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I shift my gaze over his shoulder at the padded red wall. “Actually, yes. Do you have a knife on you?”
“Why? Do you wish to cut out my heart yourself?”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe later. Right now, you need to give me the damn knife and trust me.”
Pulling away, he folds his arms across his chest. “Give me one good reason, Zasha Gaheris.”
I cringe at the contempt he shoves into my name. Rejection sucks, but this is not about ego; this is about survival.
And two can play the name-shame game.
“Because I’m your only hope of making it out of here with your balls attached, Mikhail Drozdov.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MIKHAIL
Fifty-eight minutes.
That’s all I needed. If Minx’s text had come through one second before walking into that VIP room, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I wouldn’t have crossed a line I can never take back.
Ava was determined to save Zasha’s soul, despite the depraved world she was born into. That determination included twisting a Catholic rite of faith into an unrecognizable shield.
A godfather with bloodstained hands and a black heart.
Initially, when Niko asked me to assume the role, I declined. I had nothing to offer the child but danger, blood, and sacrifice.
However, no one refuses Niko Gaheris.
Twenty-one years ago, I promised to protect my friend’s daughter.
And now instead of defending her, I’ve defiled her.
I hand over my dagger, watching as Zasha holds my blade like a skilled warrior and slashes a diagonal line into the padded wall. The next twenty seconds are nothing but a blur. After ripping the severed plastic wide open, she plunges her hand inside and digs through the destroyed padding.
My pulse drums in my ear as the angry voices in the hallway draw closer. “Any day now.”
She snaps those cunning eyes over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, would you like to do this?”
“Zasha…”
“Because if they open that door first”—she waves the knife across the room, pointing the tip at the door—“I’ll just rot in captivity. You’ll rot in the ground.”
I scrub my hand down my face. “Do it.”
Pulling a small silver key out of the wall, she jams it onto an even smaller vertical slit in the dead center. With a turn of her hand, the whole wall separates from the rest of the room.
“A secret door?”
“My grandfather was into some twisted shit, Mik. Hidden exits kept him alive far longer than they should’ve. Heads up.” Two words are my only warning before she flicks her wrist, tossing my dagger back to me. I catch the handle, unnerved at our fluidity. She clamps her hands around the edge of the dislodged wall and pries it open. “Well? Are you just going to stand there? Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I clear the room in three steps. Crowding in behind her, I follow her down a dark and narrow hallway I have to nearly fold myself in half to clear. Just as my body starts to protest the twisted, unnatural position, we arrive at a dead end.
We’re trapped like rats.
“Lisichka…”
“Shhh,” Zasha whispers, running her palm along the wall in front of us. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she inserts the key into another invisible lock, then glances at me over her shoulder. “Your turn, Iceman. Heave-ho.”
