Page 139 of Lethal Obsession

“Bodies can be disposed of. Just make sure hers is one of them.”

The man nods uneasily.

Teresa and Julia. Both condemned to death—because of me.

“Good.” Ivan fastens a zip tie around my wrists so tightly it makes me wince, then glances at his watch as he pushes me into a wooden chair and looms over me.. He’s an older man, in his late forties I would guess, with the dull, implacable stare of someone who long ago became accustomed to carrying out orders rather than giving them.

“Whatever money you want,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, “my father will pay it. There’s no need for any of this.”

“We don’t give a fuck about your money, or your father.” Leaning down to grip the armrests of the wooden chair in meaty hands, he puts his face close enough to mine that I have to actively discipline myself not to recoil. “We’re here for Alexei Petrovsky.”

“I don’t know where he is.” It’s not entirely a lie. I have no idea where the Quantum Drift currently is.

“That doesn’t matter.” Ivan gives me a cold smile. “Alexei Petrovsky is going to come to us, not the other way around. All I need from you, Miss Borovsky, is cooperation.” His smile fades. “In a moment we will walk out the front door and get into a car. You are not going to call for help or attract attention in any way. If you do, your friend here will die instantly.” He nods at Seline, and one of his men grips her roughly as the Spaniard binds her hands as tightly as my own. Her face is pale and terrified.

Ivan glares at her. “And if you think we won’t do it because of your brother,” he snarls, “believe me when I say that Kiril gave us carte blanche to deal with you as we see fit. You had one job to do. And instead of doing it, you betrayed your family.”

“I did not.” Despite her visible fear, Seline stares directly at him, her eyes flashing. “I am not my brother’s slave, to be ordered around like he does you, Ivan. I decide my own fate.” It takes me a moment to realize her French accent has disappeared entirely. She speaks fluent English with an American accent, and a slight southern drawl.

“And how’s that working out for you, bitch?” Ivan laughs without humor. “All your little rebellion achieved is alienating your Duval relatives as well as your Novikov ones. If you’d just given us the information we asked for weeks ago, you’d be back in Paris now with a fat bank account and your mother’s hospital bills in Atlanta paid in full.”

All this time, I think dully, all those readings. Seline appearing in Granada.

All a set-up.

From Seline’s defiant expression and Ivan’s hostility, her role in the plot was clearly against her own wishes.

“Instead, you told lie after lie until we had to bug your phone to get the truth.” Ivan glares at her. “And the truth is that Alexei Petrovsky is fucking obsessed with this bitch, exactly as we suspected.”

He nods contemptuously at me.

“Your lies delayed us by weeks, Seline. And your brother doesn’t like lies or delays. He doesn’t much like you, either. He never has. He likes your mother even less. Which means no more cozy little hospital stay for Mommy—and as soon as we’re somewhere more comfortable, you’re about to get fucked within an inch of your life by every Novikov man in this room, and probably some of the Duvals, too.”

“Cochon!” Seline spits in his face.

“You may as well call me a pig in English now, bitch.” Ivan hits her brutally hard across the face, then wipes her spit off with his sleeve. “The game is up. Your tarot-reading bitch friend is American,” he says, grinning as he turns to me. “For all she likes to put on the Brigitte Bardot act, she didn’t come to France until her brother kicked her and her whore of a mother out of the family home.”

“My father would kill you for those words,” Seline hisses.

He shrugs. “Your father is dead. Your uncle is dead. Now it’s just Kiril. And as you well know, he won’t care if the next time he sees your face it isn’t attached to your body.”

She slumps in the grip of the man holding her, the fight fading from her eyes.

Oh, God.

I’ve seen enough of brutal men to know there’s nothing idle about Ivan’s threats. Clearly, Seline has come to the same grim conclusion.

Ivan glances at his watch again. “Time to go.” He wrenches me to my feet, then wraps a jacket around my shoulders, hiding my zip-tied hands from sight. “Walk.” He pushes me in front of him. I take a deep breath, planning to scream as soon as I hit the pavement.

I never get the chance.

The moment the door opens onto the street, Ivan wraps his arm around my shoulders and turns my body forcefully into his, covering my mouth with his hand. Someone opens a car door, and he puts his back to it, kicks my legs from beneath me, and bodily pulls me backward into the rear seat of a sedan. Seline tumbles in after me, and the door slams closed. It’s done in seconds.

“Go,” Ivan growls, and the car moves away from the curb.

I stare out past Seline, through the tinted window, at the laughing, chattering passersby, none of whom seem to have noticed anything at all amiss. I have a strange, disjointed feeling of living in an alternate reality. My life is shattering into a thousand dangerous pieces, while people are still heading out to have ice cream like nothing has happened.

I know this feeling. I’ve been here before.