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His mouth tightens as if his first instinct is to deny it. Then he shrugs. “You saw something. When Sergei’s muscle came in. Your face changed.”
“What?” I recall the unfamiliar man, picturing him clearly in my head. “I don’t…”
“What?” he demands as I feel my face pale. “What is it?”
“I think…” My blood runs cold as I picture his tattoo. A serpent and cross. I’ve seen it before just once. My eyes widen as I meet Mischa’s intent stare. “I think he’s the man I saw outside of the hotel. When Anna and I escaped.”
“What?” Mischa’s eyebrows furrow. “No, it’s…”
“Insane,” I agree, my voice hoarse. “I must have seen it wrong.”
“No.” He sighs, gritting his teeth. “It’s fucking devious and calculating. No wonder the bastard wasn’t worried.”
He apparently had a man on the inside.
“Do you think he’s working with Robert?” Even as I voice such a suggestion, it sounds too fantastical to consider.
“I don’t know,” Mischa admits. “What was that spiel of yours about hope again? Maybe the raw, honest truth is that there is no such thing. You can delude yourself into thinking as much in a moment of weakness.” He drags a finger along my cheek. “But then you find a knife in your back.”
“Are you trying to warn me?” I ask, though I’m honestly not sure if I’m brave enough to hear the answer.
“Maybe,” he admits. His breath ghosts my lips and I realize just how close he is: towering above me with a hairsbreadth between us. “Or maybe you’ve already realized that.” He nods to my abdomen and the hand I have protectively braced there. “Either way… It’s time for you to play some games my way.”
“Like how?”
His nod beckons for me to follow as he crosses to the other end of the room. Two leather chairs are positioned at opposite corners. Mischa claims one for himself, leaving the other for me.
“Sit,” he commands while he does the same, letting his bulk strain the confines of the leather.
The casualness is all for show, I suspect. When I meet his gaze, it’s honed like a razor, deadly serious.
“So what will we play?” I force myself to ask.
“A history lesson.” He props his elbow on his knee and then perches his chin atop the same hand. “The most dangerous game of all. Navigating a room of murderers and cutthroats—while gaining something from it at the same time. Let’s say that Sergei is a snake, and that he’s planning something…” He clenches his jaw, and his knuckles are white over the armrest from gripping it so tightly. “Then the only way to beat him is to anticipate him. Outmaneuver him. Outsmart him. Do you think you have what it takes?”
I eye him from head to toe, unnerved by what I find now. An unguarded Mischa offering up more secrets.
Forget the knife.Thisis the most dangerous weapon in his arsenal.
Trust.
“Do I? I don’t know,” I admit, supplying an answer before he can. “But I can learn. So teach me.”
“Good.” He smiles and a part of me squirms in anticipation. How strange it feels to finally be included in one of his schemes. “First, a bit of advice. Men like Sergei are patient. They can get inside your head and outwit any plan before you even come up with it. How do you defeat a man like that?”
“How?” In a way, dealing with him has given me the answer. I don’t think Mischa realizes how similar he is to his old mentor. And the few times I’ve ever fought back against him have been born from the same place. “You can’t plan,” I say, frowning.
Mischa raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t interject even though I’ve just contradicted his entire argument. “Oh? How, then.”
I shrug. “You just have to react. Intuitively.”
Like starving yourself out of spite due to an insult.
Or attacking someone, claws drawn, when they expect you to surrender.
Desperation is the only tactic that can’t be outmaneuvered.
“There is no way to outwit someone like that,” I say, meeting Mischa’s probing stare. “You can only retaliate.”
