Page 42 of Hers to Control

Only, I doubt this one is that much better.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little plaything,” he leers. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Terror courses through me as he advances, his hands reaching for me. I shrink back as best as I can, pressing myself against the chair in a futile attempt to escape his grasp. There really isn’t anything else I can do.

Before he can touch me, another figure appears in the doorway. He’s older, his face weathered with age. There’s a coldness in his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine and his rasping breaths give me the creeps. Even the fact that he’s using a cane to walk and looks like he’s got one foot in the grave doesn’t make up for the menacing way he’s looking at me.

“Enough,” he commands, his voice cutting through the air like a knife despite the weird rasping breaths that follow. “She’s not here for your amusement.”

The burly guy recoils. He mutters something in Russian under his breath before slinking out of the room, leaving me alone with the older man and another guy who enters to take Burly’s place. A guy wearing a huge band-aid over his left eye.

Fuck.

“Your father made a dumb mistake,” the older man says, his voice raspy and dangerous. “And now you’re going to pay the price.”

I know who this man is. I knew it even before he said a word. This is Adrik Tsepov, Mikhail’s father and head of the Bratva. This is the very man my father crossed, which means I’m fucked.

Double fucked.

I do my best to keep my cool. It’s almost easy because everything inside me is numb. I do what I think my best bet will be. I play dumb. “What did my father even do?”

“You mean besides stealing from me?” Tsepov rasps.

I nod, because, seriously, what else could he have done that’s so bad while already locked up in Millhaven?

“He was supposed to deliver some information to us. After your old man got himself locked up, his associate Hank thought it was a good idea to keep stealing from us. Fucking idiot. Only he wasn’t as good at fudging the numbers in the club ledgers as your father used to be. Guess what we learned when my son took care of Hanky Boy?”

Tsepov gives me a condescending look that tells me he knows full well I know nothing about any of this. Not that he gives a shit that I’m an innocent bystander in my father’s mess.

“Turns out, your father was a lot more creative with the numbers than we had realized. When my man came to ask your father where our money was, instead of taking his punishment, he decided to beat my man to a pulp. Not a smart man, your father. Good with numbers, but not smart at all.”

I frown, even though I shouldn’t be surprised. My father has always made bad decisions. One more hardly makes a huge difference.

Except that this time, he not only put my life at risk but Peanut’s, too.

For some cash.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. I always knew I’d be on my own when it came down to it. It’s time for me to bargain for our lives, but I can’t think straight. What do I even have to offer?

Before I can come up with something, Tsepov says, “The good news is, there is a way out of this for you.”

I doubt whatever he has to say is true. The Russians aren’t known to let anyone get away from them. Not unless there issomething in it for them, and what could I possibly have that would make this all go away? Still, I can’t help the slimmer of hope rising at his words.

“What way is that?”

“What do you know about my son?”

I stay silent. Right now, I’m not sure Adrik Tsepov knows that I know Mikhail personally, even though I’ve only met him a couple of times and would hardly call us friends. Barely even acquaintances. Plus, I’m not about to give Tsepov Senior anything I know for free. Whatever he doesn’t know, I might be able to use to bargain.

Tsepov raises his eyebrows. “Not very talkative, are you? Well, that’s fine. We can change that.”

I know the man is dangerous, but I can’t help but notice that his breathing gets worse the longer he speaks. He’s also leaning heavily on his cane, more bent than he was when he first walked in. Tsepov Senior obviously isn’t healthy.

When I just stare at the old Russian, he turns to the guy whose eye I injured. “Victor,” Tsepov says. “Why don’t you spend a little time with our guest here and I’ll be back later to see how she’s feeling about having a nice little chat with me.”

Shit. Mikhail’s father might not be well, but despite his eye, Victor doesn’t have the same problem. And the guy is pissed at me. For him this is personal.

This is not good. Not good at all.

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