Page 64 of Twisted Princess

Gleb gives a curt nod, and his eyes skate back to mine one last time.

It feels like it’s all happening so quickly, and I’m so uncertain about what to do. I’m trying hard to trust Gleb. To believe that everything he’s doing and saying is to protect me and to keep Gabby safe. The lingering fear of being trapped continues to flutter in the back of my mind.

But I don’t want to let it get the best of me.

“Be careful,” I plead, hugging Gabby close.

“Always.”

Gleb’s out the door and slipping down the corridor before it’s even closed behind him. Lev and Denka both offer me nods of greeting, then turn their attention to each other as they discuss something in Russian.

A short conversation and several hand gestures later, they tell me they’re going to start by making a sweep of the building. One will guard the front door while the other does a round.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Without another word, they slip back into the hall, Lev pulling the door closed behind them.

At the last minute, he turns to look back at me. “Bolt this,” he says, pointing toward the solid slab of wood. “And don’t open it unless one of us or Gleb says it’s okay.”

24

GLEB

Sascha’s coordinates bring me to the north side of Manhattan, down by the banks of the Harlem River, where the west side of High Bridge stretches far over my head. It’s a quiet area for a Sunday afternoon. Only the distant sound of city traffic and the rustle of leaves in the occasional breeze disrupt the peace. A few families wander the nearby park, but on the outskirts of the city, it’s far less bustling.

Sascha’s not here yet—as far as I can tell—and I settle into the shadows behind an overgrowth of bushes to wait. The sweet taste of syrup and Mel’s soft lips linger on my tongue, and the sun beats down with a force that could lull me into tranquility.

But this isn’t a day off. I need to be on my guard. So I rest my elbows on my knees and crouch, keeping my stance uncomfortable enough that I won’t accidentally fall asleep.

And as I wait, I replay the events of this morning. Gabby’s giggles as we mixed pancakes. The mess we made that I didn’t mind cleaning. Mel’s soft eyes when she smiled at me. Her laughter filling the kitchen. Those girls bring me a sense of happiness I never dreamed I could find—let alone deserve.

My whole life, I’ve searched for some proof that I’m not just a machine, heartless, cold, only manufactured for war and killing. Pyotr might have shown me the path toward humanity. But Mel’s the first person who truly made me feel something.

And now Gabby?

I never knew a heart had so much room for love. But I adore that girl with every fiber of my being. She makes me want to be worthy of the trust she hands over so freely. And what I wouldn’t give to figure out how to gain Mel’s trust as well.

My chest aches as an image of her rises to my mind—the one right before I left, when she asked me to stay. Her expression was so vulnerable, so lost. Like I’d manufactured some fresh form of betrayal.

Telling Mel no, was pure torture.

Never have I wanted more to give in to her pleas.

But this is Sascha we’re talking about. His life and the success of the mission he’s risking it for depend on me. I can’t let him down. Not even to show Mel how seriously I’m taking our relationship.

Still, the thoughts run in circles around my head. I wonder what state I’ll find her in when I come home. A sliver of anxiety works its way into my gut.

I stew long enough that my toes start to tingle from the lack of circulation. And when I’m in danger of putting them to sleep completely, I rise to pace the sloping grass beside the bridge’s armament. Sascha should be here by now, and the fleeting thought ratchets up my tension. Fears that Sascha got caught and is being tortured flash through my brain. Maybe he’s already been killed.

Slowly, the sun starts to sink toward the horizon, casting a golden glow across the Harlem River and creating long shadows out of High Bridge’s piers. And all I can do is wait. Because contacting my brother if he’s been exposed could be the final nail in his coffin.

“Where the fuck are you, Sascha?” I growl under my breath.

In the swiftly dimming light of sunset, my eyes catch on the silhouette of an approaching figure. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders slouched cockily to make him look more like one of Mikhail’s thugs.

But I would recognize Sascha’s walk anywhere. The effortless balance that carries him across the ground at a prowling amble.

He walks past the black shadows I crouch in without a second glance. But I can tell that he senses me from the way he tilts his head slightly in my direction. He rounds the corner of the armament, vanishing behind it a moment later.

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