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He pauses but doesn’t seem to expect an answer.
“I’m going to make you beg for it though,” he muses, running his fingers along my scalp. “I’ll make you beg… And we have all the time in the goddamn world. I intend to make use of every fucking second.”
His threats shouldn’t feel like a welcome reprieve. His grated, malicious tone shouldn’t be enough to drive Sergei and his ultimatum away.
Violent lust shouldn’t be a comfort.
But it is.
* * *
Iwake up alone, splayed out on the floor with a musty pillow shoved beneath my head and a threadbare blanket draped over me. Chaos resonates from the hall, presumably what drew me awake. An attack?
My ears strain in an attempt to decipher the stomping footsteps and raised voices.
“Who said you could get out of bed?” Mischa’s voice reaches me from beyond the door—but I’m not his victim for once. And he sounds different now from the harsh growl I’m used to. Almost…playful?
“Fine,” he snaps. “You think you can handle it? Go get dressed.”
Curious, I climb to my feet, bracing myself against the bedframe for balance. My dress is a crumpled heap tossed in a corner. Creeping toward it, I drag it on and advance to the door. Before I can reach for the knob, it’s opened from the outside.
The intruder grunts, startled by the sight of me standing here.
He’s changed into a fresh set of fatigues. In the shadows of the hall, his eyes gleam, flicking over me in a callous swipe. My chest constricts as I brace for an insult. Or maybe a cruel reminder of the night before?
Instead, he inclines his head and then advances down the hall, leaving me to follow. Seconds pass as I contemplate whether or not I should.
Playing with him is a dangerous game of hide-and-seek. My soul is the prize, and he’s ruthless in his pursuit. Just when I think I’ve found a safe place, he pounces from the shadows, eager to rip me to shreds.
“Are you coming?” he wonders from the bottom of the stairs.
Only when someone whizzes past do I realize he wasn’t speaking to me.
Mouse skips toward him, her hair in disarray. Wearing an oversized gray shirt as a makeshift dress, she looks younger than ever. The only clue of her injury is a slight stiffness in her left shoulder as she bounds down the stairs.
“Let’s play a game,” Mischa proposes when she appears at his side. His voice is louder than it needs to be. For my benefit, I suspect. He relishes in the fact that I’m spying. “How not to get shot or killed if we’re attacked. You have five seconds to run and hide.” He cocks his head and makes a shooing motion with his hand. “One… Two…”
Mouse takes off through the front door, navigating awkwardly over the uneven terrain beyond it.
“Don’t go beyond the clearing,” Mischa warns.
But three seconds later, he still hasn’t followed after her.
Only when I’m halfway down the staircase does he finally jolt into motion and stroll into the pale dawn. God knows why I follow him.
It’s cold out and my thin, filthy dress is no match. Mouse must be freezing as well, though Mischa doesn’t seem bothered by the chill. His shoulders are set with determination—he’s a man on a mission, apparently.
Paces away from him, I can no longer stay silent. “This is a cruel idea of a game.”
“Can you think of a better way for her to learn?” he counters. “Or should she just cower in a corner the next time your husband’s men come knocking?”
He looks over his shoulder, revealing the anger smoldering in his gaze. Maybe a hint of blame lurks there as well. I caused this.
Swallowing hard, I turn away from him and find myself eyeing the wooded clearing surrounding the safe house. The stone cottage might have been a family home once. A secluded haven possessing a flower patch, a small yard, and a rickety shed.
But now? It’s a makeshift fort in a two-man war.
“Is it even safe to be out here?” I ask. “I don’t see your men.”
