have found another way out of here,” Hedeon says.

“We don’t need a way out! We just fucking got in!” Adrik snarls.

Leo takes the opposite side of the tunnel, firing back in tandem with Adrik. Anna watches their bursts of fire and the returning shots from the soldiers, her eyes darting back and forth as she waits for a split-second pause. Then she darts out of the tunnel, chucking a flash grenade over by the dock.

Even at this distance, and even with our eyes closed and our ears covered, the explosion is deafening. Anna stumbles back into the tunnel, reeling from the oscillation in her inner ear. I see her as a dark silhouette against the blinding afterimage still etched on my eyeballs.

Adrik recovers first, leaping up and running out to the dock, shooting the first and second soldier before they can even take their hands off their ears.

Leo gets the third, dropping him before he can swing his rifle around at Adrik.

Rafe stays close to me the whole time, guarding me with his body and his gun.

I feel horribly exposed, unarmed and obviously not safe from these soldiers who might know me if we were standing face-to-face, but seem perfectly happy to shoot my fucking head off from a distance.

I want Rafe right next to me. I want his warmth and his bulk in front of me.

I hate to admit it, but I’m scared.

I’ve gone shooting plenty of times, but I’ve never been surrounded by gunfire, echoing off the stone walls of a dark and claustrophobic space. I’ve never had a bullet whiz an inch past my ear.

I’ve never been so deep under the earth, away from any light or breeze or living thing.

Rafe looks down, seeing my hand clutching his forearm.

“I’ll stay right by you all the time,” he promises.

I let go of him, angry at myself for showing weakness. Angry for needing him.

“Come on,” Adrik says, impatiently. “Back this way.”

We rejoin Dean, Sabrina, Freya, and Kade, who have already scouted the opposite direction.

“This way!” Kade says, excitedly. “I think we found the cells!”

Sure enough, Kade leads us back to a bank of four prison cells with no windows, only thick metal doors bisected by a tiny slot to pass food or drink.

The electronic locks are mounted by what looks like retinal scanners. There’s no way to know which cell belongs to Ivan, and no way to open them without the right set of eyeballs.

I’m not sure that’s an issue anymore: the hallway is littered with the bodies of three soldiers—my father’s men. I recognize Jan and Borys. Borys lays on his back, eyes open, mouth agape, hands still open in front of his chest as if trying to push someone away.

Now I can’t stop the tears that run down my face without warning. Borys was like an uncle to me. He used to time how long I could hold my breath in our indoor pool at the compound, and he showed me how to make pizza dough from scratch, with yeast and flour and honey.

At the same time, I see the bleakness of the cells, and the horrible darkness of these underground chambers. I know that if I were captive here, I would shoot my way through anyone to escape.

I’m torn, continually torn, because I can’t actually be pulled in two directions at once.

I see Rafe’s obvious excitement, the heartbreaking hope on his face as we stand right where his father must have been.

And I see my friend dead on the floor.

“I think there’s someone in here . . .” Kade says, bending to peer through the slot in the door.

“NO!” Freya shouts, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him back.

At that moment, someone fires through the door. Kade tumbles backward, hand clasped to the side of his head, blood pouring through his fingers.

Roaring in fury, Adrik shoves the barrel of his rifle through the slot and fires into the cell in all directions. Then, not bothering to check if he hit the occupant, he drops to his knees next to his brother and hauls him up.

Kade is pale and reeling, but still conscious.

Adrik yanks his hand away from his head, grimacing as he surveys the damage.

“It’s just your ear, you dumb shit,” he says. His words don’t match the deep relief on his face as he sees that Kade is only missing the upper portion of his right ear. He’s bleeding everywhere, but it’s a hell of a lot better than a bullet to the head.

“I take it that means Ivan got out on his own,” Dean says, surveying the carnage in the hallway.

“Yes, and I can guess where he’s going,” Rafe says.

We can hear distant gunfire now, and another echoing explosion.

Sloane is still fighting her way up the tunnels, drawing most of Marko’s men in her direction.

“Can you walk?” Leo says to Kade.

“I think so,” Kade says, pale and sweaty-faced and embarrassed, blood pouring down the right side of his neck.

Leo puts Kade’s arm around his shoulders, hoisting him up.

“I’ve got him,” he says to Adrik.

We hurry down the hallway again, following the direction of the gunfire.

Adrik scouts ahead, Sabrina close behind him like a slim, dark shadow. She holds her rifle ready. I’m a little disturbed to see how naturally she takes to all this. I’ve never seen her eyes brighter or her expression more focused. She’s thrumming with excitement.

I, on the other hand, feel like I’ll vomit if I so much as open my mouth.

The violence keeps spiraling and spiraling. There’s no happy ending here—whoever lives and whoever dies, I lose friends on either side.

We hurry toward the irregular bursts of gunfire, taking a wrong turn that leads us into a cavernous space full of old, rusted mining machinery, vast and ancient-looking as dinosaur bones.

We turn back, into a cramped corridor where we collide with a dozen of my father’s men.

Seven Nation Army — The White Stripes

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Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple

Our groups run into each other in an instant maelstrom, two storm fronts colliding.

The chaos that ensues is difficult for me to follow. Under the flickering halogen lights, I see Rafe fire at one of my father’s soldiers called Andriy, then grapple with Kristyan. I turn to find a gun pointed right between my eyes. All I can do is stare into the face of a soldier I’ve never met, who curls his finger around the trigger, until Kristyan shouts, “No, that’s Nix!”, and wrenches the gun away, before being shot in the side himself by Freya Petrov.

Hedeon’s rifle jams and he drops, it, pulling a Glock from his belt instead. He shoots a soldier in the chest, then takes a bullet in the thigh, dropping to one knee.

Sabrina is seized from behind, only to have Adrik Petrov drive a knife into the soldier’s chest. He rips her out of the dying man’s arms. Sabrina wrenches the knife from soldier’s body as he falls, driving it into the back of the man attempting to throttle Anna Wilk.

The metallic stench of blood fills the tunnel. I don’t know who’s winning or losing.

Then I hear a snarl unlike anything I’ve heard before. I see a man, already covered in blood from head to foot, his bared teeth a slash of white in the grisly mask of his face. His long hair is filthy, his tattooed chest bare except for the belts of ammunition slung across it. He holds a knife in each hand, the wicked blades already wet on their tips like venomous fangs. He charges into the fray, cutting and slashing and stabbing like he has six arms instead of only two.

The soldiers fall before him like grass beneath the scythe.

He rampages through them, his bull-like body whittled down to pure muscle and sinew, not an ounce of fat on his frame. His dark hair is matted, longer than his shoulders, his face bearded, eyes wild with bloodlust.

In the space of a breath, everyone in military uniform is dead.

We stare at this monster, at his snarling teeth and dripping knives.

Then Rafe says, “Dad!”, and he runs to him.

Ivan Petrov drops the knives, sweeping his son and daughter into his arms.

His bloodstained hands sink into their hair. He pulls their faces against his.

I can’t look at the expression on his face.

I have to turn and stare at the stone wall, filled with a shame I can’t express.

The reunion only lasts a moment. Ivan embraces Adrik and Kade as well, saying, “Is Sloane in the tunnels?”

“Yes,” Freya says.

“Then we’ll save the introductions for another time,” Ivan says, his gaze sweeping over Leo, Anna, Hedeon, and me, before he urges us all on.

I don’t know if I imagined a flicker of recognition when those dark eyes passed over me. I’m supremely relieved that there’s no need for us to speak at the moment. Ivan Petrov is frankly terrifying, and I’m staying as far back in the group as possible.

Rafe rejoins me. I can see the blazing relief in his face, a lightening of his step that makes me realize what a burden he was carrying all this time. His fingers tremble slightly as he clutches his rifle.

My chest is burning with the most complicated set of emotions I’ve ever known: immense guilt, mixed with happiness and sorrow.

Our eyes meet. I hope Rafe can see that no matter the circumstances, and without considering what might happen next, I’m glad he has his father back.

We’re running toward the steadily increasing sound of gunfire, Kade walking on his own, his ear still bleeding but his rifle in his hands once more. Hedeon can’t even stand—he’s supported between Dean and Leo, his pant leg darkly soaked.

This mine is massive—endless tunnels and chambers.

My father never showed me this place. He told me that he took me to every warehouse, every nightclub . . . and yet, it’s obvious he doesn’t only keep Ivan Petrov captive here. If it’s an old uranium mine like Adrik said, I can guess exactly what goes on here.

None of the uses for black market uranium are at all palatable to me. Another blow to my image of my dad.

We reach the main guardhouse at last, the entry point where my father’s men drive in through the tunnels.

Sloane has made it all the way inside, but she’s pinned down at the base of the guardhouse, the tires blown out of her Jeep, all the windows shattered. It appears that only four of her men are still alive, including the one called Timo. He crouches next to her, shooting up at my father’s soldiers who surround them on three sides.

Dean sets Hedeon down against the wall, tearing a strip off the bottom of his shirt and tying it tight around Hedeon’s thigh.

Watch Me Burn — Michele Morrone

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Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple

Our group fans out, attacking my father’s men from behind.

The Malina splinter, shot at from two sides. The bulk of them retreat up the tunnel to regroup. I stay right behind Rafe as he fights his way closer to his mother.

I see Olek, one of my father’s brigadiers, stand up in the guardhouse, pointing his rifle directly at Rafe. I scream, “RAFE! Six o’clock!”

Rafe wheels around, Olek’s bullet cutting a groove out of his shoulder as Rafe’s shot hits Olek right in the chest. I stare, horrified, as Olek slumps over, his head crashing through the guardhouse window.

Meanwhile Ivan shoots two, three, four Malina, before sprinting across the open ground to his wife, heedless of bullets flying around him, sliding into her behind the body of the Jeep, seizing her and kissing her with a ferocity that would tear apart a more delicate woman.

Sloane kisses him back, blood smearing from his mouth to hers, their hands clutching each other’s faces, their bodies melded together like they could never be parted again.

I’ve never witnessed anything so intimate.

I can’t look away.

They gaze into each other’s eyes as Ivan growls, “Remember what I told you, my little fox: nothing could keep me from coming back to you.”

As one, Ivan and Sloane turn, raising their rifles to their shoulders. Side by side they start to hunt.

It’s like watching a pack of wolves wheel upon their prey. Time seems to slow as the Petrovs reign down retribution on the Malina. Ivan, Sloane, Rafe, Freya, Adrik, and Kade—each one tall, dark, and utterly ruthless, moving with inhuman speed and coordination. They slaughter every soldier remaining in the chamber. Even Sabrina looks awed as Adrik fires two perfect shots to the chest and one to the head of the last man standing.

Silence reigns for exactly five seconds.

Then two more Hummers come roaring up the tunnel, loaded with men. My father stands upright inside the open top of the lead Hummer, an M240 mounted to the hood. He catches sight of Ivan Petrov and his face distorts in a snarl of rage. He opens fire, spraying bullets across the chamber.

“BACK!” Ivan shouts.

We sprint back up into the protected cover of the mine, back to the room filled with rusting equipment. Dean is dragging Hedeon along, with Leo’s help.

Ivan is scanning the hulking machinery, looking for the best vantage point to hunker down and fight. Sloane stops him.

“Can we get out this way?” she shouts to Rafe.

I see the swift calculation on his face: the assumption that the boat at the underground dock must be able to travel all the way out on the river.

“Yes,” he says. “I think we can.”

“Good,” Sloane replies. She pulls a detonator from her pocket and flips up the cover over the switch.

“Are you sure we should—” Timo says.

Sloane hits the switch.

Instantly, three separate explosions rocket through the tunnels, each one seeming to amplify the next. We’re already running again, back down past the cells, as rock thunders down in an avalanche behind us.

I can’t help looking back over my shoulder, horrified that my father might have been buried by boulders or blown to bits. I know that’s what the Petrovs are hoping.

But someone is still behind us, evidenced by the bursts of gunfire hitting the walls and ceiling overhead.

We’re back to the chamber where we came up through the grate in the floor. Then we’re running down the tunnel toward the dock . . .

Until my father roars, “I’VE GOT YOUR NEPHEW!”

We all stare at the filthy, bloodied faces around us. I see Rafe, Sabrina, Dean, Hedeon, Leo, Anna, Adrik, Ivan, Sloane, and her four surviving men.

In the mad dash, Kade Petrov fell behind.

Without hesitation, Sloane seizes me by the arm and shouts back, “AND I’VE GOT YOUR DAUGHTER!”

She begins to drag me back down the tunnel.

I let her do it.

She hauls me back to the stone chamber where I see my father, covered in dust, the side of his face bloodied, holding a Glock to the side of Kade’s head. The gun presses against Kade’s ruined ear. He looks like he might pass out from the pain.

My father’s expression upon seeing me is enraged to the point of madness.

“NIX!” he bellows.

Sloane’s grip tightens on my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh. I’m not trying to break away from her. I’m standing perfectly still.

“Send her over here now, or I’ll put a bullet in this boy’s head,” my father snarls.

“I would,” Sloane sneers back at him, “but I don’t exactly trust you.”

I can hear Ivan, Rafe, and the others coming up behind us.

Likewise, a half-dozen of my father’s men have made it out of the collapsing tunnels. Some are limping, some are coughing, all are covered in bits of blasted rock, dust, and blood.

Our two groups face each other, each with a hostage.

My father is staring at me like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His fingers twitch on the gun, his body tense as he fights the impulse to shoot Kade or fling him aside, to run at me.

“What are you doing here, Nix?” he says, hoarsely.

“What are you doing, Dad?” I reply, my voice cracking. “What is this place?”

He shifts his bulk, his right eyelid twitching as it always does when he’s stressed or angry.

“You know the mine,” he says, gruffly. “I told you about this.”

“No,” I say, flatly. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well what does it matter!” he shouts. “I was going to show you. This is all for you someday.”

The thought of owning this dark underground place, those prison cells, makes my skin crawl.

“I don’t want this,” I say.

“What the hell are you talking about!” my father roars.

His whole hand is shaking now, the barrel of the gun jittering against Kade’s ear. Kade’s skin shines like wax.

“Don’t hurt him,” I say, nodding toward Kade. “Let him go. He’s my friend.”

“He’s your friend?” my father howls, outraged. “Have you lost your mind? These are your worst fucking enemies, Nix! That’s Ivan Petrov! It’s his fault your mother is dead! His fault she was never avenged!”

“You had your revenge,” Ivan says, his voice colder than frost and harder than steel. “We killed Taras together. Then you tracked down his wife and children and you slaughtered them, too. You killed his uncles and his cousins. There’s barely a Banderovtsy left alive.”

“AND IT STILL WON’T BRING HER BACK!” my father bellows, his face redder than his beard.

My stomach is churning.

We killed Taras together . . .

Then you slaughtered his wife . . . and his children . . .

That wasn’t part of the story, when my father told me how he tracked down the man who killed my mother, battled him hand-to-hand, then cut his throat and let him bleed out on the floor.

There was no Ivan Petrov in that tale.

I never heard the Petrov name before I came to Kingmakers.

And there was certainly no mention of murdering children.

Obfuscations, elisions, deceit, and lies . . .

Every moment that I look at my father’s face, he becomes less familiar to me, less the man I thought I knew. I begin to see the monster he is to everyone else . . .

“You lied to me about Kyrylo Lomachenko, too,” I say. “You killed him. I know you did.”

My father’s breath is coming through his teeth in hissing gasps.

“Who are you to judge how I do business,” he seethes.

“Let go of Kade,” I say, again. “This is over.”

“It will never be over,” he replies, his eyes slipping away from my face, fixing on Ivan Petrov instead.

“Do you want your daughter back or not?” Sloane snaps. “Put that fucking gun down.”

My father’s eyes dart from Ivan to me, and back again.

He snarls, “Bring her to me.”

Then, he tosses his Glock to one of his soldiers, and drags Kade to the center of the chamber, standing directly over the grate.

“I’ll take her,” Rafe says, quietly.

He passes his own rifle to Sloane, so he’s unarmed except for the knife at his belt, just like my father.

Sloane opens her mouth to argue, but Rafe cuts across her, repeating sharply, “I’ll do it.”

He takes my arm. His hand is warm and steady.

Rafe walks me toward my father, the opposite of a bride being given away on her wedding day.

When we stand before him, my father at last releases Kade. Kade stumbles back toward his brother. Adrik grips his rifle, obviously struggling with the impulse not to open fire as soon as Kade is out of the way.

I’m supposed to cross to the other side like Kade did.

I’m supposed to join my own family.

But all I can think of is Sabrina’s words, echoing in my head:

Are you sure what side you want to be on?

My father or Rafe?

The Petrovs or the Malina?

Rafe looks at me. His eyes are as clear and blue as I’ve ever seen them—a reminder of sea and sky in this sunless place. He relaxes his grip so my forearm slides through his fingers, until my hand is resting on his palm.

We gaze into each other’s eyes. There’s no lying when you speak without words.

I turn my hand, linking my fingers through his.

Then I say to my father, “I’m not coming home with you.”

He looks at my hand, holding tight to Rafe’s.

“What are you doing?” he rasps.

“I’m going back to Kingmakers. I’m staying with Rafe.”

My father isn’t shaking anymore. He’s gone deathly still.

“You choose him over me,” he says. “This boy over your own father.”

“Yes,” I say. “I do.”

Rafe’s hand tightens in mine.

I know for certain he’s not letting go—no matter what happens.

My father’s men grip their rifles. The Petrovs do the same. The Malina are outnumbered, fourteen to seven. They don’t want to fight. Still, they’ll obey my father to the end.

The Petrovs are longing to kill every last one of them, especially my dad. And maybe he deserves to die. But I’m hoping this one time, we can all walk away.

“It’s over,” I say to my father.

I turn away from him, back toward my friends, back toward the Petrovs, and most of all toward Rafe.

Nothing happens for the space of a heartbeat.

Then my father gives a strangled howl. He rips the knife from his belt, swinging it down.

I turn in slow motion, the arc of my spin intersecting with the trajectory of my father’s knife—the blade plunging directly toward my heart.

Until Rafe lunges between us, turning his shoulder into the knife.

The blade sinks into his flesh. It cuts deep, all the way to the hilt.

Rafe doesn’t even seem to feel it. He’s already pulling his own knife from his belt. He swings it upward, faster than a whip, slashing directly across my father’s throat.

My father gasps.

Before he can move, before he can even begin to bleed, Rafe slashes him again and again and again, cutting him across the belly, through the groin, and backward across his neck, cutting him to pieces like a carcass in a butcher shop.

The cuts are strategic, merciless, and utterly devastating.

There’s no hesitation in Rafe’s face. No regret. I see the man I’ve caught glimpses of before. I see Rafe Petrov unleashed.

My father collapses, spurting blood from a dozen gashes.

I sink to my knees, sobbing, grabbing for his hand.

I lift that hand, heavy as a bear paw, and try to hold it against my face, to feel his rough palm one last time.

My father looks into my eyes.

His teeth clench and he makes a furious, gargling sound, his fingers scrabbling, clutching at my throat. Then those cloudy green eyes roll upward, and his hand falls away from my neck, dropping to the ground.

I look up at Rafe, who killed my father. Who saved my life.

He looks back at me, tall and dark and the calmest I’ve ever seen him.

Silently, he holds out his hand to lift me up.

I don’t know who fires first, or if it’s even intentional. It might have been Stepan Pavluk, who after all is only a bookkeeper, and should never have been brought to this place.

I only hear the pop of a finger convulsing against a trigger, and then I see Leo touch his side, a startled look on his face, blood blooming on his shirt.

Then everyone is firing, and Rafe throws me facedown on the grate, covering me with his body.

The chamber echoes with shots from all directions, heat and noise and bits of hot stone raining down on me, like I’m strapped to a pallet of fireworks all exploding at once.

And then we’re running again, and this time it’s not because we’re being chased—everyone is dead behind us. We’re running to the boat because Leo and Hedeon and Kade are all bleeding badly, and the mine itself is groaning, tunnels still collapsing from the C4 charges detonated by Sloane. The whole thing is about to fall down on our heads.

We run to the dock, piling into the speedboat as Adrik casts off. This time we count to be sure no one is left behind: Sabrina, Adrik, Kade, Ivan, Sloane, Freya, the four Petrov soldiers, Leo, Anna, Dean, Rafe, and me.

Then we’re speeding down the dark river, the stone tunnel so close that we have to crouch low in the boat, still hearing the crashes and echoes of falling rock behind us.

We pass through a dark cavern, the ceiling suddenly soaring overhead, the water glittering black, the motor loud in the empty space.

Anna’s scream echoes off the walls as there’s a splash right behind us, and she shouts out, “LEO!”

Leo has fallen in, sinking below water darker than ink.

The boat is already far past where he fell. Adrik cuts the motor, trying to circle around. Dean dives off the boat, stroking hard for the place where Leo disappeared.

Sloane takes the headlamp off the front of the boat, aiming it across the water.

I see Dean’s pale blond head dive under again and again as he searches for Leo. I’m about to jump off the boat myself when he pops up once more, this time dragging something heavy.

Anna leaps into the water too. Together, they haul Leo back in.

He’s gray with cold and shock.

Adrik starts the motor again, roaring off down the dark river.

We speed faster and faster, recklessly close to the stone walls.

Then, like a cork out of a champagne bottle, we pop out into dazzling sunshine and cold, fresh air.

* * *