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Alexei turns to me, and the hurt behind his eyes is harder to absorb than the slap was. “Is this true?”

“Yes.” I refuse to back down. “But it’s not what you think. I went to the Blue Note to gather intelligence, as you asked. But they’re not planning to come after us. The evidence shows⁠—”

“The evidence,” Mikhail interrupts, “shows that you formed a bond with their fixer, and you returned home with lies designed to convince us they’re no threat.”

“The bond does not compromise my judgment,” I say, speaking only to Alexei. “In our grandparents’ time, this would have been called a political alliance through bonding. The Blue Note Crew mean the Vartanians no ill will. You said they had no reason to be loyal, but now⁠—”

The lights cut out, dropping us into darkness.

A heavy hand grabs my collar, and Uncle Mikhail snarls, “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” The emergency lights flick on, and I look up at them in confusion. “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

He slaps me again, hard enough that the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth. “Don’t lie to me.”

Alexei grabs his arm. “Stop it. We need to see what’s happening.”

With a snarl, Mikhail shoves me away, and I stumble backward until my back hits the wall.

Then the two men sweep out of the room, locking it behind them.

28

The emergency lights bathe everything in a sickly yellow glow.

My cheek throbs where Uncle Mikhail’s palm connected, the heat of it spreading down to my jaw. I test the injury with two fingers, wincing at the tenderness, and swallow the blood in my mouth.

I straighten from where I’d stumbled into the wall, brushing my palms down the front of my jeans. My wrists hurt, too, where they bear thin red marks from the zip ties.

But the marks will fade by morning. They don’t matter.

My head swims, and I want to sit, but the only place to do so is the floor, and I fear that if I go down there, I won’t have the strength to rise again.

The last several days have not been kind to my body. I want to be back at Orien’s apartment, letting my Alpha feed me pancakes in bed, far from this cold place.

I flex my hands to keep them from curling into fists. Men I’ve known for years escorted me here. Men whose faces I’ve seen at family functions, holiday parties, and at the dinner tables.

The humiliation of it cools into a hard stone of anger behind my ribs.

Those same men betrayed my brother’s trust to deliver me into my uncle’s hands.

What would Mikhail have done if Alexei hadn’t arrived so quickly? I’m sure the slaps would have turned to punches. Did he plan to pretend I ignored the order to return and use it as another tool to force my brother’s hand?

Time crawls without windows or clocks. My throat dries out from breathing the stale air, and I knock on the door to see if the guard I’m sure is stationed outside will at least give me some water.

No one answers.

I knock louder. “Hello? Is anyone out there?”

Silence.

Disquieted, I lean closer, listening through the solid wood, but I can’t distinguish anything beyond it.

For a while, I pace, and when I grow tired, I rest a shoulder on the wall.

Time crawls by for what feels like an hour or more before the lock on the door clicks.

I straighten, shifting to the balls of my feet, readying for an attack when the door swings open.