Twilight Sins (Kulikov Bratva Book 1)
Twilight Sins: Chapter 12

It’s not obvious just walking through Yakov’s mansion—especially when you’re there for the first time after a few drinks and feeling dizzy from kissing him in the car ride over—but security is tight. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I didn’t notice the cameras at first, but now, I see them everywhere. Black, beady eyes watching and recording from every smoke detector, clock face, and mirror in the entire house. In the spots I couldn’t find cameras—like in the bathrooms or just outside of what has to be Yakov’s office—there are locked doors. Or, better yet, maids who “just so happen” to pop out of nowhere to see if I need help with anything.

“Some help with my escape plan would be nice,” I said after the third maid approached while I was jiggling the handle to the office. “And if you have a key for this door, that would be swell.”

She smiled like I’d requested a glass of milk and then carried on down the hallway doing whatever evil deed she does around Yakov’s mansion. Probably dusting the spiked weapons cabinet in his dungeon.

I tried the front and back doors as soon as Yakov left. Both were unlocked. I walked right outside and stood on the porch. No one appeared to shove me back inside… but I could feel eyes on me.

A man who has enough maids and butlers and gardeners for a healthy-sized soccer scrimmage definitely has a few security guards hiding in the bushes. I’m sure they’re top of the line, too. He’s definitely paying them enough that they’re willing to tackle me if I make a run for it.

If being sacked by a guard wasn’t enough of a deterrent, my impractical date night heels seal the deal. I can barely walk in them, let alone run.

I slowly complete three laps of the inside of the house. I try to memorize the layout of the place in case it comes in handy later, but mostly, I note that Yakov has annoyingly good taste in art. “Cultured” would be added to the growing list of his good qualities if I hadn’t already mentally shredded, burned, and spread the ashes of that list to the wind.

With no escape plan to hatch and nothing else to do, I eventually wander out onto the back patio and find my way to the pool.

A wide set of stairs lead from the cement patio down to a recessed lounge area. There are chairs and loungers and tables half-submerged in water. In another set of circumstances, I’d grab my sun hat, my book, and plop myself in one of those chairs. I’d soak in the shallow water for hours while I crisped up and read.

But in this set of circumstances, I don’t have a swimsuit. Or my sunhat. Or even a toothbrush, while I’m listing things that would make my life a bit more pleasant. So I settle for lowering myself to the edge of the pool and letting my feet dangle in the water.

It’s honestly not a terrible time. Until I remember I’m being imprisoned by a man who may or may not be clinically insane. And if he isn’t insane and everything he told me this morning is in fact true, then someone is out to get me.

As far as I can tell, there is no good option.

My usual date night routine is to send my friends text messages updating them on where I’m at and who I’m with. If I hadn’t been so mad at Kayla last night, then I would have texted her on the car ride over before Yakov stole my phone. Then at least there would be some small hope that somewhere out there someone is searching for me.

As it is, I’ve never felt more alone.

So when Hope walks out of the main house towards the pool house, I jump at the opportunity for a human conversation.

“Hope!” I wave an arm over my head and she pivots towards me instantly.

I haven’t seen her since this morning in the kitchen, but a familiar face is a familiar face. Imprisoned beggars can’t be choosers.

“Is there something I can get you, ma’am?” she asks politely.

I didn’t have a plan when I called out to her, but it comes to me all at once. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, actually, you could. I lost my phone somewhere. I’m not sure where. But I just need to make a quick call. Five minutes tops.”

It shouldn’t take long to tell Kayla that her plan to find me a boyfriend got me kidnapped instead.

Hope hits me with a sympathetic smile that has me sagging in disappointment before she can even say a word.

“I take it that’s against the rules?” I grumble.

“I’ll get fired,” she explains apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Sounds like a win-win, if you ask me. You get to help an innocent person escape being abducted and you don’t have to work for a psychopath anymore.”

The corner of her mouth quirks into an unwilling smile. “Mr. Kulikov isn’t a psychopath. He’s actually quite nice.”

I wave her away. If she isn’t going to help me, I don’t want to talk to her. “Yeah, yeah. I heard him ask about how your mom is doing. He had me fooled, too—right up until he barred the doors.”

“He didn’t bar the doors. You’re outside right now.”

I cross my arms and slouch. “Symbolically.”

Hope looks up towards the house. Her eyes scan the windows and the doors. Then she crouches down next to me, her voice low. “If Yakov is keeping you here, it’s for your own good. Trust me.”

“I don’t even know you. I can’t trust anyone.”

“You can trust me.” She smiles. “I’ve been working for the Kulikov family for almost eight years. I worked for Yakov’s dad first. He was nice, too. Then everything happened and Yakov became my boss.”

“‘Everything happened’? What does that mean?”

Hope gives another small shake of her head. “I can’t tell you that, either.”

I groan. “You can’t help me, you can’t tell me anything, and you’ve worked around these people for eight years. I gotta say, you don’t seem very trustworthy, Hope. You’ve probably been brainwashed into thinking this is normal.”

“This isn’t normal,” she agrees. “I know that. But just because it isn’t normal doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing to do. Mr. Kulikov is a good man. I trust him. If you let him, he’ll take care of you.”

“Why does he even need to take care of me?” I lower my voice. “Maybe if you could tell me who is after me, it would help? I don’t even know what I’m being saved from.”

Hope stands up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You’ll need to talk to Mr. Kulikov about that.”

“Spoken like someone who has never actually tried to talk to him,” I mutter. “He makes dodging questions look like an Olympic sport.”

Hope ignores me and pastes on a bright smile. “There are some spare swimsuits in the pool house if you want to go for a dip.”

“I’m not really in the mood,” I lie. I actually wouldn’t mind, but it’s the principle of the matter. I don’t want to look like I’m having a good time in case anyone in this house forgets that I’m here against my will.

She keeps smiling. “It’s your choice. But I say, if you’re going to be here for a while, you might as well make the most of it. There are worse places to be stuck.”

“I’m not stuck,” I hiss. “I’m being held prisoner. You’re an accessory to kidnapping, you know. When I get out of here, I’ll give the police your name, too.”

“Okay,” she says gently. “That’s your choice, too.”

Hope leaves and I don’t see anyone else for a couple hours. They could all be on break. More likely, though, word got around that I’m pumping them for information and trying to break into locked rooms. I’m sure they’re steering clear of me.

Not that it matters. None of them are any help, anyway. The love for Yakov runs deep. I won’t find any friends on his staff.

When the sun is directly overhead, I decide to retreat inside for some shade. I grab a water bottle out of the fridge and make my way to the library.

The sheer size of it still takes my breath away. Maybe when no one is looking, I’ll stand on the wooden ladder and pretend I’m a fairytale princess. Right now, I just want to escape. If I can’t do it literally, then I’ll do it fictionally.

But Yakov manages to ruin those plans, as well.

“An entire room full of books and not a single romance,” I mumble to myself.

It’s amazing how many people claim to be well-read, yet have never picked up a romance novel. Given the fact that Yakov only seduced me to get me back to his house so he could hold me hostage, I guess I’m not that surprised.

After scouring the shelves for a while, I grab a dusty fantasy novel and curl up on the couch.

Two hours and one hundred pages later, I’m still sitting there when I hear the familiar baritone of his voice coming down the hallway.

My insides twist.

It’s a bad habit and I wish they would stop. I’m evolutionarily predisposed to find a man with a deep velvet voice attractive. That’s all it is. Because the last time I saw Yakov, he looked me in my eyes and as good as said he didn’t want me here.

I’m not any happier about this than you are.

I highly doubt that. Because the only thing worse than being somewhere you don’t want to be is knowing for a fact that no one else wants you there, either. I’m definitely the least happy of anyone in this mansion.

But if Yakov really doesn’t want me here, why did he bring me with him if he could have left me at the restaurant? Why did he wake up early and make me breakfast?

He told me last night that he never does anything he doesn’t want to do. I have no idea what to believe about so much of what is going on, but some small part of Yakov Kulikov is at least a tiny bit kind.

Hopefully.

If I can’t get him to outright let me go, I might still be able to work a few things to my advantage.

I toss my book aside and go to meet my abductor.

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