The Darkness Within

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven

It feels like the final piece of a puzzle finally clicking into place, making the entire picture clear.

The depth of Sergei's initial obsession finally makes sense.

For the first time in my life, I'm so surprised, I can't even think, let alone speak.

I won't let the possibility of Sergei knowing my father throw me off-kilter. I won't give a reaction of any sort until I manage to think through everything, and decide on an appropriate reaction.

I silently reach for my psychiatrist persona, and slip it on.

Thankfully, my thoughts return to a normal speed. Without emotions clouding my judgement, I see an opportunity to gain information from Damien. If I show shock, he might clam up in fear of accidentally crossing Sergei. But if I approach the topic with a sense of familiarity, I might get more out of him.

"Opinions differ on exactly what similarities I share with my father," I respond mildly, sounding appropriately indifferent. Then, taking a stab in the dark, "However, just about everyone says that our eyes are hauntingly similar."

"They are," Damien agrees, his tone saturated with a confidence that tells me he's absolutely sure. Sure that he has, in fact, met my father, and we most definitely have the same eyes.

"I also suspect you share a truly remarkable mind," Damien adds.

A remarkable mind...like an above-genius IQ.

Now that's a plot twist I did not foresee, which is a true rarity for me.

Sergei cuts in before I can finagle more information of his subordinate Pakhan. "It was a pleasure, as always. I'll be in touch."

The Pakhan walks off, seemingly oblivious to Sergei glaring holes into the back of his head. Once he's gotten in the elevator and disappeared, Sergei takes my hand, pulls me out of the room, and into an emergency stairwell.

He doesn't speak as we walk down two floors, and then emerge into a hallway with hotel rooms on either side. Plucking a keycard out of his jacket, Sergei unlocks one of the doors, and pulls me inside.

As soon as we're in, he demands, "Tell me what's going through your head."

I know the wall between us is now sky-high, when I respond, "Nothing of consequence," and truly mean it.

"Don't fucking lie to me."

I spare him a bored glance, leaning against the closed door of the hotel room as he hovers a few feet away. "I'm not. Nothing consequential enough that you need to know is going through my mind."

I sense the moment he realizes how much he screwed up. Not for kidnapping me in a fascination stemming from my heritage—my morality doesn't extend that far—but rather keeping my father's identity from me.

It feels like a betrayal. More, it hurts. The emotions start seeping out from a cracking dam deep within me, somehow breaking through my psychiatrist persona. Fortunately, my poker face remains.

Sergei's eyes flick all over my face, before his lips part in genuine surprise. "You're hurt." He sounds utterly stunned at the prospect.

How he figures out my emotional state, I have no clue. One thing is sickeningly clear; we've gotten too close. Anyone close enough to cause this strange, unpleasant sensation within me needs to be pushed away.

I recall the night after the shoot-out in Greece, when I told him about one of my childhood secrets. My curiosity to know my biological parents, stemming from a longing to find out why I've always been so empty.