Page 116 of Little Blue

Artyom shrugs. “Does it matter? He’ll soon be dead, and I’ll head the empire I’ve always intended to rule.”

God, the man is a true psychopath. Does he feel anything for anyone?

“What about Boris?”

Artyom’s eyes darken. “My father’s bastard son? He’s one of many. He’ll never be anything but a goon.”

Ivan sure got around. I wonder how many more bastards he has running around. And who is this Ruby they all think Ilya has?

“I’ve been with Ilya for two months. I’ve never met anyone who goes by the name of Ruby.”

“He has her.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Let’s hope he does, for your sake.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” I press.

He stands and walks to the door. “Then off you go to auction. Not even I can afford the pussy my father intends to sell. Not while he’s breathing, anyway.”

His hand is on the doorknob. “If you hate him so much, why don’t you just kill him?”

“Isn’t that just food for thought.”

With those confusing words, he leaves me alone in the windowless room. Again.

Forty-Eight

Irelynn

I’m pulled from sleep by a sound. I fight yet another kink in my neck as I pull my head from my shoulder. The sound comes again, and I realize through foggy awareness that it is the knob rattling. A key in the hole. My heart skips.

Who will it be this time?

What disturbing slice of information am I going to be fed now?

Or am I going to get hit again? Or worse…

God, please… I pray. I’m not strong enough for this.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to fight off the tears that spring to the surface. I’m emotionally drained, and so fucking dehydrated, I can’t imagine how my body has managed to make the tears that threaten to spill even now.

My tongue feels like sandpaper as I peel it from the roof of my mouth. My chapped lips crack even more, spilling a metallic bloom of taste over my tongue as I attempt to wet my lips.

My head lolls, even though I’m desperate to find the strength to keep it upright on my shoulders. I fail, and black combat boots appear, blurry, in my vision. A low, “Fuck,” sounds as big hands grip the sides of my face.

A single tear rolls down my cheek as Boris’ face comes into view.

“I once thought?—”

“Don’t speak.” He grabs for the bottle of water that hangs from the pocket of his cargo pants. He untwists the cap and touches the bottle to my lips. “Drink.”

I drink. And then I cough. Then I drink some more.

My belly is so empty, the cool water settles inside with a pain that makes me whimper.

I cough again, my throat feeling marginally better. I croak, “I wanted so badly to be your friend. Sure, you were a little quiet, but like Luka, I thought of you as a big, safe teddy bear. I thought behind all the hard, there was a soft heart.”

---