Page 4 of Lethal Saint

Ivanov was a social climber, both in London’s upper crust and its underworld. He was nothing compared to the King, my dad, but had a reputation enough that I knew the name. He made his wealth on trafficking and shady business deals if I remembered rightly.

I narrowed my eyes at my uncle, motioning for him to leave the room and giving Seb Castor a passing glance. “Then who’s the girl?”

“That’s the thing.” My uncle fucking bounced like an excited child. “No one knows. It’s a huge mystery.”

My mood soured further, but I wanted that file. I never wanted to find my friend bleeding out from a fatal wound ever again. Getting her revenge and justice was the least I could do. Our parents were business partners before Dad realised the twisted shit Henrik was up to and shut it down. The Marshall family was right in the thick of it.

So I went home to change my clothes, grab my best friend, and then against my better judgement—and my wishes—I followed my asshole uncle to Ivanov Manor.

I brought a gun, though. I wasn’t fucking stupid.

CHAPTER 3

VASILISA

Ididn’t really need training for tonight. The rules were the same as the last ten years of my life:

Keep your mouth shut

Keep your eyes on the floor

Do whatever you’re told.

I locked my body, not allowing a tremor to shake me when Dad opened the door of the dressing room and the hum of voices in the huge gilded ballroom died away to silence. Oh, god. There were more than fifty people here. Double that, at least. Chills of warning raised goosebumps on my body as the crowd of dark-clad, weapon-bearing men parted to let my dad pass. I didn’t allow myself to react as hands trailed over me, arrogant or reckless as they risked both my father’s wrath and Olivier’s for touching me.

The trail they left on my body burned, but I didn’t dare look at any of them.

I only made it ten steps before the whispers started, before people began to recognise me, and I couldn’t stop the hitch in my breath when I realised there were women’s voices as well as men’s in the ballroom. Evil could live anywhere, in anybody. I’d learned that years ago, but it still hit me like a physical blow that a woman would stand and watch this happen. That they’d enjoy the show.

Vasilisa,someone whispered, and my name spread like wildfire.

Little Vasya.

His daughter.

They hadn’t known, then. Dad must have kept my identity between him, Olivier, and my fiancée. I didn’t even want to think his name. My skin bloomed with ice cold fear. My breathing grew thin. He wasn’t here, right? Would he be in the crowd, watching to see how his future wife performed? Not that my job was to perform. I wasn’t a porn star; it didn’t matter if I moaned, begged for more, or pretended to like it. Today was simply about my virginity and taking it from me.

Unless OlivierdemandedI like it; Dad made it clear that I was to do whatever the man told me to. He’d paid for it, after all. Twenty-five thousand pounds.

I fought hard to stop my hands shaking when I spotted the platform that had been built in the middle of the room, like a circular dais where a throne would stand and a queen would sit. Except there was no throne, only a bed, and I was a virgin, not a queen. It had no covers, no pillows, no frills or lace like my bed upstairs.

Tonight, I’d have to go up to that bed knowing, remembering, reliving everything that happened two floors below.

My skin crawled as another hand glided over my hip, the wide palm hot and clammy. Another squeezed my ass, like their cost of admission included groping me. Knowing Dad, maybe it did. I knew he noticed their touches, and knew he pretended not to.

The whispers grew until they buzzed around me, striking my bare skin like bee stings.

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