Page 176 of Emerald Malice

But I’m not so far gone that I can’t see what he’s trying to do.

“Don’t feed me sob stories!” I cry out. “If you’re really capable of feeling anything at all, then you would never have thrown Misha into the lion’s den without any regard for his safety!”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyebrows twisting together to form a bridge across his forehead. “Misha?”

“Of course you don’t even remember him. He was the errand boy you sent because he was worthless to you. A pawn you didn’t care about sacrificing. Someone unimportant. Expendable.”

Nikolai’s eyes flare with something: recognition, perhaps?

“You hated the way you were treated; you hated being forced to survive on the streets. But that’s exactly what you’re doing to other women, other children?—”

“Foolish woman!” he seethes, causing my jaw to snap shut. “I’m giving them second chances. New beginnings. Those women and children I sell have nothing and no one. Without me, they’d be roadkill. With me, they can have a purpose.”

“As what?” I scoff in horror. “Some old pervert’s mistress? A punching bag for some rich sadist?”

“It’s a better fate than death on the side of the road.”

“I’d much rather die on the side of the road than be the possession of sick men like you.”

Nikolai stares at me silently for a long time. “He really has done a number on you, hasn’t he?” He slips a hand into his pocket and fear rockets down my spine. If he pulls out that knife, I won’t be able to fight back. I won’t even be able to run.

But he doesn’t pull out a weapon. Instead, I find myself faced with a shiny black smartphone.

“You seem to be under the impression that you’ve picked the hero. Which would make me the monster in your story. I’ve got news for you: Andrey and I… we’re both monsters.”

He raises the camera and snaps a picture of me.

“You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

63

ANDREY

I used to think it was just a horror story for the men in this city to scare children with—The Slaughterhouse.

But it’s real.

The Slaughterhouse is Nikolai’s playroom. The place where human flesh is traded for money and the highest bidder always wins.

I’m in the middle of destroying the furniture in my office when Shura, Efrem, Vaska and Yuri thunder in. “Jesus Christ, Andrey!” Shura exclaims when he sees the carnage. “What the fuck is going on?”

I shove my phone in his face. I know Natalia’s picture is still there, but I can’t bring myself to look at it again.

Not that I need to. Her red, raw wrists and pale face will be in the back of my mind until the day I die.

The texts, too, are imprinted in my mind. I repeat them to myself as Shura’s eyes scan the thread, horror leaching his face of color.

NIKOLAI: I have your pretty little lamb.

NIKOLAI: You have one hour to show your face. Otherwise I’ll have to take the little lamb to The Slaughterhouse.

“Nikolai has her,” Shura breathes.

My men stand to attention. The men I have left, anyway. Anatoly is dead. Olaf is fighting, but the doctors don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.

They died trying to save Natalia.

To honor them, I’ll finish what they started.

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