Page 19 of Twisted Kings

“Kyril is such a good boy,” Ekaterina simpered, licking her lips.

“He works hard.” In the gym, at least. As far as I knew, he didn’t put much effort into his studies, but that was mostly because his father constantly called him away on mafia business. The poor fucker spent more time chasing around the country than he did in class.

“I look forward to seeing Kyril again. We are overdue some family time,” Ekaterina continued.

“My wife has a close relationship with my son.” Orliov gazed at Ekaterina adoringly. “I’m happy they have formed such a strong bond.” Was he for fucking real? When he was drunk one night, Kyril revealed how Ekaterina had groomed him as a teenager. The sexual assaults only stopped last Christmas when he finally had enough and fought back. I have no idea what story she told Vasily to explain her injuries, but he must have swallowed it because there were no repercussions.

“I’m sure he can’t wait to catch up with you both,” I lied.

A bell rang and Harold appeared in the doorway, rocking his usual somber expression.

“Dinner is served, Sir.”

We made our way into the dining room, where I discovered some kind soul, probably my father, had arranged for me to sit next to Ekaterina. The moment I sat down, I felt her hand on my thigh. Deftly removing it, I turned to her and whispered,

“Touch me again, and I’ll tell Kyril. Are we clear?”

Color leeched from her cheeks and she pulled away, clearly surprised I knew all about her twisted pedophilic tendencies.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she stammered before grabbing a glass of champagne and guzzling it down.

My father looked across the table at me and then Ekaterina. His mouth flattened in displeasure, letting me know upsetting her had pissed him off, but tough fucking shit. I wasn’t about to let her paw me all evening. Not with her husband less than five feet away.

Unwilling to talk to Ekaterina, I turned to the woman on my other side and made polite conversation. Mrs Bartholomew, the trophy wife of a corrupt city banker, had zero intelligence but was happy to chatter away about banal topics like reality TV and music, so it wasn’t so bad.

Still, when a server offered to refill my champagne, I almost snapped his hand off. Alcohol was the only way to make this evening tolerable. Thank God Dad had brought out the good stuff. I fucking needed it.

9

Thea

It felt like I’d been in this cell for weeks. Months. Nothing had changed. Twice a day, a guard appeared with two bottles of water and some food. Usually pre-packaged sandwiches. Nobody had emptied the bucket in the corner since I arrived. It stunk, but then so did I.

I was so fucking cold. Not even walking around the cell helped. And besides, I was too tired to move most of the time.

To begin with, thoughts of revenge had kept me warm, but the longer I was stuck down here, with only my thoughts for company, the harder it was to keep a lid on my sanity.

Since I refused to entertain any thoughts of the guys, even if the memories of their hands, mouths, and cocks were enough to boost my body temperature, it left nothing but grim predictions of what lay ahead.

Was Verity OK? I prayed she was. If Dad had agreed to send her with me to Marku, then she must be safe for now. And once she was with me, I’d do everything in my power to ensure she stayed that way.

The sound of a door clanging open caught my attention. The last meal drop was a short while ago, so this wasn’t more food. I pulled my aching body into a standing position, not willing to let Torrance or anyone else catch me off-guard.

The footsteps got closer until a shadowy figure appeared at the bottom of the stairwell.

“You’re looking well, Thea.” The smirk in his hateful voice was unmistakable, but I pasted a bored expression on my face.

“And you look like a cunt, so no change there.”

Torrance lost his jubilant grin almost immediately. It was gratifying to note how his jaw ticked with annoyance at my words, but strangely, he didn’t bite.

“It’s time to wash the stench off you,” he sneered before unlocking the door. I debated my chances of overpowering him, but my body felt weak, like an underfed kitten. Even when I was at full strength, Torrance had always proved to be a formidable opponent, so there was no way I’d get the better of him now.

But one day, when he least expected it, I would kill the bastard.

“Are you wheeling me out for a festive family dinner?” I asked, wincing when my bare foot stepped on a sharp stone.

He ignored my question, but I noticed he avoided standing too close. Whether that was because I reeked, or because he feared I might attack him, was unknown. I liked to think it was the latter, but realistically, it was probably the former.

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