Lie To Me Book 5: Captive Lies

“Kaia, hurry up!” Irina’s voice rang out from the hallway.

I snapped the laptop shut, spinning around just as my sister, Irina, burst into our shared bedroom. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Irina was four years my junior. At fourteen, she was still growing into her lanky frame. Her blonde hair, identical to mine, was currently styled in pigtails that hung over her thin shoulders and denim coveralls.

Her blue eyes were wide and still held the innocence of childhood, something I had lost long ago. She was a spitting image of me at her age, or more accurately, our mother, Yana.

He was often a harsh man, favoring violence over peaceful resolution. His close relationship with the pakhan earned him a seat at the High Table, a council of Russia’s most influential men.

This seat gave him more power than he knew how to handle. But to us, he was the man who never acknowledged us. He would look through us as if we were invisible, yet kept us close enough to keep an eye on us.

He used us as leverage over Yana, should she ever dare to defy him. Yana had been employed in the Rostov household since she was sixteen. Her golden hair and curvaceous figure, which I inherited, had unwillingly caught Akim’s eye.

When he summoned her to his quarters, she couldn’t refuse without risking her job and bringing shame upon her family. That’s how Irina and I came into existence.

Born in secret, with no father to speak of. The only connection we had to our father was his name on our birth certificates. It was the only thing Yana had insisted on.

She hoped that one day, the Rostov name would offer us some form of protection, even though to the world, we bore my mother’s last name, Smirnova.

Akim Rostov’s wife was aware of her husband’s infidelity and chose to ignore it. I could tell by the way she looked at Irina and me that she knew we were her husband’s children, but she never treated us unkindly.

Sometimes, I thought I saw a hint of longing in her eyes when she looked at us. Perhaps because she was unable to bear her husband children. She eventually died in childbirth, and Akim never remarried.

Yana believed that the only reason he didn’t have us killed was because we were a part of him. He once told her that he would find some use for us eventually.

So, he provided us with a small cottage near his estate where we lived in secret, and my mother continued to work for him. If the staff knew our true identity, they never mentioned it.

Rostov’s temper was infamous, and any rumors of illegitimate children would surely provoke his fury. So, we did what we had to do to survive. We pretended he didn’t exist to us either.

Irina tugged at my arm, trying to pull me out of the chair.

“There’s a party at Papa’s house! Let’s go see!”

I stopped abruptly and shot her my best big sister glare, grateful that she didn’t ask about what I had been doing on the laptop I had managed to buy a few weeks ago after saving up for a used one.

“We’re not supposed to call him that,” I scolded.

She let go of my arm and sulked.

“But he is.” She pouted.

I took a deep breath and sighed, observing the stubborn set of her chin. I could tell she was going to grow up to be a force to be reckoned with.

If only she could learn to control her temper. She didn’t like being told what to do, especially if it wasn’t fair. I liked to think she got that from me.

I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“If anyone hears you calling him that, you could get Mama in trouble,” I explained. “Is that what you want?”

She quickly shook her head, her expression suddenly filled with worry.

“All right.” I straightened up, raising an eyebrow. “How’d you find out about the party at the house? Been snooping with Ilya again?”

Ilya was the son of the Rostovs’ cook, Ida, and shared a class with Irina. He’d been trailing after her like a smitten puppy since they were kids, and his crush only intensified as they grew older.

A blush crept up Irina’s cheeks, and she suddenly seemed shy.

Her words made me tense up.

Rumors about our dad remarrying had been circulating since we were kids. But it had never actually happened, so this news was unexpected.

“So what if he is?” I shot back. “It doesn’t affect us, does it?”

Irina fiddled with the end of her braid, gnawing on her lower lip.

“What if she has kids? What if we get brothers and sisters—”

I pulled her hand away from her braid, and she winced as my grip tightened.

“Enough,” I commanded, my voice stern. “If you call him Dad again, I’m telling Mom.”

Irina’s eyes widened. She hated upsetting Mom, so she quickly nodded.

Irina craved Mom’s attention, but I suspected Mom found it hard to look at us. So, I ended up caring for Irina throughout our childhood, while Mom spent her time at the Rostov estate.

“Fine, fine,” she finally muttered.

I let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at my lips as I thought of a way to cheer her up.

“Let’s go see if Ilya can swipe us some medovik before it’s all gone.”

As expected, she grinned, taking my offered hand.

Together, we left the cottage, heading up the hill toward the estate where we could see a hive of activity.

The guards were familiar with all the staff’s children, so we slipped through the servants’ entrance unnoticed.

We made our way to the small room where Ilya often hid to read. Other kids teased him about his love for books, so he spent most of his time there.

More often than not, I’d find Irina there with him, listening to him talk about the books he’d read.

I noticed two guards leering at us as we walked past. We did our best to avoid eye contact.

This was why I hated coming here and had been doing so less often. Over the past few years, I’d felt the men’s lingering stares and feared that one day I wouldn’t be able to slip past them. Thankfully, they were afraid of what Akim might do if they laid a hand on us.

Everyone knew Yara used to be Akim’s favorite lover, leading to speculation about our parentage. No one dared to voice it, but it was our only protection.

“I don’t want you coming up here without me or Ilya, got it?” I whispered to Irina, who rolled her eyes.

I tugged on her hand to get her attention. “Promise me, Irina.”

“Fine, fine,” she grumbled as we reached the small room.

Ilya was sitting cross-legged on a cot, engrossed in a book. His raven-black hair fell into his eyes. For a fourteen-year-old, he was already tall, his shoulders broadening with each passing day.

I had no doubt he’d be a hit with the girls soon. Maybe even Irina, judging by the way she was looking at him.

He looked up as we entered. “Hey, mishka.” Ilya’s green eyes sparkled as Irina nudged his hip, sitting next to him on the bed.

“Can you get us some medovik?” Irina fluttered her thick lashes at him, and I rolled my eyes as Ilya’s cheeks turned pink.

“Sure,” Ilya agreed, already standing up.

Suddenly, a loud explosion echoed, followed by rapid gunfire.

Ilya quickly covered Irina’s mouth as she was about to scream, shaking his head to signal her to stay quiet.

“Quick, under the bed!” His whisper was urgent, and I didn’t think twice. I grabbed Irina’s arm and pulled her down to the floor with me.

Ilya was already moving toward the door when Irina’s voice rang out. “Ilya, don’t go!”

He paused, turning back to give her a comforting smile. “I’ll be back soon, mishka.”

With that, he slipped out the door, closing it securely behind him.

The sound of gunfire was closer now, making me jump with each shot. I instinctively covered Irina’s head, as if that could somehow shield her.

“We can’t stay here,” I told her, aware that we were cornered if we did. “We need to find Mama!”

Before I could even stand, Ilya was back, his arm extended, beckoning us. “Let’s go!”

Without a second thought, we followed him.

“Where’s Mama?” Irina asked, her voice trembling.

Ilya just shook his head, not breaking stride as we crept along the wall.

The house echoed with the sound of heavy footsteps as guards, armed to the hilt, rushed outside. Ilya quickly ushered us into a broom closet, waiting until the guards were gone before guiding us toward the cellar, where Akim stored his precious wine and cured meats.

“Down here,” Ilya whispered, pointing to a door at the back. “There’s a tunnel. Follow it for about half an hour and you’ll reach the village.”

Irina’s hand shot out, clutching his sleeve as his words sank in. “You’re not coming with us?”

Ilya’s gaze softened, his smile tinged with sadness. He gently traced his finger down her cheek. “I’ll be right behind you, mishka,” he said.

He gave me a quick nod. I took Irina by the waist and pulled her away from the door just as Ilya slammed it shut. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed in the cellar.

But I kept my arm around her waist, dragging her along as she kicked and screamed. Her nails dug into my forearms, and tears streamed down her face.

It wasn’t until we reached the village that I realized I had been crying too.