Page 71 of Devious Secrets

“Yeah?” He gestures for me to go into the office, but no deal. I’ll wait. The less I’m locked up in that room, the better.

His eyes darken, but it’s not at me. It’s because of whatever he’s being told on the phone. I can’t understand the conversation because he switches to Russian. But whatever it is, he’s pissed about it.

“You need to go back into the office and stay there.” He points to my new cell. Just because there’s no bars on it and the door isn’t locked, doesn’t make it any less than a cage.

“What’s wrong? Is Alexander all right?” Maybe his meeting didn’t go well. The men he was supposed to be sitting down with are dangerous. Not more so than him, I doubt there’s another man alive who could make Alexander nervous. But things don’t always go as planned.

“He’s fine,” the brute assures me. “But another one of our men has been hurt. I need to see to him. You need to stay in the office.” He stalks past me and shoves the door open. “Just stay inside.”

I don’t miss the little plea in his voice.

“Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t. Just stay here.” He jerks his head toward the opening.

If one of their men is really hurt, every second he wastes on me is a second that man might need. Without any more argument from me, I enter the office, and the door is slammed behind me.

Pacing through the office, frustration simmers as I inspect the same four walls I’ve already scrutinized too many times. I drop into Alexander’s chair and pull out a piece of paper. With no computer, television, or even a damn radio, I’m left to create my own distraction.

Being an only child, there were plenty of times I needed to entertain myself. I grab a pen from the cup on the desk and get to work on sketching a familiar design I used to doodle in my notebooks. Nothing distinguishable, just jagged lines that connect at random intervals.

If I had colored pencils I could make a sort of stained glass look, but the black pens will have to do.

At the bottom of the page, I sign my name, then pause when I get to my last name.

I briefly hesitate, then scribble Volkov. Just to see what it looks like.

Megan Volkov.

Not horrible.

It’s at this point the pen decides to leak all over my hand. Well, crap. I drop the pen onto the paper. I need to wash this off before I get it on my clothes or on any of the furniture.

My guard still isn’t back, and the hallway is empty, so I take myself down to the bathroom and wash off as much of the ink as I can.

The corridor is quiet when I step back out. I look down toward the office, then to the other side toward the stairwell we passed when we first arrived.

A loud crash captures my attention, and I pause, considering my options. Alexander made himself clear on what he would do if he caught me outside his office.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” A female’s panicked voice wafts up the stairwell.

Decision made. If she’s being hurt, I’m not sure how much help I can be, but I’m sure as hell not going to stand by as one of these arrogant pricks tries to hurt her.

When I get to the bottom of the stairwell, I find myself in a small foyer with an open door leading into a large room. A woman kneels on the floor, examining her palm.

“Are you all right?” I hurry into the lounge, taking in the dark-red and black leather chairs with a hasty glance. She’s kneeling beside one of the tables.

Her cheeks blanch when she finds me standing over her.

“Who are you?” she questions immediately.

“I’m Megan. I heard the crash.” I gesture to the tray of broken glass beer steins surrounding her on the black marble flooring.

She looks down at it.

“My toe caught on one of the chairs and sent me flying.” She grimaces and went back to checking out her palm where she is bleeding.

“You cut yourself.” I squat down beside her.

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