Page 115 of Little Blue

“My name is Artyom. I am the second legitimate son of Ivan Popov.” His hands clasp between widely set knees. “Thanks to Ilya Volkov, I am now heir to my father’s empire.”

“I don’t…” I swallow against the burn and croak, “Know what you mean.”

“Ilya killed my brothers. Both of them.”

Sick swirls in my belly. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. There is no clock or window in this room, and I’ve been in and out of sleep. They haven’t fed me or given me water, but I did get a bathroom break some hours ago.

I also know I’ve heard at least two murders. The ease with which these men take lives, snuffing light and stealing souls, is a kind of terrible I can’t describe.

I also can’t seem to push the fear that bubbles just under the surface down.

“You don’t sound upset about that.” I attempt to wet my chapped lips, but my tongue is so dry.

“I’m not. Why would I be?”

Because they were your family.

It’s as though he reads my mind, because he says, “With them gone, I’m entitled to everything. With my father acting the fool that he is, it won’t be long before Ilya has dealt with him for me as well.” Artyom leans in to mock whisper, “I will be a much more capable opponent for Ilya.” His eyes sweep over me again. Again, I feel stripped in a way I very much dislike. “You really are a beautiful little thing, aren’t you?”

He stands, and my insides begin to tremble as he nears. Dark eyes that could be striking if they weren’t filled with so much evil trace my face. “Under the bruises, I bet you’re something else.” He pauses behind me, his hand twisting in my hair to pull my head to the side. He dips low, running his lips over the flesh of my neck. My body weeps with fear. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I can see why he took you for himself.” He stands back again, releasing my hair as he completes a full circle to lower once again into the chair in front of me. “I think I would have done the same in his place.”

When I say nothing—what am I supposed to say?—Artyom leans close again. He smells like spilled cologne. I fight not to cringe away, not that I can, bound as I am to this chair. “Any thoughts?”

“Ilya will come for me.” I don’t know where the bravery comes from.

Artyom laughs. “Oh, yes, he will. In fact, he will be meeting my father tomorrow. You see, my father demanded a trade. You for my father’s daughter.”

I frown. “Who?”

“Her name is Ruby. Ilya has her.”

Dread fills my veins. But if he had a girl, surely, I’d know. “He doesn’t have her.”

“He does.” Artyom shrugs like it’s of little matter to him either way. “My father has demanded he come alone with Ruby. When he does—and he will, because it’s the only way he’ll ever see you again—Ivan will kill him.” Ice fills my veins as my heart breaks in my chest. Shatters. “So, you’re right, he will come for you. And he will die for you.” His eyes drop down the length of my body and he rolls his lip between his teeth. “I’m beginning to think you might be worth it.”

“What happens to me then?”

His voice pitches low. “Right now, my father intends to make money from your pussy. You’d make us good money before you’d be too used, too loose, and we’d have to put you down.” He licks his lips again, unaware how my belly has dropped into my feet. “But I think I might just keep you for myself after all.”

I say nothing. I do nothing, but glare at him. Inside, I’m a loose cannon. A mess. My heart is thumping like a jackhammer, trying to break free.

They are planning to kill Ilya.

He's walking into a trap—for me.

“You said Ilya killed your two brothers?”

“Yes.” Artyom looks surprised by the fact I’m speaking.

“Aren’t you worried that your sister will get caught in the crosshairs of this trap?”

Artyom studies me. “She isn’t my sister. She’s Ivan’s daughter. Quite frankly, I couldn’t give a fuck if she is caught in the crosshairs, as you put it.”

“You want her dead?”

He considers, then he shakes his head. “If she survives, I’ll sell her pussy just like Ivan wants to sell yours. She’s lived a spoiled life, with a kind of affection that me and my brothers never knew from the man we called father.” His grin is spiteful. “He may have been married to our mother, but he loved hers. And he loves her.”

“Are you saying he doesn’t love you?”

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