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“Where is he?” I ask, not moving another inch.
“He’s—” The man cocks his head and suddenly steps farther into the hall. Something about the way he moves makes me creep to the threshold to watch him. He’s stiff, marching past another man who rounds the corner. This figure passes me with no interest.
I clench my teeth, uneasy. Is Mischa up to yet another mind game? If he is, I should just retreat to my room. Wait. Hide.
My heart pounds in horror as I enter the hall instead. The unfamiliar man is already halfway to the grand staircase. I presume he’ll be descending the steps, but I don’t find him in the main entryway. I continue down the hall anyway, toward the dining room. Paces away from the doorway, I hear Mischa.
“Come here.”
His irritated tone spurs me closer, but I pause just before entering the room.
“I thought I told you to stay out of here? Don’t give me that look,” he scolds in a tone so sharp that I flinch. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep playing with those. Huh? You want to learn to use one?”
I strain my ears, but I don’t hear anyone respond.
“I don’t think you’re ready,” Mischa replies to silence.
Is the man truly insane? I inch closer and make out his shape hunched over a glass table in the center of a wide room. In one of his hands is a large knife, which he wields effortlessly.
He tosses it by the handle and catches it, avoiding the blade. “These aren’t toys.”
Beside him, barely coming to his waist, stands a tiny figure with wild, blond hair spilling over her shoulders. The girl Nicolai wanted used as a drug mule. She watches Mischa intently, and when he catches the knife again, she points to his hand.
“What?” He hefts the blade for her to see more clearly. “You want to try holding it? I don’t know… Can I trust you not to cut your damn fingers off?” He laughs and I’m left reeling. Deep and booming, it sounds real.
Insistent, the girl points again.
With a sigh Mischa crouches down to her level and snatches one of her hands. “All right. Hold it like this. Not too tight, but not too loose, either. You drop this and you won’t just lose a toe or two, but your whole foot. Understood?”
The girl nods as Mischa adjusts her grip on the blade.
“Now, move your feet. Always brace. Don’t think that if you stab something the knife will just go through like paper. You always need force.” He makes her sharply jab the tip of the blade into the air and his lips quirk into a satisfied grin. “Like that. Not that you’re ready for something like this any time soon.”
He stands and takes the knife, returning it to what I realize isn’t a table, but a glass case.
“Someone your size needs something smaller,” he explains. “I’ll see if I can find something later. For now, stay out of this room, got it?” There’s no mistaking the authority in his tone, but it’s so much softer than I’m used to. He ruffles the girl’s hair and she playfully swats him off. “You took the braids out again, I see,” he scolds. “As much as you play in the fucking dirt, you keep it clean. If you catch lice, I’ll make you sleep with the rest of the stray dogs. Got it?”
The girl’s expression conveys something that makes him laugh again.
“Fine. Come here.” He sits on an armchair in the corner of the room, and the girl sits on the floor in front of him. Sighing, Mischa smooths back her tangled hair and braids it into a single plait. There’s an ease to his movements; he’s done this before. “There.” He shoos her off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t mess it up again. Same goes with the clothes. They belonged to someone special, so don’t even think about getting them muddy again.”
He bares his teeth, but I marvel at the lack of true anger in his voice. Were he any other man, I’d describe his tone asplayfuleven. The girl just grins, scurrying in my direction. Suddenly, her mouth falls flat as she spots my hiding place. She glances back at Mischa but continues down the opposite end of the hall without alerting him.
Alone, I stare, watching him.
He has his face in his hands. In the dim light of the room, his hair gleams, ghosting his shoulders. Like this, it’s almost too easy to forget who he is. What he is capable of.
But then he shifts, raising his head and fixating those piercing eyes toward the doorway.
“I gave you permission to scurry around once,” he murmurs to the silence. “But I don’t remember doing so twice.”
Caught, I shuffle forward, entering the room fully. “You called for me,” I point out, hating how breathless I sound. Air sticks stubbornly in my lungs, making it a struggle to even form words at all.
“Did I?” He beckons me with a crooked finger and stands. As I near, he grabs my forearm, pulling me even closer. “Now why would I do that?”
His gaze is narrowed. Thoughtful. Alarming. He eyes me the way Robert used to inspect his shooting targets. He’d load his gun, lazily deciding where to aim first.
“To sell me again, maybe?” I gauge his reaction with every word, but he’s careful to reveal nothing behind his mocking smile. “To Robert Sr.?”
