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“What else?” one of them replied. “Money.”
Dmitri strained against the hand around his throat again, glaring at his former loyal like he would have ripped their throats out had he not been restrained. They didn’t even blink. They were too accustomed to violence for his threat of it to make them so much as pause.
Money.
She huffed softly, getting the eyes of the men on her. There was a hunger there. Of the predatory kind. What else had the men been promised exactly? Dmitri had sisters. Had they been promised their pick.
Her heart rate was increasing, her palms growing clammy, her thoughts racing.
What could she do?
One of the men approached with plastic wire. She sighed. It was the same kind she’d already been bound with once this evening. Her wrists weren’t as angrily red anymore, but there were bruises lining them and an ache in the joints that made the idea of a repeat unappealing, to say the least.
She looked at Gregor, who met her gaze with a tender smile.
It made her want to gag.
He was such a dickhole.
She reached out her hands, wrists pressed together, giving the stranger easy access to securing the wire around them. He wound it tight, pulling it tighter when he tied a rapid series of knots.
Back to where she started.
Dmitri was roughly tied up as well, his arms behind his back, making him easier to handle. She hoped that she’d somehow find a way to get the upper hand with her arms tied in front of her, but she doubted it. They were already outnumbered and once they entered the house, this part of their predicament was going to get ever worse.
Except…
The men loyal to him were there. All wasn’t entirely lost. Even if their boss did have a gun to his head and would be killed if they didn’t back off.
Was the family safe? Had Misha gotten them out in time?
She was pushed by someone behind her and started walking across the roof to a door, standing open into a stairwell.
This one was narrower; the walls painted a dull grey. She supposed not every square foot of the house was decorated to impress royalty. She was pushed through the doorway, grabbing the railing as she started down. She looked over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Dmitri as he was brought through the doorway as well.
There was only the loud noise of their steps on the stairs. Echoing dully in the tight space. It sounded forlorn. Like ghosts rattling around someplace deserted.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said, getting a smack at the back of her head for the effort.
“Shut your mouth,” Gregor growled.
She did.
They entered the entrance hall through a side door. There were men waiting. Dmitri snarled at them, a soft growl at the back of his throat, his inner dragon most seriously displeased with all of them. Some of them had the decency to look apologetic, one or two even grew fearful. She thought they must have seen what happened to those that cross Dmitri Kuznetsov and she wondered if she wanted to know what it was they cowered from. Part of her did. She felt they all deserved to be afraid of what they were doing to him. Betrayal cut deep, left wounds that were slow to heal if they ever managed to. She wished she could touch him. Let him know she would never do anything like this to him. All she could do was look over her shoulder, try to interpret the look on his face. His eyes met hers and at least she got a small smile.
They were brought into the large parlor with the wounded portrait. Pushed down onto chairs they were made to face Gregor, who took the seat of honor on the luxurious dark-brown leather sofa. He crossed his legs, his pants riding up, showing he wasn’t wearing socks. He’d always had something disheveled about him, she supposed, but that his heart had been this black for the entire time she’d been with him was beyond her comprehension.
“How long did you plan this?” she asked.
He smirked, eyeing her without replying.
So, a long time.
Probably before he ever even met her.
Jesus Christ, was that even possible?
His sandy blonde hair had grown out of his most recent cut and hung lifeless halfway down over his ears. His brown eyes looked muddy rather than comforting, the way she’d thought of them before tonight. His stupid face looked like it needed a good beating. Not that she’d even know where to even start with that. Not really.
