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"Don't make a sound," a low voice growls. Mikhail. Oh god.
He drags me into the shadows by the bathrooms. I struggle wildly, but he holds the knife tighter, nicking my skin.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." His breath is hot on my ear. "Unless you want me to slit that pretty little throat."
I go still, heart hammering against my ribs.
Mikhail spins me to face him, eyes narrowed. "I know it's you. Are you doing the killing on your own or is it Daddy Dearest paying someone?" He asks.
Killing? He thinks I...?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I gasp.
He presses the knife harder, and blood trickles down my neck. "Don't play dumb. Three bodies in two weeks? The three guys that were with us that night?"
My mind reels. He thinks I killed Boris and the others? Is he the one who left those messages on my door? It must be him!
I force a sarcastic laugh. "You really think I'd ever tell my father anything? Let alone ask for his help? Don't be stupid."
Mikhail's eyes blaze. "You little–" He cuts off, mouth twisting. Then he grabs my arm, yanking me toward the street. "We're going on a field trip."
I struggle against him. "Get off me!"
He slams me into a parked car. "Shut up and get in."
Soon, we're speeding towards Dimitri's frat house. Mikhail drags me inside and down the creaking steps to the dark basement, and my cries echo off the concrete walls.
He shoves me down onto a sagging, stained couch. I scramble back against the arm as he looms over me.
"Please," I beg hoarsely. "I don't know anything about those murders."
Mikhail sneers. "Save it. I will get the truth out of you." He leans in close, twisting my hair around his fist. "Maybe I'll have my own fun first. A dirty little tease like you would enjoy that, wouldn't you?"
Revulsion sweeps through me. "Go to hell," I spit.
His hand connects with my cheek in a burst of pain.
I slump back, head spinning. Blood drips from my swelling lip. Still, defiance rises in me.
"You want the truth?" My voice wavers with false bravado. "I wish I had killed them. I wish I was the one who slit their throats. They deserved it for everything they did. I'm glad they're dead."
Mikhail's face contorts in rage. He raises his fist again and hits me.
I crumple to the ground, my hands instinctively curling around my belly as if to shield the fragile life growing inside me. Pain explodes across my face again, and I taste blood in my mouth. I cry out, tears streaming down my face. Please save me. Please.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DIMITRI
Isit in the back of my business management lecture, absentmindedly tapping my pen against my notebook. My mind is focused on Sara - I haven't heard from her all morning, which is unusual. I resist the urge to text her again, not wanting to seem overbearing.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance up to make sure the professor isn't looking before sliding it out to check the notification. It's a text from Ivan that makes my blood run cold: Just saw Mikhail come into the house holding Sara with a knife to her throat. Did you fucking order this?
I freeze, rereading the message in disbelief.
What the hell is Mikhail doing with Sara? I didn't order anything - I would never put her in danger like that. Not ever again. A knot of anger twists in my gut.
I gather my things hastily, not caring that the lecture isn't over. I text Ivan back as I stride out of the hall, I didn't order anything. Get a gun and lock them in if you have to, but don't let Mikhail see you unless he actually threatens Sara's life. I'm on my way. I'll deal with this myself.
