Page 9 of The Devils' Darling

“Oh, but Kitten, it's your new home.” Using the collar, he shakes me like a rag doll, and my teeth clatter together. “Stop struggling. I really wouldn't want to hurt you, now, would I? After all, this face is so pretty. So perfect. You will make such a good Russian wife.”

“I'm not going to marry your son just because you say so,” I spit back. “And if you think this is the way to make me do it, then you are even more insane than Kirill claims.”

He laughs, and it's as cold and hard as the metal floor of the cage. “How sweet of you. And how naive. You think I bring you all the way here just to make you marry my son? You have made it clear he is not good enough for you. I think you would like the real man, no?”

Oh, my God, he is literally a sociopath.

“You think I'm going to marry you?” I can't help the crazed laugh that escapes my lips. “Do you always use a cage as your favorite proposal tool?”

“No, Kitten, the cage is not for the proposal. The cage is for the breeding.”

His words fill me with a cold, slithering sense of dread. It writhes inside me like a hundred snakes, and I struggle to breathe. It's like I'm choking on filthy mud, but the mud is his words and intentions.

“You will have a choice, of course.” He shrugs casually. “I am a gentleman like this. You can either take me or my son.”

“Your son isn't here,” I point out.

“Not yet, he isn't. We will rectify that mistake.”

What does he mean by that? Is Kirill coming here? A terrible thought occurs to me; what if Kirill knows about this? What if he’s in on this plan? He’d said he wanted to marry me, hadn’t he? Could he be working with his father to get what he wants?

No, I’m sure he wouldn’t do this to me. Kirill has had some crazy moments, but deep down I believe he cares about me. He knows about my epilepsy and how dangerous it is for me to be without my meds. He wouldn’t risk my health like this.

Grigoriy reaches out and catches me by the upper arm. “Come on, Kitten. Back to your cage.”

Then he pauses, and his thumb rubs the inside of my arm. His eyes narrow, his lips thinning with displeasure. For a moment, I’ve got no idea what’s going on, but then he yanks me closer.

“What is this?”

His thumb presses painfully into the spot on the inside of my arm, and it dawns on me that he’s found my contraceptive implant.

“Wh-what?”

“This in your arm. This is an implant, no? To stop you having babies.”

It’s not as though I can deny it. “I’m too young to have children.”

“That is bullshit. You are plenty old enough. You are a grown woman. Now I must deal with this.”

A fresh shot of fear goes through me. What the hell does he mean by ‘deal with this’?

“Come with me.”

He keeps his hand clamped around my arm and drags me toward the stairs that run above the door for the basement. I try to pull back on him, but it’s impossible. His strength is terrifying. It’s as though a giant has hold of me.

I trip and stumble as he pulls me to the second floor, bashing my shins. Tears fill my eyes.

He pulls me into a bathroom and slams the door shut before locking it from the outside.

“Just making sure you don’t try to run again,” he says.

The bathroom is small, and his huge body blocks the way. There’s no way I can get past him. He lets go of my arm and reaches one meaty fist to the mirrored medicine cabinet above the white porcelain sink. He swings the door open, and I catch my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles are beneath my eyes, and my skin is pale. I look like a petrified ghost version of myself.

“Aah, got it,” he says and shuts the cabinet door again.

Pinched between his thumb and forefinger is the sliver of a single-edged razor blade.

He’s going to cut the implant out of my arm.

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