Page 33 of Vasily the Nail

He opens his mouth, ready to scream at me again, make more of those accusations, but then something clicks and he has to huff out an irritated redaction. “Okay, I’m betting it wasn’t as . . . nonconsensual as it looked?”

I shrug.

“She still needs to go,” he says more gently. “You’ve had your fun with her. You proved your point. Now send her back. I’ll have Kostya—”

“Kostya doesn’t touch her. She stays right where she is until that debt is paid.”

Artyom slams his fist down on the workbench he’s leaning on. “That debt wasn’t to you! I decide when the debt is paid, and it’s paid.”

I get close enough that when I lift my fist, he leans back. But it’s my own chest I punch. “Mydebt. The debt you and Tony both owe to me and Ana for using us as your pawns. Neither of you gave or received anything. Our flesh was your transaction.”

Artyom puts his hand on my chest, and it’s only then, when my knuckles hit the fragile bones of his hand instead of my own chest, that I realize I’ve punched my chest at least half a dozen times. “Brother,” he says softly, his bloodshot eyes staring down my own, no doubt equally bloodshot eyes. They always are. I gave up on hiding behind Visine ages ago. “Mikhael says you’vebeen acting strange this morning, and Igor says he smelled something when he was doing his patrol last night, so I’m going to ask you this once, and please don’t fight me. Roll up your sleeves.”

“You asshole,” I hiss, hoping he doesn’t hear the vibration in my voice. His guess isn’t wrong, but that’s why I don’t shovel it directly into my veins anymore. Not when I know how to control myself and only do it when it’s medically necessary.

The voices make me do terrible things.

I roll up my sleeves and show off my unmarred veins. His glower of a response tells me he doesn’t believe me.

“You tell Tony he will shut his men up and expect to see his sister when the debt is paid, or I will tell them that he pissed away their money on black jack in Vegas.”

The way Artyom blinks tells me I’m not actually far from the truth even as he blusters with, “That’s not what happened, and you’re not telling anyone that.”

I shrug as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I’m sure it’s just another notification from overnight, but this is why I’ve kept it off. I can’t resist checking it. “Maybe not, but the fact that he sold his sister to us for $150,000 tells me he fucked them up financially somehow. Shit, I wouldn’t sell Kseniya for anything, but for $150,000? I might not have it, but I could certainly find it with a quickness.”

Speaking of Kseniya, that’s who the message is from, a quick, cryptic message about how I’m lucky I’ve got such a loyal girl. I’m not going to pretend I have any such thing, but I level my own peevish glare at Artyom. “Why is Kseniya with Ana rightnow?” I ask softly, dread sinking like sludge in my gut. Yeah, I had her visit with Ana the other day, and I did tell her to visit whenever she wanted so Ana wouldn’t feel so alone — I’ve already been stressing about how I’m going to explain it when I return Ana because it’s not like I can tell Kseniya why she’s here to begin with — but it can’t be a coincidence that she’s there now.

Artyom purses his lips as he waits way too long to answer. Finally, he gives up on trying to come up with a decent lie and says, “I sent her over there to get Ana out.”

“You piece of shit.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

I look down at my phone to see yet another message from Kseniya.

KSENIYA

ANA’S BLEEDING.

Analiese

Vasily is alreadygone when I wake up in the morning. It’s partially my fault; every day, between Vasily’s late-night wake-ups and the lack of an alarm clock, I’ve slept a little later. The morning’s already half over by the time I open my eyes.

But he could have woken me. That’s what people do, right? People who aren’t trying to sneak out and do plan to see each other again, people who shared something intense and then slept entangled with each other.

I roll my eyes and huff dramatically as I flop back down on the bed because that’s what I’m being: dramatic. Pathetic. He is literally my kidnapper. My rapist. IhatedBeauty and the Beast growing up. Camilla loved it, and we would bicker so much at slumber parties over it. She literally had Beauty and the Beast themed birthday parties three years in a row just to make sure I’d suffer through it.

And now here I am, falling in love with my captor.

No.

Not falling in love.

“You are so stupid,” I tell the ceiling, adding, “Ana,” at the end of it so God doesn’t think I’m calling Him stupid.

Amending it to “Lacey” because no one even calls me Ana except Vasily.

Except he doesn’t.

---