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After everything we’ve been through, I need him to fight for me.
Give me another miracle, Clara.
And for a moment, I believe she does. For the length of one endless second, I’m so sure that he’s going to see the war in my eyes, sayTo hell with this indecision,and lunge forward to take me in his arms and show me that everything is going to be okay from now on.
But when I see the darkness creep into Misha’s eyes, I know there won’t be a miracle for us tonight. He gives me only a curt nod and walks out of the room.
Without him in it, it’s never felt emptier.
I sigh and my shoulders slump. I guess some miracles are too big to ask for.
106
MISHA
“So you’re saying you really don’t know what Petyr’s plans are?” I ask conversationally.
It’s been a few hours, and I’m tempted to believe the man Konstantin brought to me in the wake of the Ivanov Vors meeting. If he didn’t crack after I beat him bloody or after I tasered him into unconsciousness then waterboarded him back to reality, then maybe he really doesn’t know a thing.
He’s been awake for almost an hour now. Still, nothing.
“L-listen…” the man pants, breathless even though he hasn’t moved in several long minutes. “I d-don’t fuckin’ know nothin’, okay? I’m just—”
“You’re just his right hand. His fucking Vor,” I snarl. “Lying is not going to help you now, Fedor. You know where the bodies are buried, quite literally. Now is the time to talk.”
“Why should I?” he hisses, spit flying from his bloody mouth. “You’ll kill me anyway.”
“Almost certainly. But at least if you give me what I need, I’ll make it quick and painless.”
“Fuck you.”
I answer by punching him in the stomach. One or two ribs crack like popsicle sticks. He sucks in a breath and then coughs up more blood.
“Listen to me carefully, motherfucker. We have your brother in the cell next door. If he beats you to the punch and gives us the information you’re refusing to yield, you’re less than worthless to me. Think about that.”
I walk out of the tiny cell and close the door. A second later, I hear a prolonged scream forming from the door that Konstantin is behind.
When my cousin comes out, he’s wiping his bloody knuckles with a damp towel. Judging by the resigned look on his face, he hasn’t been successful, either.
“Well?” he asks.
“He’s not talking yet.”
“These are stubborn fuckers,” he complains. “They’re not going to crack easy.”
“Then we pit them against one another. We’ll see if that doesn’t do the trick.”
“Do you really think it’ll work?”
“No,” I admit. “But it’s been nice to punch something. I needed the release.”
Paige refused to let me burn off steam with her earlier tonight. I can still feel her thighs in my hands. I can taste her salty sweetness on my tongue.
I clench my fists and shove the images away. Paige isn’t an option. Which is why I’m down in the dungeon pounding on flesh and bone instead of doing what I really want: burying myself inside of her and forgetting the rest of the world.
Konstantin raises his eyebrows at my dark expression. “Therapy might be more effective.”
“No therapist on earth would survive.”
