Page 20 of To Hell

I shake my head, lying blatantly because there is no way I will give him the satisfaction of knowing that I’m spinning internally, trying to understand what he said.

“I can list a lot of rules, Zoe, but the most important one is that you do not lie to my face,” he leans forward, and I shrink, my fork slipping out of my sloppy grip. “You do not lie through your words, your eyes or your actions.”

He frightens me. But, somehow, he also makes me want to be protected by him.

“The Pakhan told me about your talent as a seamstress and showed me your sketchbook,” he leans back in his seat, gauging me.

“He showed you my sketchbook,” my eyes shoot up to meet his piercing gaze, and he shrugs slightly, “without my permission?” I know I sound off because they told me I was theirs to do whatever with.

He chuckles at my audacity, “I bought you.”

A simple sentence to remind me that I’m nothing but whatever he asks of me.

Making costumes for the nightclubs was a way to escape the harsh reality I was shuffled into. It was my happy place. They never bothered about my sketchbook as long as I kept making beautiful costumes. In fact, my sketchbook was the only thing they never made me work to earn.

To hear that they showed it to him, I feel invaded differently.

“That was private,” I slam my hand on the table, losing myself for a bit before returning to my senses and shrinking in fear.

He doesn’t flinch. He remains stoic.

He breathes as if bored by my outburst, “I need a suit in one week.”

Is he kidding?

“I’ve got an important event coming up,” he continues, not bothering himself with my lashes fluttering in shock.

“That’s impossible,” I scoff, “I can’t make a suit in one week.”

“I didn’t ask if you can, Zoe,” he clips.

What is wrong with this man? Now I’m making suits at short notice. Is this some kind of test or something?

“But I can’t, I need time to… to… to…” I fumble through words to explain why getting it done within a week is impossible.

“Would you rather go back to stripping?” He leans his elbows on the table and pins his eyes on mine.

“No,” my answer is sharp, and my body quivers at the thought of going back there. “Don’t take me back there,” my panic begins to snake up my spine. Again, I’m being dragged out of that room, hearing the sound of runway music in the distance and knowing I will never have such a dream.

I shake my head vigorously.

I hadn’t known I had this in me until now. I hadn’t known how much damage the Bratva had caused until now. And I have a feeling that the longer I stay away from it, the more damage I will find.

Perhaps irreparable.

“I will try my best,” I inhale a shaky breath, “I will try my best.”

“One week,” he stands, “Not a minute more,” he stomps out.

One week that’ll decide my fate: stay here or return to that nightmare.

All I have to do is make a suit.

“I will try my best,” I grip the edge of the table as the wave of tears hits me.

Chapter Twelve

ZOE

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