Page 81 of Merciless Queen

“Wouldn’t ask for that. I’d just take it.” She scans the property, hinting at how easy it’d be for her to run away.

Then why haven’t you?I don’t dare ask that aloud. Miss Volkov’s playing the slow game, same as me, and I won’t give her the idea, even though I’m one hundred percent positive it’s already crossed through her pretty head.

Without waiting for another prompt, she leans back on her heels, peers down at me and asks, “Why did you wait two years before coming after me?”

Out of all things she could inquire about, I’m surprised it’s this. What surprises me more is I don’t have a good response for it. Not a quick one anyway.

I knot my hands behind my head before I do another equally dumb thing like touch her. “I figured the Bratva wouldn’t accept you as Pakhan and that someone else might do the job for me.”

Another woman might flinch at my callousness. Not Vanessa, though. She merely purses her lips and nods, like she’s agreeing with my decision.

“When you officially took over, I also wanted to see what kind of leader you’d be. If you were like your father.” Further admittance slips out before I can stop the words.

Her head tips slightly, hair dropping to the side. The sunlight over her shoulder makes her glow; something I despise noticing so I’m quick to continue talking.

“In the end, my vow became more important than the differences between you and him.”

Her expression falters, and her gaze drops from my face to my chest. She blinks once, twice, before a deeper rouge flushes her cheeks and pink tinges the tips of her ears in a delicious light cherry colour. Her sudden demeanour switch is explained when she swings herself off me and settles onto the grass beside me.

Although I didn’t exactly mind her weight, I sit up, stretching my legs out in front of me and propping myself up on my palms. The burning in my leg begins quelling. My nerves are strung tight with a tenseness, and I’m ready to be on my feet instantly should she decide now’s the time to drop the friendly façade and attempt escaping.

I’m sure it’s driving her insane trying to figure out my motive, but for me, it’s similar. Vanessa isn’t one to sit idly by, so I make a mental bet with myself that sometime between now and our return to the villa, she will make the stupid but rightful endeavour to run away.

For now, she gets into a more comfortable position and brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her gaze skims over the land, and I’m dying to knowprecisely what’s in her head. Her escape plan, no doubt. Maybe she’s debating running the opposite way from the main road, figuring the less obvious choice might serve her better. That’s where my head would be at anyway, and I’m finding we’re quite similar.

“Your property is beautiful.”

She says it so quietly, I almost believe it’s merely the wind. A gentle bustle passing by but not lingering. Then she looks my way and her eyes convey the same sentiment.

“Thanks,” I reply, voice gruff and uncertain. What does she get by complimenting my land? “Yours too. Especially that forest. Though, not great for hiding in.”

She snorts, turning her head away. Her mouth creeps up on one side as she hides her smile.

I wonder how often she smiles. Most of the photos I have of her involve a blank expression. From what I’ve witnessed, she only allows her Elite to see the real her, and even them, I wonder exactly how much they’re privy to. Vanessa isn’t only a curiosity, but also a mystery. She’s a mask of all emotions other than hate, never disclosing much.

She wasn’t my focus before Ursin’s death, but a part of me wishes she was. Wishes that I had some sort of idea how different her disposition is now versus when she was under his control and subject to the pain he causes.

Pain such as that politician she mentioned.

“Answer for an answer.”

She turns back to face me, that smile still thankfully present. I find myself leaning straighter just to get closer to her—stupid, I realize. Fantastical lust that has no place among revenge.

And yet, when she dips her head in agreement, I’m fucking thrilled.

“Tell me the story of Agapov.”

That smile vanishes as quickly as a bullet can leave my gun’s chamber. “Why?”

Why indeed.“Call it morbid curiosity.”

“Or your desire to torment me with the memories.”

She says it so passively, I wonder if she actually means it. As she begins speaking, I search her for signs of distress. Reliving the trauma isn’t my focus here. Some kinds of pain aren’t deserved, and this one, especially by her.

“Nothing to really tell that I haven’t already.” She stares down at her borrowed sneakers, fingering the tip of the shoelace. “The expectation was that I was a virgin for my future marriage, so not entirely sure when his thoughts shifted, but one day, he called me into a guest bedroom. That should have been my first clue. Started spouting shit about how being his daughter would be enough to satisfy my future fiancé.” She winces at the term. “And being a virgin wasn’t necessary. Which meant I hadother uses.Papa had his men tie me to the bed.” Her eyes flicker, the sunlight reflecting through them similar to a burning flame. “I lay there screaming for help, but no one came, and the next time the door opened, it was Boris Agapov. That was the first and last time I’d ever been tied down.”

She pauses to take a huge inhale, and I realize then how badly I fucked up. Immediately, I reach for her hand, resting my own on hers, shaking my head as the wordsstop talkingclaw up my throat. I don’t know what stupid desire to see her opening up drove me to ask about this memory, but she doesn’t need to do this anymore.

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