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Zenya. If I pass out, what if someone hurts Zenya?
I stagger onto one knee and struggle to hold on to consciousness. If anything happens to me, Zenya and the baby are in trouble.
I fight it as long as I can, but I’m hit a second time.
My knees buckle. I hit the ground, and the world goes black.
* * *
I wakeup with a pounding head and it’s difficult to breathe.
I can’t see.
Am I blind?
I blink several times and realize that my eyes are gummed together. It must be coagulated blood gluing my eyes shut, and I tilt my head and drag my face across my shoulder.
That unsticks my eyelids and I can finally take a look around. I’m bound to a chair, the ropes brutally tight across my chest. The room is dimly lit, but as my eyes adjust, I can make out the floor. The ceiling.
A man in front of me perched on a table.
A big man with tawny, tangled hair and tattoos on his biceps. His arms are folded loosely as he grins at me like he’s warmly greeting an old friend. “Kristian. It’s been ages since we talked.”
“Lenkov?” I say, and the sound of my own voice sends splinters of pain through my skull. Sergei Lenkov, the arms dealer. The last time I saw him, I was giving him a death glare at Yuri’s party for smiling at Zenya.
Is that what this is about?
I pin him with a glare, fury racing through my body. “You can’t have her. She’s mine.”
Sergei tips back his head and laughs. “Zenya? Your pregnant little uncle-fucker? You couldn’t pay me to marry that slut.” He enunciates every word with delight.
My eyes narrow and my jaw clenches. He’ll pay for those insults. Maybe I’m the one tied to a chair right now, but he’s the one who’ll die screaming. I quickly glance around the room. There are no windows, so I expect we’re in a basement. Probably the basement of Lenkov’s own house.
“Besides, I’ve got someone else,” he says slyly.
“Congratulations,” I seethe, tugging at my bonds to test how tight they are. I’m not getting loose anytime soon, and I huff in anger and glare at him. “Well? What do you want? Money? Get on with your threats and demands, I’ve got shit to do.”
“Me?” Sergei asks with a grin, pointing at his chest. “Not me. Her.”
Someone strides forward out of the shadows behind Lenkov. A woman with honey blonde hair, pinched cheeks, and dark eyeliner smudged like she’s been rubbing at her face. Her fists are clenched at her sides like she’s this close to snapping, and she clutches a knife, which trembles in her grip.
I frown as I recognize her. Eleanor?
What the fuck is Chessa’s sister doing here?
I glance from her pale, furious face to Lenkov’s grinning one. I couldn’t pick two people less likely to be working together in the whole city. Less likely to evenknoweach other. A vicious arms dealer and Chessa’s legally employed and totally unremarkable sister.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, my eyes narrowing at Eleanor.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” Eleanor seethes. “I wouldn’t have had to do anything if you hadn’t come back.”
I keep my mouth closed but my thoughts are racing. I’ve messed up Eleanor’s plans by rejoining the Belyaev family, apparently, but I can’t fathom what plans Eleanor can have that involve me. Her priorities have always been her nephews and nieces and seeing that they have someone to keep Chessa’s memory alive. That’s what she wants, and I’m not stopping her.
“But no,” Eleanor continues. “Back comes Kristian with his smirks and his threats and his chaos, only this time he doesn’t flame out and ruin everything for himself. He makes Zenya and Troian happy.”
“You don’t want me to make Zenya and Troian happy?” I ask slowly, beginning to get an inkling of where this is going and not liking it one bit.
Eleanor starts slapping the blade of the knife against her thigh she’s so agitated. If she’s not careful she’s going to cut herself. “Those people deserve to suffer hell on earth for what they did to my sister, and they’ll get there soon. That’s a matter for another day, but what I want right here and right now from you before I kill you is to admit that you murdered Chessa.”
