Page 167 of Cashmere Cruelty

Swallowing, I comply.

This is wrong, a part of me insists.This can’t be happening. This is Petra we’re talking about.

She wouldn’thurtme.

“What’s going on?” I croak. “Why are you…?”

“You should be asking your boyfriend that.”

The words strike me dumb. “Matvey’s not my boyfriend.”

“No?” Petra’s face is a mask of ice and fury. “Then I guess he won’t mind me borrowing you.”

The twins reappear behind Petra’s back. They look torn—like they’d rather be literally anywhere else but here.

“Restrain her,” Petra orders.

The twins obey. “Sorry, April,” Lena murmurs in my ear as she twists my hands behind my back.

“We really don’t have a choice,” Julia adds with her palms on my shoulders.

I realize that I should be struggling. Should be screaming, kicking, begging for mercy.

But Petra saidborrow.However much this may look like an execution?—

She still needs me.

I try to calm myself. Tothink.What would she need me for? A hostage?

Then I notice the way she’s dressed. Even though her face is a mess, her clothes aren’t. In fact, everything on her body screams upper class. She’s not normally this elegant. Tasteful, yes, but never overdressed.

Also, her dress is pure white. Call me old-fashioned, but if I was going to blow someone’s brains out, I’d at least wear black. It goes with everything, remember?

Even blood.

“Where are we going?” I ask with a trembling voice.

Petra’s lips curve into a smirk. “Cleverkoshka.If only Matvey was half as clever as that.”

“What did he do?” I stammer, trying to connect with her. Trying to understand.

“He broke our deal,” Petra hisses. “So now, I’m honoring mine.”

Her gun slides down my cheek like an unwanted kiss. The silencer feels cold against my skin. I try to suppress a shiver, but I fail.

She looks pleased by that: my fear of her. “I told him I wouldn’t harm a petal on his pretty little flower’s crown… as long as he held up his end of the bargain. But he didn’t. He went back on his word. So I have no reason to keep my promise, either.”

“This isn’t you,” I blurt out. It’s pathetic—that even with a literal gun to my head, part of me still believes in her.Wantsto believe in her. “We’re friends… aren’t we?”

Petra bursts out laughing. There isn’t a trace of humor in it: instead, it’s a dark and bitter sound. Cold, like the ice in her eyes. “Friends?Us?”

Her mask falters. The ice cracks. For a single moment, I can see the conflict on her face. I can see a sliver of hope.

And then her expression shutters again. “We were never friends, April.”

Her gun starts trailing downwards: throat, heart, guts. “Petra…”

“Quiet,” she snaps. “Or I’ll find another way to get what I want.”

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