All of the agents have their weapons drawn as they circle the burning structure, but I pay no mind to them, or any other threat that may be looming. I just need to get inside. Trudging forward, I ignore the throbbing pain in my left ankle, as well as the shouts for me to stop moving. Fuck my leg and fuck them.

Just as I get about ten yards away, the overwhelming heat coming from the blaze making it feel as if I’m standing on the surface of the sun, someone tackles me from behind and pushes me face-first into the cold, hard ground.

“Are you fucking stupid? Do you have a death wish today?” Doherty growls, pressing his knee into the small of my back.

“If she’s in there, I do,” I seethe through painful breaths.

“Not on my watch, Decker. Not on my fucking watch.” Then he slams the butt of his gun into the back of my head and everything goes black.

THE REMAINS OF FIVE BODIES were found in the pile of charred ashes after the local firefighters finally arrived and put out the blaze. Four males, one female. The men were identified by dental records as Vincent Ricci, Gabe Scalise, Anatoli Kabinov, and Rayzkin Kabinov; however, the woman’s teeth were all missing—most likely through torture, the authorities believe. With all the information that’s been gathered, as well as my admittance to visiting Blake in that cabin with Raze, the fifth body has now been officially identified as Bryleigh Carter Oliviera, a.k.a. Blake Martin.

Devastated and destroyed, I have no desire to go on. No desire to talk to anyone. No desire to get showered or dressed. No desire to go to work. No desire to open the pile of mail on my kitchen table, not even the funny-looking envelope that has no postage mark on it. Whatever it is, it can’t bring her back to life, just like my family and friends can’t and my job can’t.

None of it means anything if I can’t have her. I was supposed to keep her safe, to protect her. But I failed. And now . . . well, now the only thing I have to look forward to . . . is death.

 

MY EYELIDS FEEL AS IF they’ve been cemented together, making it damn near impossible to pry them open, and there is not a single drop of moisture in my mouth . . . but I’m alive. With my shaky arms, I push myself up to a sitting position in the bed I’m lying in and immediately scan my surroundings. I’m petrified of what—or who—is waiting for me to wake up, but I’m tired of hiding. I’m ready for this to all be over, even if that means my life . . . because at least I’ll go down fighting.

Upon first inspection through my hazy eyes, it appears I’m alone in this room that looks like a standard Motel 6 room. Two full-size beds with a nightstand in between. Mass-produced landscape prints in cheap frames on the wall. A single wooden dresser situated against the opposite wall, holding a TV, an ice bucket with a couple of mismatched glasses, and a tiny coffee pot. A luggage rack in the corner with a suitcase on it . . .

Wait.

Why am I in a motel room instead of the cabin? Where is Raze? What was he doing with Emerson in his truck before everything went dark? And why is there a suitcase here?

Scrambling off the mattress, it takes me a few seconds to catch my balance when my feet hit the floor, the remnants of whatever I was drugged with still partially hindering my movements and clouding my thoughts. As soon as I’m confident I can walk, I pad across the stained carpet floor to the lone piece of luggage. With hesitant hands, I reach out and unzip the bag, drawing in a ragged breath as I open it.

All of my clothes from the cabin that Raze had brought in for me are neatly folded and packed, along with a few other articles that still have tags on them. There are two wigs, both with jet-black hair, and several pairs of sunglasses. But the thing that has my entire body shaking uncontrollably is a legal-sized manila envelope with the word Kotyonok written on the outside. I have no clue what’s inside, but yet somehow, I know.

I pick the thick, lumpy package up and take it back to the bed I was just in, inhaling a deep breath and counting to ten before I open it. Dumping the contents on top of the bedspread, a cell phone falls out first, followed by a passport, a small change purse, and a stack of papers. There’s a handwritten note on top.

Blake,

By the time you read this (sorry about the high dosage of sedative, but I couldn’t risk you waking up early), I’m sure every news channel on the television will be covering the shocking deaths of Italian mob boss Victor Ricci, the American Princess-in-hiding Bryleigh Oliveira, and the grandson of the US-based Russian mafia leader Rayzkin Kabinov. The good news is you’re not dead, but I suppose you already realized that. The bad news is the rest of what they’re reporting is probably true . . . but please, don’t feel sorry for me. This is exactly what I planned. I’m where I’m supposed to be, and soon, you will be too.

I don’t want to make this too long, because well, I’m a guy and I haven’t written many letters like this before . . . but I wanted to try and answer all the questions you must have about what’s going on, and help you get started on the next part of your life. So here’s the long and short of it.

Kotyonok, you don’t deserve the shitty things this life has dealt you. You fell in love at an early age with the wrong man and got sucked into a life you had no idea even existed. Somehow you found the strength and courage in yourself to fight your way out, and even though you knew it wouldn’t be easy, you did what you had to do to save yourself. I never got a chance to tell you how much I admire you for that.

You already know everything that led to you ending up in my custody, so I’ll spare you that story again, but what you didn’t know—what I didn’t know—was that my grandfather’s plan all along was to kill you after you took care of your father-in-law. As soon as I found out, I began making other arrangements to ensure that didn’t happen, and I’m praying it’s all worked out the way I set it out.

I know why Emerson Lister turned you into me, and that’s the exact reason her body is the one the authorities have now identified as yours. (All body hair and teeth were removed as precautionary measures before the fire. And yes, all that time I spent outside recently was rigging the house with explosives so I could make sure to eliminate all evidence. When I do things, I do them right.)

After Madden found out she was the culprit for your disappearance and he dismissed her from his life, she was heartbroken and distraught, and it didn’t take me many promises of giving her a new identity and a bank account full of money to get her to agree to fake her own death and allow me to set her up with a new life.

Only I lied.

You’re the one I’ve set up with everything you could possibly need to start over, in hopes that you and Madden will be able to find the happiness you both deserve. In the envelope with this note, you will find a new birth certificate, passport, a driver’s license and social security card in the zipper purse, as well as a prepaid Visa with ten thousand dollars on it, and a little bit of cash. Welcome to your new life, Anastasia Kotyonok, a name that literally means Resurrection Kitten. I hope you’re okay with the dark hair, and I thought you could choose either Ana or Stacey if you didn’t like the full name.

Also in this packet, you’ll find a one-way plane ticket (The airport is about forty-five minutes from the hotel you’re in. Take a cab and pay cash.) from Reno to Brunei, a small sovereign state on an island in Asia that I promise you’ll love, for this upcoming Monday. Until then, you are not to leave this room (food in ice chest in tub). No one should be looking for you, as they all they think you’re dead and all, but don’t take any chances. When you do leave, I’ve provided clothes and wigs and other stuff to alter your image. Once you get to Brunei, there will be a driver waiting for you to take you to the small place I’ve set up, and he will also give you further instructions about the future once you’re there. I’ve arranged for a few things to help get you started.