Page 24 of Ruthless Reign

Guilt settles in my chest. I don’t know why I feel bad, like I just accused him of being a shitty person. “It doesn’t mean I believe everything I hear,” I say, as if that makes it any better.

His jaw tightens. “Seems like you do.”

“Please, there’s enough shit said about me and my family. Well, except some of those rumors are true, at least where my father is concerned.”

His expression sparks with amusement. “So, you believe I sleep with everyone just once, unless I choose to torture the instead?”

I lift a shoulder, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth. “Like I said, not everyone. I imagine you’re selective, at least about who you torture.”

“I’m glad you think so highly of me.” He strokes his thumb along the cleft in his chin. “You did get one thing right about me.”

“And that is?”

“I do like to kill people. But I don’t care if it’s with my hands or not.”

I blink up at him. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. I thought he’d admit to fucking his way through Moscow, and jealousy was already burning in my veins. But admitting he likes to kill people? I don’t know what to do with that piece of information.

“The only thing I care about is that it’s someone who deserves it. When you work in my world, that’s the case more often than not.” He leans in close and rests his hand on my knee with a possessive squeeze.

Sweet baby Jesus. All my senses laser-focus on the place of contact.

“About the many women I’ve been with, all my conquests…” Under the table, his hand slides up my thigh, stopping just short of the hem of my skirt. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Panting, I look up at him and pray that the flush creeping up my cheeks isn’t too obvious.

He gives me a wink, pushes back in his seat, and saunters to the bar just as Kira comes waltzing through the pub’s door and announces that I need another drink.

That’s certainly not what I need.

I need a cold shower. And a new pair of underwear because this pair is soaked right through.

An hour later, we’re back at the hotel. It’s a big penthouse suite that we all share—for security purposes—but at least we all have our own rooms.

Phone in my hand, I’m pacing my bedroom nervously. I still haven’t heard from Sofiya yet. It’s nearly nine o’clock here, which makes it close to midnight in Moscow.

Lucky for me, Kira wanted to retire early, because I don’t think I could hide my nerves any longer.

I’ve left voice and text messages for Sofiya and there’s been no reply, which is unlike her. Maybe her phone battery died or she fell asleep before checking her messages, or—worst-case scenario—they’ve been in a car accident.

Clutching my phone, I take a deep breath and hit Call on Anatoly's contact.

It goes straight to voicemail. Forcing the words out, I fight to keep my voice steady. "I haven't heard from Sofiya all day. I know you drove her back to school. Please call me back when you get this. I’m worried.”

I dial my mother next.

“Mama, finally!” I say when she picks up after the third ring. “Have you heard from Sofiya yet?”

“What do you mean yet?” she practically yells. The background is filled with the buzz of conversation and music. “Anatoly dropped her off hours ago. Why would I hear from her?”

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What time did they leave the house?”

My mother huffs out a breath of annoyance. “I don’t know. Who keeps track of these things? Anyway, the Petroviches were kind enough to offer us their private box at the opera tonight. I really must be going.”

“Mama!” I cry in exasperation. “I asked Sofiya to call me when she’s back at school, and I haven’t heard a thing. I’m worried something happened to her.”

“She's a teenage girl who hasn't seen her friends in a week. She probably just got caught up chatting and forgot to message you back. You were just like that.”

I wasn’t, but my mother has a selective memory that benefits her.

---