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Chapter 23
“Wake up.”
Someone shakes me roughly by the shoulders until I peel my eyes open. Mischa. He stares down on me, his face partially bathed in shadow.
“Come,” he grunts, jerking his chin toward the open door of the van. “We need to move.”
He reaches past me and gingerly grabs the girl, drawing her into his arms. Hunched over her pale body, he slips out of the van and into the night. I follow him warily, waving my hand to feel through the dark as my eyes adjust.
We’ve reached another deserted house, but this one isn’t quite as desolate as the previous shack. Made of stone, it towers above, its silhouette illuminated by a row of windows on the bottom floor, ablaze with orange light.
We don’t walk far before Mischa ushers me through a wooden door and slams it behind us.
“Vanya!” he shouts, barging past me, down a narrow hall that opens onto a wide entryway dominated by a circular staircase. “Vanya! Where the fuck are you—”
“Here!” The steps rattle as Vanya descends them. Then he stops halfway. “The doctor is ready. Bring her up.”
They dash to the upper level and I’m alone. Literally. None of Mischa’s men are lurking in the visible corners. I doubt there’s anyone guarding the door we just entered from. If I wanted…
No. I shake my head, inhaling sharply. Ishouldwant to—leave. Run. Escape Mischa, and forget Robert. I’d try to make it on my own, far from the whims of spiteful men and their petty wars. I’d be free—
A high-pitched whine cuts the air and my body goes rigid. A scream? Before I even register moving, I’m halfway up the stairs, clinging to a rickety banister for balance.
This home is more spacious than the last. A long hallway stretches in a half-circle with numerous doors branching off of it. The door to one has been left open, revealing the chaotic scene within.
Mischa and Vanya have the blond girl pinned to a wide bed, one at each of her shoulders, while another figure hovers above her, a metal instrument glinting in his grasp. My heart lurches to my throat, and I start forward, unsure of whether to help or do nothing.
Her chest is bare and a circular gash in her shoulder stands out in stark contrast to her frail, pale skin.
“Keep her still,” Mischa barks as the man I assume to be the doctor lowers a blade to the girl’s wound. “Keep her—fuck! You!” His eyes lock onto me and narrow. “Don’t just stand there. Do something!”
I jolt forward and grasp the only part of the girl within my reach. Her hand. I squeeze it as I sink to my knees beside the mattress and focus on her face. Sweat glistens on her forehead, and her eyes dart aimlessly around the room, the lids fluttering.
“It’s all right,” I tell her as the men continue to shout and clamor around us. “You’ll be okay. It’s all right.”
Her eyes meet mine, wide and watering. She doesn’t speak—not a single word—but I keep talking for the both of us, long after her eyes finally close.
“It’s all right…”
* * *
Hours later, the doctor leaves and Mischa lifts the girl from the bloodied sheets. A square bandage on her shoulder is the only clue as to the wound lurking beneath, freshly cleaned of any shrapnel. She’s unconscious, but her breathing is easier and Mischa takes care with her limp limbs, ensuring that her head is supported with every step he takes.
In the end, he doesn’t go far, carrying her to the next room over. This one is smaller, containing a narrow bed with clean sheets. Drawing them back with one hand, he sets her down and covers her gently. Too gently.
Aware of me watching, he stiffens as he returns to his full height. “Have you grown tired of hiding your role as a spy for your husband?” he wonders coldly. “Good. Your boldness will make it easier to hunt you down when you finally go crawling back—”
“I told you before. I could have left.” I sound so tired. The statement hanging in the air could refer to the weather for all the emotion it contains. Still, I sigh and give him a half-hearted performance of the show he seems to crave. “But if you want to lash out, I’ll give you a reason. Why are you so afraid to let me see that you care about her?” I nod to the girl.
“My investment, you mean?” he counters, gesturing to her body with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure she’ll fetch a good price on the black mark—”
“Enough!” I reach up, raking my fingers through my hair as if to arrange my thoughts before he can knock them off track—which seems to be his only goal.
Unnerving me.
Inhaling deeply, I meet his gaze and suppress a shiver that racks my spine. “So the monster has a soft spot for children,” I say, my voice devoid of any mocking innuendo. “Why are you so against letting me see that?”
“See what?” He steps in close. His chest jars mine, knocking me off balance. When I step back, he advances, herding me into the hall. “Don’t let your naïve little hopes deceive you, Rose—”
