Hey guys, I hope you're all doing well! This is the second half of that long chapter. Read on for more Gralexei feels and the start of the infamous Binevale trip ;)

Gonna reply to reviews on the previous chapter, thanks so much for the love and to everyone who reviewed!

Tessa Jane: Thank you, I hope this next chapter finds you well! I'm glad you enjoyed that scene and that I was able to do it justice for you!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Embassy Row series and all the characters (except for Tanner and Jordan and Alexei's Moscow friends, who are my own creations). They belong to Ally Carter. I am merely using her characters and plotline to create this fanfiction. I have no intention of profiting off the Embassy Row series in any way. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purposes and would not exist without Ally Carter's wonderful works.

The events that happen in this fanfiction are not meant to be representative of real life. Any similarities to any real-life events or fictional works is purely coincidental and not intentional (with the exception of the original Embassy Row books by Ally Carter since this fanfiction is literally Take the Key and Lock Her Up but from Alexei's, not Grace's, perspective). The character's actions may not always reflect my own opinions or views. Based on what happens or is mentioned in this chapter (spoiler alert), I do not condone financial bribery, child abuse, physical abuse, cyber-hacking into security systems, or poor living conditions for psychiatric patients.

Content warning: moderate
This fanfiction is rated M, for explicit and suggestive themes (such as mental health and abuse), language, and violence. This chapter contains moderate language, financial bribery, poor incarceration conditions, and mentions of physical abuse, child abuse, death, and mental health struggles. Please read at your own discretion.

Chapter Seventeen: Welcome to Binevale

I carefully drove down the dirt road to Binevale, being mindful of all the potholes and the sounds this ancient car was making. It was crazy to think that two months ago, I had been in this country to have a couple days of fun with my friends, looking for a laugh and some harmless answers. Now, I was back in the same country, except on a mission with the potential to go deadly if it failed, headed to the exact same place to get some critical answers, ones that could change the course of mine and Grace's lives.

As I drove, keeping my eyes on the road, I tried not to think about two things. The first was that Grace and I were somewhat, unofficially a thing. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that would happen. The second was that I was alone in a car with her. If we had been two normal teenagers, maybe in America or even Adria, I could have been driving her to a date, to school, or to prom. But normal was far from possible in mine and Grace's lives. I feared that if we didn't make it out of this alive, then I may never have the opportunity to drive her to a date or take her to prom. In a weird way, this, driving to an apocalyptic institution, was almost like a date, a date that could only happen between two people with troubled pasts and even more messed-up minds.

I snuck a peek at Grace. She had been quiet this entire ride, likely lost in her own thoughts. The silence was nice, although it carried the weight of the words that neither of us wanted to say.

Before long, we crested the hill, the familiar chain link fence surrounding the compound coming into view. As we drove down into the valley, the imposing grey cinder block and stone walls of the main building loomed before us, a sign of our impending doom.

I slowed down as I neared the guard station by the gates. Two guards had already left the small stone structure, slowly and cockily walking towards us. The smirks on their faces were unsettling, like they were ready to mess with us, and not in a good way.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, as I gingerly rolled down the window. They were just going to talk to Grace and I. That was all. Nothing to get worked up about.

"Zdravstvujtye," I said in Russian, forcing myself to keep my voice calm and steady. Hello.

"What are you doing here?" The bigger, bulkier guard addressed me in Russian, his tone harsh as his eyes bore a hole through me. This was a country that spoke my language and shared similar cultural customs. Grace wasn't going to be of much help here; this was all on me.

I took a deep breath, saying the words I dreaded the most. "I am here to see my mother."

"Where's your proof?" the guard snapped, holding out his hand. Clearly, he didn't believe my mother was imprisoned here. I glanced at Grace, her thoughts seemingly echoing mine. Was this worth it? I'd have to give my real passport, my black, diplomatic one, and risk having them question me about my identity, even though my name had been cleared. Yet, if I didn't give my real name, the guards would be less likely to believe my mother was here and let us in.

Ultimately, this was Grace's mission and I was just here as moral support. The fact that it just so happened to be my mother who potentially had all the answers made it a little more than nerve-wracking for me. This situation was close to what my own personal hell would constitute, but I would walk through it again and again for Grace if I had to.

"I'm waiting," the guard grunted impatiently. He waved his hand again. Grace nodded at me, all the confirmation I needed. This was it; there was no going back.

I steeled myself, taking a deep breath as I reached into my jeans pocket, pulling out my black diplomatic passport. I placed it into the guard's hand. The two of them stared at it bewildered, clearly never having seen one before. I listened as they argued about its meaning and if I was an important person they should let in. After a moment, they stared at Grace and I, blank looks on their faces.

"There's my proof. Are you going to let us in or not?" I demanded. I didn't have time for their games. The faster we could in, the faster we could get answers and leave.

Unfortunately, they weren't having any of it. One of them snickered, leaning in to rest his elbow in the open window. It took everything in me not to quiver in his proximity.

"Your proof doesn't matter. I'm not letting you in," the guard sneered. I tried to keep my face straight, despite the tinge of defeat running through me. Was this a wasted effort? I was about to tell Grace we were going to leave when I heard some rustling beside me. She pulled a wad of cash out of her pocket, handing it to the guard. He smiled as he stood up and started counting it. I tried to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head as he flipped through bill after bill of Russian rubles. Once he was done, he handed me my passport and waved at the other guards. The gates slowly opened, beckoning us to enter. I shoved my passport back in my pocket before slowly rolling forward.

"Do I want to know how much that just cost us?" I muttered as we passed through the gates.

"Did he believe who you were?"

"He didn't care," I said, speaking the sad, unfortunate truth. In this part of the world, identity didn't matter. It was all about money and bribes, just like the police encounter my first night in Moscow.

I parked the car right by the entrance, the rest of the parking lot completely deserted. Grace and I got out, heading towards the doors. The entire front of the main building, from the steps to the doors, was cold and imposing, not reassuring for what we had hoped to find inside.

I grabbed the door, holding it open for Grace. Yet, she stood just outside the threshold, staring up at the dark, grey sky, lost in another time. I gave her a few moments to herself, knowing how difficult this was going to be for her.

"Gracie?" I gently asked, after she hadn't moved for some time, her face still turned skywards. She blinked, as if coming back to reality.

"I can go alone," I offered. She clearly wasn't ready for this, making it more obvious how hard this was for her.

"No." She firmly shook her head. I looked down, noticing her shaking hands betraying her. I took both of her hands between mine, squeezing her fingers tight, stressing that I was here for her. I looked into her eyes as I brought her tiny fingers to my lips, gently kissing them one at a time before releasing her hands.

"I have you," I said, reminding her that we were in this together and that I would never let her suffer alone. She put on a brave face, smiling as she stepped inside.

"Alexei?" I looked down to find her staring up at me, her eyes big and curious.

"Yes?"

"What did they tell you? When your mother went away."

I looked away, my mind threatening to pull me into the past. I shook my head, trying to stay in the present before the memories overtook me.

Yet, Grace was looking at me expectantly. I put my hand on the small of her back, gently easing her forward, towards our mission and away from my past memories. "They told me men don't cry."

She stopped dead in her tracks, whirling around to face me. Within seconds, her face had hardened, her eyes blazing a raging brown fire. "You were just a kid."

"I am Russian." I stared into her eyes intently, begging her to understand, even though deep down, I knew she never really would. Memories of my father beating me as I cried for my mother in the early days after her disappearance resurfaced, flooding back in full force after being repressed for years. My father hitting me, yelling at me to man up and stop crying, as I cowered in the corner of his bedroom, tears streaming down my face. Mikhail holding me close after, whispering comforting words and drying my tears. The embassy hallways being so full of my mother's spirit but not her physical presence.

Eventually, I had learned my father's ideals of masculinity, manning up and hiding my emotions at all times. As a child, it was the only thing I could do, becoming more and more like my father, anything to take away the beatings and his obvious disapproval of me, anything to become more like the man he so clearly wanted me to be. However, it worked a little too well. Through his harsh words and even more brutal hits, he had beat all the emotions out of me, leaving behind a cold shell of a boy and an icy heart. I didn't know what was worse, the beatings themselves or what they had left behind, a broken boy who had to man up too fast, his heart freezing over much too soon until it barely felt anything for my mother, or anyone at all.

I started down the hall, not wanting to discuss this any further. Grace's words had opened up a long-locked vault. However, now was not the time or place for it. Finding my mother and getting Grace's questions answered was the priority. Working through my own repressed childhood trauma could wait.

Almost as if it was conjured by the dark memories in the depths of my mind, a shadow appeared in the doorway up ahead. A tall, thin man, outfitted in a sleek grey suit, with an even slimmer mustache appeared, a smirk on his face. He looked like a sneaky video game villain who wasn't going to make this easy for us.

Grace instantly stepped closer to me. I put my hand on her arm, pushing her behind me. This guy was bad news and I didn't want her anywhere near him.

"I was told that we had guests," the man said, in lightly accented English. How did he know we spoke English? Surely, he must have had access to the security videos, where I was clearly speaking Russian. This had to be a distraction or intimidation technique.

"We are here to see Karina Volkov," I said firmly, not willing to put up with his bullshit.

The man gave us a condescending smile, like this was all one big joke to him. "I am Viktor Krupin. Welcome to Binevale. I am the director of this facility. It is not often that people drive willingly through our gates." Whatever he was doing as director, it was doing a great job at deterring visitors.

"We would not have come were it not important," I pressed. "My mother is Karina Volkov. I need to see her. Please."

"Oh, I'm afraid we have no patients by that name." Viktor eyed us skeptically. "And we have no patients who receive guests."

"I'm her son," I pleaded, my voice cracking. I had told myself numerous times I was doing this for Grace, but was there a part of me that wanted this for me? This was feeling more and more like the last chance I had to see the person I had known and loved in my childhood. Perhaps seeing her one last time would let me make peace with what had happened, allowing me to close that wound and move on.

Viktor shook his head, looking right at me. "You will not find your mother here." His words hit me like a ton of bricks. Was my mother physically not here? But we had photographic proof that she was.

The childhood nursery rhyme suddenly popped into my head. People were sent to Binevale to disappear, never to be found again. Was my mother physically here but mentally and emotionally, no longer existed as the woman I had known and loved? In an instant, the last flicker of childhood hope I still clung onto promptly extinguished, leaving nothing but darkness and emptiness in its wake. Yet, I quickly shook that thought away, refusing to give up so easily. No, something of the mother I knew had to be here, somewhere.

I pulled out a burner cell, clicking into the photo gallery, where Megan had uploaded the pictures from her camera. I clicked on a cropped picture, where my mother's face was clearly visible in the window.

"This woman," I begged, practically shoving the phone in Viktor's face. "We need to see her."

He just waved the phone aside, shaking his head. "That is impossible." Was this it? My last opportunity to see my mother truly dead and gone? No, it couldn't be. This guy was a massive troll and I had let myself get too caught up in my emotions. I had to do whatever it took to see my mother; the only problem was, I didn't know what else I could do.

"How much?" I looked down at Grace, surprised she had spoken up. After all, this was my home territory, not hers.

"Excuse me?" Viktor sputtered, looking as confused as I felt. If he wasn't so sketchy, I would have believed it was genuine.

"How much to speak to the woman in that picture?" Grace asserted, her voice loud and strong.

"There is no amount of money that would make such a thing possible." Yeah right. Anyone could be bribed if enough money was involved, especially in this side of the world. This guy looked no different.

"Cut the bullshit. I know Karina Volkov is here," I said, low and fast in Russian. "We give you one million rubles. You let us see Karina Volkov and speak to her. Then we leave your property and you'll never see us again. Take it or leave it."

Viktor narrowed his eyes at me. I stared right back at him, my gaze unwavering. Yes, the one million rubles was risky, as I wasn't even sure if we had that much cash between the five of us. But two could play the intimidation game and I wasn't going to back down so easily, not when we were so close.

"Nyet," Viktor said, his eyes turning cold. No. Fine. We could try two million rubles. I was just about to put that offer on the table when Grace spoke up.

"Who is she?"

"Excuse me?" I had no idea what she was trying to do but whatever it was, this had caught Viktor off-guard.

"If that woman isn't Karina Volkov, then who is she?" That was a good question, one that would be hard to lie his way out of, especially with our photo. Clearly, Viktor knew we had gotten him because the look on his face changed, his eyes widening, his mouth hanging open.

"Viktor?" I perked up at the unfamiliar voice. A woman stood in the doorway, her gaze expectantly trained on him.

"If you will excuse me," Viktor said, turning and moving towards her. They conserved in Russian, seemingly arguing about whether or not the woman in the picture was indeed my mother and if we had clearance to see her. Either way, it was hard to tell for sure, with the way the conversation was flowing so fast and the low, hushed tones they spoke with.

After a few moments, Viktor turned back to us, his face unreadable. "It seems I was mistaken. If you will come this way …" He motioned for us to follow him through the doorway, towards a set of stairs.

"Megan?" I whispered to Grace, as we ascended the stairs behind Viktor.

"That's my bet," Grace said. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine Megan sitting in the rental car, furiously typing on her laptop, lines of code running across the screen as she wormed her way into Binevale's computer system, giving us clearance to see my mother. Besides, it would fit with what I had supposedly heard, about us suddenly being granted access to see my mother in their system.

We stopped at the second floor, a stark contrast from the bland exterior, with blinding, harsh, fluorescent lights and a pungent chemical smell. It created the feeling of being in a sterile, silent hospital. The only sounds around us were the echoes of our footsteps resounding throughout the ominous hall.

We paused in front of a set of heavy doors inset with thick, dirty windows, blurred figures barely visible on the other side. I sucked in a breath. This was where the patients lived. These were the people they wanted to keep inside, to make them disappear forever, and now, we were walking right towards them.

Viktor looked through a slot next to the doors, speaking to whoever laid on the other side in Russian. "Buzz us in, will you?"

A moment later, the doors slowly creaked open, like they hadn't been used in ages. Grace and I walked through, following Viktor. Immediately, I was taken aback by the appalling living conditions. There were missing floor tiles and just as many water stains on the ceiling. The windows were caked in grime and crossed with wires, shoddy pieces of cardboard taped over broken panels here and there. On second glance, I was pretty sure I spotted bugs crawling up the walls.

How was anyone supposed to get better here, especially those with mental health issues? But the nursery rhyme popped into my head, a strong reminder of what this place was. People weren't sent here to get better; they were sent here to disappear and rot until their deaths. And in the meantime, they suffered very slowly and painfully, if the intermittent screaming was anything to go by, punctuating the steady drip of water from a cracked pipe in the ceiling. This place was not fit for any human being to live in, regardless of what they had done, especially the beautiful, broken girl who was shaking next to me.

"Gracie?" I asked, concerned not just for her well-being, but for her sanity itself.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice wavering. I turned to get a good look at her, once again seeing right through her.

"I would not blame you if you left. I can ask your questions." Being back here again was clearly bringing back some very painful memories for her. I feared it would trigger another mental breakdown, the last thing we needed to happen.

"No," Grace said, pushing past me. She walked on, until she suddenly stopped in a doorway. I quietly walked up behind her, peering in. It was a small room with nothing but a bed with wrinkled sheets and four sets of leather restraints, two hanging from the headboard, two hanging from the foot of the bed. Was this where the patients were kept, tortured until their inevitable deaths? Was this why Grace was violently trembling in front of me and had suddenly gone pale?

"You are not okay." I grabbed her shoulders, turning her away from the room, so she would no longer be reminded of her own memories of this place, whatever they were.

"I am," Grace said. "I will be."

"You don't have to be strong for me." I was here for her, to be her moral support, to shoulder some of her pain and suffering. She didn't have to be brave if this was too much for her. I knew what she had gone through but also what she was capable of, making her strong in her own way. She looked skeptical but where she was at in this moment was enough for me. She didn't always have to be her best for me, just herself, and that was all I would ever ask of her.

I took her hand in mine, squeezing it tight, reminding her I was there for her. "I have you."

Finally, Grace smiled, her entire face lighting up, a reminder that hope could still exist in this dreary world. We would do this together, forever and always.

We continued down the hall hand-in-hand, trailing behind Viktor.

"It wasn't like this." I looked down at Grace, surprised by her admission. Was she aware she had spoken? She kept her gaze straight ahead, on Viktor, as she continued. "I mean, it was. But nicer. Cleaner." I heard a scream, like someone trying to argue against her. Then again, she was the one who had been in this place and lived to tell the tale. Who was I, or anyone else, to question her?

"It wasn't like this," Grace affirmed. I nodded along, validating her, knowing how much it would have taken out of her to say all this.

When we reached the end of the hall, Viktor paused beside a nondescript door. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it, gesturing for us to go inside.

I stepped in after Grace. The room was sparsely furnished, with a small rectangular table and a few metal folding chairs.

"You may wait here," Viktor said curtly. "I'll go see that she is escorted to this room." He closed the door behind him without another word.

I sat down, taking in my surroundings. Aside from the table and chairs, the room was devoid of furniture. There wasn't even a clock on the wall. There was one singular window, revealing the dark grey sky that matched the paint on the walls. Was this supposed to be some kind of makeshift visiting room, on the very rare occasion they had visitors, like today? Either way, this room looked like it hadn't been used very often, if at all.

Grace and I sat in silence, not daring to speak. After all, what was there to say?

The longer we waited, the more anxious I got. Eventually, I caved and checked the time on the burner cell. It had already been an hour since we arrived. What the hell was going on?

"Maybe she's sleeping," Grace said, breaking the silence that had gradually become more tense. "Or having therapy or something."

"Do you honestly think this place offers therapy?" I retorted. Maybe electroconvulsive therapy but nothing productive like cognitive behavioral therapy or any other type of psychotherapy.

Grace just shrugged. "Well, maybe –"

That was it. I abruptly stood up, not willing to take this any longer. Clearly, my mother wasn't coming and we were wasting our time. "We should go."

"We just got here." Was she seriously going to argue with me now?

"We've been here for more than an hour. Something isn't right. We should leave. Now." The longer we sat here, the more I felt like my mother didn't want to see us or more likely, that they were bugging her before letting her speak to us. The pit in my stomach had only grown as time went on. More and more, it felt like we were sitting ducks, waiting for the trap to be sprung. Clearly, this was a wasted effort, one not worth risking our lives for.

"Something is wrong, Gracie," I continued, trying to make her see my point. I hated disappointing her, knowing we had come so far for nothing but it was becoming more obvious that nothing was going to come out of this. I had to make her see that. "This feels wrong. My gut is telling me … Jamie says to trust your gut."

That seemed to get through to her because Grace stood up, turning towards the door. Suddenly, the door opened and I heard a familiar feminine voice. "Hello, there."

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next chapter will be up between Sept. 17 and Sept. 27. Who do you think is at the door?