Page 265 of Bad for Me

They’re right.

Misha’s eyes soften. “Raul… I’m sorry it came to this. You seem less disgusting than the rest of your family.”

Less disgusting. The words would hurt if I could feel much of anything.

“But the human trafficking—you understand how wrong that is, right?” he goes on. “You know your family’s business is some of the worst of the worst.”

“Of course I know it’s wrong,” I say dispassionately, separating myself from my emotions as much as I can — much like I’d done when I was younger, when I’d asked questions my family hadn’t liked, when I’d had opinions I hadn’t been allowed to have. “And what I did to you?—”

Was it wrong? Did I regret it?

I shake that away and look at Misha. “What’s your name? Your real name.”

Misha snorts and ducks his head. “Special Agent Mikhael Sokolov.” He gives me a strange smile. “For what it’s worth, I don’t intend to go into detail about what you did to me. The other things I witnessed are more than enough to bring you all down.”

“Yeah.” I grab my shirt and put it back on, buttoning it neatly and smoothing at some of the wrinkles. “I wish I could say I was sorry, Misha—Mikhael. But this past month? It’s been the best month of my life.” I laugh again. “Guess this is what I get for being happy for once.”

I cross over to my bed and sit down.

“There are handcuffs in the drawer by the bed,” I direct him. “I’ll wait here.”

There’s no sense in fighting. Maybe I’m a coward, but I’m also not stupid.

I can hear the shouting from elsewhere in the house. I imagine my father locking up all the slaves and pretending we run a clean house here. I’m sure they’re taking magnets to every computer, and destroying any paper records. I should be helping them.

I don’t.

Misha looks at me with sadness. “Happy, huh? Well, if it makes you feel better, you’re the best dom I’ve had. But a good BDSM experience isn’t worth looking the other way when people’s—children’s—lives are at stake.”

He goes over to the bedside drawer and pulls out the cuffs.

I can’t bring myself to look at his face anymore, not even knowing I’ll never see him again. It’s just too much. “There’s a false wall in the yellow room in the east wing basement,” I tell him as he handcuffs my wrists together, staring at his strong hands. “It locks from the outside only.”

Misha freezes, his hands on my wrists. “What?”

“That’s the procedure. That’s where the… where Fifi and the others will be locked in.” I let out a bitter laugh. “You’ll need to make sure they don’t forget anybody in there. Because the air is limited and there’s no food or water.”

Misha inhales sharply and he squeezes my wrists. “That’s…” He swallows hard. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me that.”

I shake my head. “Don’t thank me for doing one decent thing in my fucking life,” I say sharply. “It doesn’t undo anything. Life dealt me this hand, but I made my own decisions.”

What else could I have done? But it feels even more cowardly, even more weak, to whine that I hadn’t had a choice.

“It doesn’t have to be the only decent thing,” Misha whispers. “You could help more.”

I don’t know what to say to that. If I offer any more help — if I betray my family even more — I’m dead. “I’m not ready to die yet, Misha,” I tell him, hearing footsteps in the hall. “So yeah. It kind of does.”

The door suddenly slams open. “FBI! Freeze!”

Misha lets go of me. “Don’t shoot!” he shouts. “I’m Special Agent Mikhael Sokolov. I’ve subdued Raul Pierino.”

Two men in SWAT gear file in. They glance between Misha and myself.

“We were told you’d be here,” one of them says cautiously. “Please come with us, Agent Sokolov. We’ll handle Raul Pierino from here.”

Misha meets my eyes one last time before he nods. “All right. Please escort me to whoever’s in charge. I’ll debrief.”

One of the SWAT officers heads out with Misha while the other comes over to grab me.

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