AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I freeze, staring past the gun to its owner. It’s the gorgeous, dark-haired woman who reminds me of Ilarion. Probably because they’re both toting around guns like it’s part of their outfit.
“You’re gonna have to start listening, honey,” she says, her tone anything but sweet. “Or my finger just might slip.”
Something inside me feels like it’s snapped in two. I thought I lived in one kind of world, the kind of world where I went to college and took Mom to chemo and got in spats with my dad that could be resolved at the kitchen table.
Now, though, I’ve realized there’s an alternate world. One where engagement parties end in gunfire, and my sister is engaged to a man who carries around guns and says things like,The Bellasios are here.A world in which my mother is dying or dead and I’m being dragged away in the opposite direction.
The woman has a gun to my face, so my instinct should be to do whatever she asks of me without questioning it. But I don’t cower and I don’t back down. I just stand my ground and look her in the eye.
“My mother just got shot.”
“I know.” This time, I detect a hint of sympathy under that icy tone. “But going back is only going to get you shot right along with her. And my brother isn’t the sort to tolerate insubordination.”
“You’re his sister?”
“Mila Zakharov. Pleasure to meet you. Now, on you go.”
“I’m not moving.”
She cocks her gun. “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to start shooting.”
“Go right ahead.” I grit my teeth. “I won’t just abandon my mother. I won’t just let my family die.”
Maybe Ilarion is right about me: my sense of self-preservation is sadly lacking. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and right now, I’m doing cartwheels back and forth across it.
Mila regards me with reluctant interest. Then, reaching some conclusion she doesn’t seem inclined to share with me, she drops her hand. I can’t help but sigh with relief. As tough as I sounded just now, I felt anything but that.
But then she looks over my shoulder and nods at the man behind me. For a split second, I think she’s telling him to let me go.
Then his hands clamp around my arms, and I realize I’ve lost.
“No!” I cry out. “No, you can’t do this.”
Mila shakes her head and holsters her gun. “When you’re confronted by a stronger enemy, the smartest thing to do is just be quiet and accept your fate. I learned that the hard way. I advise you not to follow in my footsteps.”
“Then you gave up too fast,” I snap. But my words don’t have quite the impact considering I’m being hauled off like—what did Ilarion call me? oh, yeah—cargo.
Mila smiles darkly. “There may be some truth to that.”
There’s a cryptic, haunted quality to her words. But I suggest she take that shit to a psychiatrist, because I’m not the one who’s going to help her unpack her emotional baggage. My mom is out there somewhere, bleeding and alone. I picture blood soaking the edge of her yellow bandana and I want to die.
“Where are you taking me?” I rasp.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Excuse me if I don’t feel safe with you people.”
Mila doesn’t respond to that. She nods once again, and a second later, light hits my peripheral vision. When we emerge on the other side, I realize we’ve wound our way outside the Zakharov House property. A secret passageway—that’s the only way to describe it.
What kind of people have secret passageways in their home?
What kind of people would need one?
“Who are you people?” I ask as I’m set back down on my feet.
“People you don’t want to mess with,” Mila answers without bothering to look at me.
“Someone clearly does.”
