It makes me sick to my stomach knowing it’s my fault.
I scan the room to pick out the soldiers Rurik’s brought with him. Many of them blend together—brawny and hard-faced henchmen who are a dime a dozen—but two stick out among the others.
The first is the blond with ice-chip eyes and the dead twin brother. He and his brother have long been Rurik’s personal guard. From what I understand, his twin was killed months ago by Lochlan Callahan the same night I met Chantal.
…the same night I escaped the cages and the Bratva’s clutches.
He’s out for blood. He must want payback as badly as Rurik and Fedorov do for what was done to his brother.
Then there’s the man who gives me chills even at a glance. The man who’s almost as terrifying as Fedorov. He’s standing off to the side, dressed in black tactical gear, sheets of dark hair falling down to his shoulders. Most of his face is hidden behind a military grade half mask.
Only his brow and eyes are within view. Some of the deadest, emptiest eyes I’ve ever seen.
They call him Koschei—otherwise known as The Deathless—and he’s the most lethal assassin in the city. Maybe in the entire country.
If he’s here, someone’s about to die.
Rurik speaks to him in Russian. Way too fast for me to understand even a word of what he’s said, but it’s obviously an order of some sort.
Koschei nods and then steps back, disappearing into the shadows of the abandoned meatpacking building.
“Do not worry, Myshka,” Rurik says, turning back toward me. He’s spotted the concerned knit of my brows. “You will survive the night. The sovietnik wants his little mouse kept in one piece.”
He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his long fingers.
I instinctively flinch away from his touch. The chain above me rattles.
I hate when men touch me. Most of all when Fedorov and his son do. The only time I’ve felt differently has been when Killian and I?—
“He has missed you,” Rurik goes on, interrupting my thoughts. “We have all missed you, Myshka. The house isn’t the same without our little mouse.”
I turn my face away from him, but he grabs me by the chin and wrenches it back toward him. His grip is callous and forceful, a reminder how little of a choice I have in the grand scheme of things.
“He has been so patient with you,” he hisses in his thick, Russian baritone. “This is how you repay him? You choose to disobey?”
“Where is Eva?” I demand through the gag. The cloth muffles my words, though he understands.
Another rare glimpse of humor flashes across his face. “You can forget about seeing your sister, Myshka. You have been very bad. You will need to atone for what you have done.”
He releases me with a shove that sends me swinging on the hook. The chain clangs as it does. My shoulders ache to the point of discomfort.
I’ve done my damnedest fighting off the onslaught of emotion. I always do, walling myself off as best as I can so not to give them the satisfaction.
At the end of the day, I’m human. It breaks free anyway, a small hoarse cry slipping out.
I’ve squeezed shut my eyes as the past takes hold and transports me back.
The meatpacking facility fades and the past becomes thepresent. Eva’s sweet face materializes as she beams and then tosses her arms around me.
“Nene!” she cries out. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I wrap my arms around her too, hugging her tight and hoping this moment will last. If only this moment could be more than a rare reward from Fedorov.
As time’s gone on, we’ve seen each other less often. It’s become a fleeting opportunity to spend even a couple minutes together.
Eva’s not as frail as she was the last time I saw her. Which possibly means her condition isn’t as debilitating as it once was.
Fedorov swore he’s been taking care of her. Told me if I behave myself, she’ll get the medication and treatments she needed.
