With that line of communication cut off, I search the space.
Unlike everything else in this house, every drawer in this room sits locked tight.
But locks only work when the mechanism has something to hold on to.
I kick the side of the drawers and the bracing anchors snap, causing the drawers to go cockeyed. After that, it’s a simple matter of pulling them open.
The first compartment has two guns. Makarovs. Russian make. Not the PMM version I use, but close. They’re standard issue for families like ours.
I knew you were a liar, Nika.
I shove one gun into the waistband at the small of my back, the metal cold against my spine. The other I leave tucked up on top of the shelf, out of sight.
The final room houses the water heater, HVAC unit, water softener, and circuit breaker.
Someone wasn’t thinking right when they put this travesty of water and electricity together, which might explain why the power went out and didn’t fully come back on.
I spend the next few hours sorting out the mess and following each mislabeled wire, wishing I could punch whoever came up with this in the face.
By the time I finish, I’m frustrated and still fucking sore.
When I return to the living room, Nika’s staring straight at me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes burning. This girl’s got layers and layers to her, each more pissed than the last. She’s struggling against the restraints and trying to sit up fully. A difficult feat with your wrists stuck behind your shoulders.
I relax against the doorframe and casually cross my arms over my chest. “Dimitri called.”
She freezes, fear flashing across her face before she can hide it.
I push off the frame and come nearer. “I told him you were tied up at the moment and in no mood to speak to another man. You think he got jealous? Or disgusted? Hmm?”
Nika jerks against the stockings. “He wouldn’t talk to you.” Then she snaps her mouth closed, her shoulders heaving. She doesn’t seem so sure.
“He was so worried about you. Said I could keep the locket if I just left you alone.”
Once Nika blinks at me and smirks, I know I’ve taken it too far. Said something Dimitri wouldn’t. So much for that plan.
Instead, to shake her up and finish my work, I start dismantling her space as well. First, her closet, since she can’t reach me there.
Right in front is one of those hanging drawer things. I think Valeria uses them for clothes that can’t go on a hanger. Inside the cubbies are perfectly folded sweaters, all white, black, or gray.
I run my hand over the warm, expensive cashmere.
The sight reminds me of Alexei and his monochrome wardrobe. Ever since he got together with Aurora, a few dark colors have popped up in his outfits. Apparently marriage really changes a man.
For the better, I guess, though I’ll never tell him that.
Same as the bookshelves, I grab the hanging cubbies and tilt. The sweaters spill out onto the floor.
Nika doesn’t react.
Why does she have so many expensive, soft, clingy clothes? Does she buy the same thing over and over because she doesn’t care? Or does she have someone else shopping for her? Her closet reminds me of the Barbie collection Valeria had as a child.
Someone’s playing dress up, but Barbie’s not the one choosing the outfits.
One by one, I pluck silk blouses off velvet hangers. Black, white, and gray in shimmering hues. They all join the sweaters on the floor. “For someone with so many sharp edges, you certainly have a lot of soft things.”
She shifts on the bed but stays quiet.
I keep searching.
