Page 94 of Vow of Silence

It takes a further eighteen minutes and my entire patience pretending to browse a nearby store before the fucker steps out into the dimming day. My arm is around the guy’s shoulders in under a minute, the apparent friendly posture steering him where I need him—my car.

“The fuck?” he squeaks, fading bruises still evident on his cheekbone from his last tryst in the stables. “I told you guys what you needed. What you doing?”

I nod to the Defender as I drag him through the crawling traffic.

“No way.” He leans against my stiff arm, attempting to backpedal. “No fuckin’ way.”

A half-second at fifty thousand volts changes his mind.

I guide him to the passenger door, disguising his muscle contractions as a stumble over the uneven road surface. Two taps to the window with the end of the gun indicate I need him inside.

“Fuck, man.” He rubs his side where I stung him. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Everything.I want everything this time.

I stand by as the fucker climbs into the seat, grumbling his discord, and wait on him to buckle up. He frowns at me, lips turned down. I tip my head toward the sidewalk and waggle the stun gun between us, eyebrows raised.Dare me.Bet this fuck doesn’t aim for five miles on the treadmill every night like I do. Even in stiff ankle boots, I bet I could outrun the asshole.

He sighs, slotting the seatbelt buckle into its clasp.

I stick my free hand out, palm up, and waggle my fingers.

“You’re fuckin’ messed up. You know that?” He leans toward me to reach his back pocket and produces his phone, slapping it onto my expectant palm. “What’s wrong with buying a guy a beer? Huh? Don’t you know how to talk like normal people?”

I only he knew.

I slam the door in his face and ditch his phone in a nearby trashcan on my way to the driver’s side.

He remains the ever-dutiful passenger princess the entire ride back to my family home, bitching every so often about ‘how he got here’ or who should appreciate the shit he goes through for them. I get it. He’s the fall guy. The low-level worker who does what he needs to for a shitty price all so the fucking mob he works for doesn’t kill his wife or children.

But he’s the mouth. He’s the guy who can’t help him fucking self but talk.

There’s a reason why I picked him the first time around.

The fucker sighs, wistfully looking at the main house as we circle toward the stables, likely hoping somebody will come out to save him.

There are no saviors here.

Only a goddamn pole with his name still on it and fifty fucking questions about who the fuck runs his family.

Most of all, if they’re also a part of mine.

THIRTY-THREE

Nastasya

“Nastasya.”

I jolt out of the trance I’d found myself in at the kitchen counter, juice in hand, staring out the long window at the glistening grass beyond. The house is a prison. The papered walls nothing more than gentrified steel bars.

“You have a visitor!” My father’s impatience is undeniable in his brusque cadence before the muted tones of his talking drift through the halls.

Fucker came home yesterday, as Ivan promised, not long after I spoke with Dmitry. Bastard also ignored me as though I were a ghost when we passed in the halls, secluding himself in his home office as he’s prone to do of late.

Something is going on, and that stubborn asshole won’t tell me what. Never mind the fact it’s likely related to my near-death experience. Or the murders Benito and I committed.

I tip the last of the drink down the drain and smile at our chef, Harry, embarrassed by the soft understanding in his returning gaze. Everybody here knows what an asshole my father is. Everybody here can see how little I want to remain under his control. And yet, everyone here knows as well as I dothat it’s not as simple as merely walking out the door and getting myself a cute little apartment in the city.

Tried that. Gave up when the soldiers my father ordered to watch me became too much of an issue for the neighbors. Nobody likes strange, tattooed men lurking in the shadows at two in the morning. Even less when the brutes stop them so theboyevikcan go through their shopping bags to check for Lord knows what.

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