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Chapter 4
“Hide it,” Mischa commands, nodding to the blade. “Now.”
It’s too long to smuggle beneath the dress. Thinking fast, I lean forward and slip it handle-first into one of my new boots. Luckily, the blade is slim enough to avoid slicing into my skin, but the added weight is a chilling burden.
Sitting upright, I stare out the window and avidly study our surroundings. We’re in the country, just beyond civilization, judging from the power lines that span the distance—but near a Winthorp stronghold if Robert was willing to trade for me. That detail should narrow down the potential areas, but in reality, I could be anywhere. The Winthorps owned property all over the world.
It was one of the many reasons I could never dream of leaving Robert.
He would always find me.
“We’re here,” the driver announces.
Here is…nowhere. We’re parked on a dirt road that extends beside a thicket of trees. Only the glow from the headlights casts enough illumination to see by. From what I can tell, there isn’t a building in sight.
In fact, it’s the perfect place to bury a body.
I jump as Mischa muscles open the door on his end and takes my arm. “Come on.”
He shoves me forward, toward a narrow expanse of naked field. An ominous shiver racks my spine as paranoid suspicions fester on my unease. Is this how he’ll do it? Shoot me from behind?
“Hurry up!”
My hesitant, wooden steps are too slow. He gains on me in no time, drawing even with my shoulder.
From the corner of my eye, I see him manipulate an object held between his hands. A gun.
With deft motions, he removes the safety and cocks it. “You’re afraid,” he murmurs when I jump at the sharp noise. “Even better. You may not like to gamble, Little One, but you’ve been playing the wrong game. This is your biggest risk yet. You fuck up and we’re both dead.” His gaze warily sweeps the landscape, searching for anything that might raise alarm.
“Why trust me?” My nerves hum, awakened by his unease. I flex my fingers impatiently. Should I reach for the knife now? “In fact, isn’t your war over now that Robert is—”
“Who said anything about trust?” Mischa wonders before I can decide on an answer to my dilemma. “No, this is about survival. Do you want to die as a worthless pawn,Ellen, or do you want to live?” He tucks the gun into the back pocket of his jeans and comes to a stop a few paces ahead of me. “Make your choice now.”
He lifts his foot and slams the heel over a seemingly random spot in the ground. A spot thatmoves, breaking away from the rest of the earth to reveal a roughly dug hole. A wooden hatch covered it, blending in with the dirt in the dark. Beneath it, a man peers out, a pistol raised. My heart falters as the barrel drifts in my direction before settling squarely over Mischa.
“State your business.”
“I have an appointment,” Mischa retorts without a shred of concern given to the weapon. “Your boss is expecting me, and I’m short on time, so I suggest you take us to him before I give him advice on how to better train his dogs.”
The vicious taunt goes unchallenged by the man. He merely nods toward the ground. “Leave your weapons here.”
With a sigh, Mischa withdraws his gun and places it at his feet.
Unsatisfied, the man in the hatch turns to me. “Weapons.”
“She’s unarmed,” Mischa says. His smug scoff portrays indignation I doubt even Robert could pull off:As if I’d ever arm a bitch. “She’s my accountant. I already cleared her with your boss. Besides, if shewerepacking, the men you have lurking in the woods would have alerted you.”
Mischa cuts his gaze to the swath of trees behind us. Only then do I make out flickering shadows among the underbrush. So we were being watched the entire time. If he knew, then why the blatant show of cocking his own weapon? Looking at him, I can’t tell. His expression reveals nothing.
Sighing, the man in the hatch lowers himself deeper into the hole. “Come in.”
Mischa starts forward, and I creep in his wake. Between his feet, a ladder descends into the hole. At the bottom of what appears to be at least a ten-foot drop, a faint glow betrays a larger space below. Turning to face me, Mischa descends the ladder first. When his head disappears below the earth, I follow, using my uninjured hand to feel for each rung.
“Watch it.” Someone palms my waist when my heel strikes the bottom level: packed earth. Mischa.
I look at him, blinking as my eyes adjust to the surprisingly bright lights strung along a wire hanging along the top of a short tunnel. A few paces ahead, it opens onto a cavernous space cut right into the belly of the Earth. Wooden stakes reinforce the square structure, and near each corner stands a man hefting a large, semi-automatic weapon, like the ones carried by Mischa’s men.
Seated on a metal folding chair is a balding man who’s watching us approach, his arms crossed over his ample stomach. Surrounding him are several wooden crates. Only one has its lid removed, revealing the cargo it contains: black weapons packed into straw.
