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The thought made her turn her attention away from the distracting manner in which Dmitri was tying her hair back, raking his fingers through it to detangle it, pulling it into a ponytail without asking her what she’d prefer—leaving it loose or tying it back up again. She disliked that she wasn’t telling him to piss right off, but since it was in her immediate best interest to stay on his good side, she was going to allow it.
“You fuckingasshole,” she instead spat at Gregor.
He at least looked self-conscious at her being able to speak her mind at him. He’d probably thought he’d dump her off and be on his merry way, keeping himself from ever hearing exactly what she thought of his little scheme. Asshole didn’t seem a strong enough word.
“It’s nothing personal,” he tried.
Dmitri had finished with the ponytail, removing his touch but remaining behind her. By the look that crossed Gregor’s face, she assumed Dmitri’s eyes were glowing and the fact that he was this disgusted by Gregor’s behavior gave her hope. Even if he didn’t seem inclined to simply cut her hands and legs free and send her home.
Home.
How far away it seemed in this moment. Those well-known rooms, her beloved kitchen, her claw-foot bathtub. Every nick-nack, book and plant chosen with care. She loved her apartment. Had hated having Gregor living in her space if she was honest with herself. Was she ever going to see it again, or was this it for her? What if she wasn’t reading Dmitri correctly? What if he was a volcano about to erupt and all the magma would be directed at her? She was a problem. Typically, Dmitri and his ilk got rid of problems that appeared unsolvable. Could she offer him a solution?
She supposed it depended entirely on what he wanted: to use her, or disappear her?
“Do you accept her as payment?” Gregor asked.
There was silence from behind her, but it was so thick it felt like a velvet curtain against her back. Finally, Dmitri said, “No.”
“But…”
“You should leave,” Dmitri stopped him. “Now.”
Gregor hesitated, staring over her shoulder, making her want to turn to see whatever expression Dmitri was wearing now. Were there ripples of fire through his veins, telling Gregor exactly what would happen to him if he lingered for much longer? Gregor only hesitated for a handful of seconds before he shuffled over to the door, glancing back at them, but stepping outside, closing the door behind him.
Silence.
And more silence.
She didn’t want to move. It would give Dmitri the upper hand. Better to remain perfectly still, as patient as he was, as calculating. Because he was doing the math right now of what it would mean to keep her alive versus the benefits of having her dead, delivered to her family in a wooden box. How easily could he pin her murder on someone else? Surely, he wouldn’t want to claim it himself. Surely, he wanted to avoid waving that sharp color of red in front of her family. Her father would burn his house down, but he wasn’t the only one who would join the attack. It was too great a risk to take. Surely.
She swallowed, keeping her nerves in check even though anxiety wafted softly through her chest.
“Thank you,” she couldn’t keep herself from getting the conversation going. “For doing my hair.”
The comment was airy enough to not be provocative, but clear enough to tell him she might consider the act of service a marker of submission. She hid her smile poorly at the audacity of poking him, given her current position. She had a feeling he wouldn’t mind it. In fact, she had a feeling, given his treatment of Gregor, that he was on her side. Whatever that might mean. It was enough to give her a sliver of confidence that she wasn’t about to get her throat cut. It was more than she’d expected from him.
He moved to stand in front of her, casually leaning on the edge of his desk, arms crossing, a gleam of interest in his gaze.
That was definitely a promising start.
“So,” he said. “How do we fix this?”
She got the feeling this could still go either way and that she would have to choose her next words very carefully—they would most likely seal her fate.
Her heart was beginning to race.
The danger was clear in the way he was watching her.
She’d already suggested simply letting her go. Repeating that suggestion would get her nothing. She tried to grab at her racing thoughts, daring to claim another few seconds to respond, and finally drew a breath, parting her lips to speak.
Chapter 2 - Dmitri
He waited for her to offer up some way out of their predicament. Simply letting her go was out of the question. There were too many variables, too many ways it could blow up in his face. Added to that was that he didn’t trust her. Had Gregor brought her here by his own volition or was she meant to be a plant? Perhaps the Kumarins had decided to destroy his entire family, not simply drive them out of their hometown, and she was their excuse. Accusing him of kidnapping would do the trick, even if he’d had no hand in her abduction.
Fuck.
Her lips parted, eyes on his, and she answered his previous question of how exactly she proposed they fix their presently volatile circumstances with a quiet, “I don’t know.”
