The second blow came without hesitation, splitting her lip. The third doubled her over and dropped her to her knees. When the brute bent to her to dish out more, she could no longer stand it.
“Stop!” The word tore from her throat. “I’ll cooperate. Just don’t hurt her anymore.”
Kedrov smiled. “I wondered how long it would take.”
Lauren sobbed between pain-filled gasps for air. “Please. Why are you doing this?”
The boss deigned to get his hands dirty. He crouched, his fingers digging into her chin, and turned her face her way.
“Do not beg me.” His gaze shifted to Erica. “Beg her. Your fate is in her hands.”
The numbness that had wrapped around her since the garage, began to crack. Fear poured off Lauren in sheets. And she felt again. Not only Lauren’s pain. Kedrov’s darkness.
Violence clung to him: lives ruined, threats made, deaths ordered without remorse.
It flooded her senses. As did the nausea when he rose and moved toward her. “Don’t touch me,” she said hoarsely.
Kedrov raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because your skin on mine will make me vomit.”
His expression hardened. In a burst of anger, he slapped her. Hard.
The sound rang through the room. Pain exploded, and her eyes watered, but she was too stunned to cry out. She’d never been struck before. Erica touched her burning cheek and dabbed at her lips, checking for blood, lowering her hand when it came away clear.
“That was the truth, not an insult.” Her voice didn’t waver. “I feel what you are, and it disgusts me.”
Actually, that was only partly true. Her skin crawled being in the same room with him. She also felt the sting from his slap, but nothing else. She kept that to herself, though. He needed to believe she did, for Lauren’s sake.
Kedrov didn’t speak or move. He watched her. The air seemed to thin and grow colder, as if the whole room was waiting for his response.
The door opened, letting out some of the tension, like steam from a pressure cooker. But when Erica saw the man who entered, her apathy shattered, rage taking its place.
“Morgan. You murderous, traitorous pig,” she spat.
Before anyone could react, she charged and delivered a kick, hard and precise, to his groin. With the power of her fury behind it, the FBI double agent let out a strangled curse as he folded forward, both hands clutching his groin. His momentum carried him to his knees.
The room went quiet as Morgan wheezed on the floor. It wasn’t justice for Vince—she doubted anything ever would be—but she felt a slim thread of satisfaction seeing him suffer some small bit.
Then the Russian guard chuckled. “Brought low by a tiny woman. FBI not so tough, yes?”
The brute joined him in laughter. “Our friend looks uncomfortable. What did you expect when she charged?”
Morgan snapped, “Shut up.” Face twisted with pain, he still managed to focus on her. “You’ll live to regret that.”
If he thought she’d cower, he would be disappointed. “You deserve a lot more than that for shooting Vince.”
“Enough,” Kedrov snapped.
He walked toward her, stopping inches from her face. Close enough that she could smell his cologne and the putrid scent of evil beneath it.
She leaned away instinctively, her hand covering her nose and mouth. “I swear if you touch me, I’ll puke.”
Kedrov’s eyes narrowed, but he thankfully didn’t strike again.
“You’ll figure a way around your disgust, or your roommate suffers,” he warned. “I will have your talents at my command.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
