Page 78 of Shatter Me

I slam my weight against the door, but a boot wedges into the gap. Years of self-defense training kick in—I drive my heel down hard on his foot and shove with all my strength. A curse in Russian. The door bounces back, catching me in the temple. Pain explodes behind my eyes.

They surge forward. I grab the nearest object—an antique umbrella stand—and swing it. Metal connects with flesh. A satisfying grunt.

“Suka!” One spits through his balaclava.

Before I can swing again, they’re on me. A gloved hand clamps over my mouth, but I bite down hard through the leather. The taste of copper. Not mine.

“Feisty bitch!” The voice is muffled and thick with a Russian accent.

They wrestle me deeper into the apartment, but I don’t make it easy. I kick, twist, and slam my head back into someone’s nose. The crystal vase Dmitri gave me catches the evening light on my coffee table as I’m thrown against the wall. My head cracks against it. Stars burst in my vision.

“Not. Another. Sound.” The leader yanks my arms behind my back while I’m still dazed. The zip tie cuts deep.

The third man prowls through my space, checking rooms with military precision.

“Clear,” he calls back.

My legs barely hold me as they force me onto my couch. Blood trickles down my temple, and my silk blouse is torn at the shoulder. Just hours ago, I’d been arranging fresh peonies in that vase, wondering if Dmitri would notice. These men—Lebedev’s men?—are violating my sanctuary.

“Dmitri Ivanov’s little museum whore.” The leader’s eyes are cold through the holes in his mask. He presses his gun under my chin, tilting my face up. “You’re going to help us send him a message.”

Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. I won’t give them the satisfaction.

A phone appears in front of my face, camera pointed at me. The red recording light blinks on.

“Say hello to your lover, Ms. Blackwood.”

I lift my chin despite the gun pressed against it. “Go to hell.”

The leader’s eyes narrow behind his mask. He grabs my jaw, fingers digging into my skin. “That’s not very cooperative.”

I jerk my face away from his grip. “You think you’re the first thugs to try intimidating me? Please. I grew up in Boston society—I’ve dealt with worse at debutante balls.”

The man holding the phone shifts, uncertain. Good. Let them see I’m not some easy mark.

“Careful,” the leader warns. “We can do this the easy way?—”

“Or the hard way?” I bark out a laugh. “God, do they teach you these lines in ‘Generic Thug School’ or something? Let me guess—next, you’ll tell me not to make this harder than it needs to be?”

The gun presses harder under my chin.

“You’re making a mistake,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Whatever your boss is paying you, it’s not worth what Dmitri will do when he finds out.”

“Shut up,” he snarls, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“No, you shut up. Do you want to send him a message? Here’s one—fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled out of. And tell your boss if he wants to come at Dmitri, he should try doing it himself instead of sending his little errand boys.”

The leader’s hand cracks across my face. My cheek stings, but I turn back to him with a smirk.

“That the best you’ve got? My grandmother hit harder than that, and she was eighty with arthritis.”

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth from his backhand. Before I can spit another retort, rough hands grab my shoulders while another attacker rips off a length of duct tape.

“You talk too much,” the leader growls, pressing the silver tape hard across my lips.

I try to jerk away, but their grip is iron. The tape muffles my protests as they haul me to my feet. My ankles wobble in my heels as they drag me toward the door.

“Not so brave now, are you?” The leader yanks my hair, forcing my head back. “By the time we’re done with you, that pretty face won’t be so perfect. We’ll send pieces of you back to Dmitri, starting with that sharp tongue of yours.”

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