Page 116 of Eyes in the Shadows

“Just do what he says, love. It’ll keep him calmer,”Wesley instructs.“He’s much less likely to hurt you if you do what he says.”

Shaking, I pull my wrists together at the top of the wheel and Rossi winds several lengths of duct tape around them. I whimper at the tightness, and how it cuts into my skin and prevents proper blood movement through my hands.

Rossi clicks his own belt and faces me, phone still out in front so he can ensure I’m taking the correct path. “So, how’d a fat, ugly bitch like you get caught up in all this?”

I wince. It makes sense—he’s a bully, the first thing it occurs to him to do is to tear me down. Good thing for me, I’ve pretty much internalized the fact that my body size is one of the least interesting things about me. But we’re so off script, I have no idea what to say…

“He’s insulting you to maintain the upper hand—don’t let him get to you. Tell him you didn’t know what you were getting caught up in. Give him the same speech you gave McCloskey. And go south on 539.”

I say the words; I make the turn onto the state route.

“Who is he? What’s his name?” Rossi asks.

I inhale a few times, listening to Wesley’s story and memorizing the unfamiliar word. “His name is Sergei Ivanov. He’s… New YorkBratva.”

“Fuck. I knew it. I haven’t done shit to any New YorkBratvas. Why’s he trying to kill me?”

“H-he wants your territory, your contacts.”

“Fuck,” Rossi curses again.

“Good job, love. He believes you,”Wesley says.“Your exit is in five miles.”

“So, you’re, what? His little American piece? You?” Rossi asks, looking pointedly at my body. “It must be true what they say—low self-esteem makes you cunts great in the sack.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby,”it’s Mac this time and I almost choke on my relief.“I’m tailing you, you’re not alone.”

“I bet you’d take my dick up your ass real easy, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Rossi goes on, his demeaning jeering in sharp contrast to Mac’s gentle endearments.

“He’s just trying to scare you, love,”Wesley says.

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot. Make him watch. Bet you’d like that, huh?” Rossi taunts.

“I am going to cut his puny penis off his body,”Dimitri grinds out.

“You’re doing so good, darlin’,”Mac bites out, his tone full of rage and terror that he's desperately trying—and failing—to hide from me.

I feel another tear well in my eye—not because Rossi’s words particularly hit home, but because they’re all listening. Nothing wrong with enjoying anal, if you ask me. But these three dangerous killers are all unwitting witnesses to Rossi’s attempt at humiliation, and they’re outraged for me. It makes me feel exposed, somehow, but also fills my heart with appreciation for them.

I need to show them he’s not getting to me—that I’m not scared of him or his soon-to-be severed penis.

“He’s going to kill you,” I murmur quietly, with all the conviction I’m feeling. I don’t care if I should or shouldn’t have said it, because the way his eyes widen for just a fraction of a second—showing that on some level he doubts his handle on the situation—is enough to soothe me.

“Fuckin’ A,”Mac agrees.

“He can try,” Rossi replies flippantly. “WhichBratvais he? There’s, like, 20 in New York.”

Wesley feeds me my next line. “Um, I’m not sure. I think he’s from Brooklyn?”

“Brooklyn? Fuck,” Rossi mutters, and blows out an angry breath. He pulls his phone in and starts tapping away, writing a text or an email. Unhelpfully, he doesn’t narrate it, but I’m grateful for the respite from his attention.

A few minutes later, Wesley pipes in,“Take the next left. The warehouse is a couple miles down, only building in the middle of a bunch of fields. Home stretch, love.”

“How did Ivanov know about the sale?” Rossi asks, finally looking up from his phone and glancing around us at the low, flat fields. He turns over his shoulder to check that we’re not being followed.

I glance in the rear view, trying again to see any sign of Mac. I don’t, not even a car. This road is straight and flat, so I have no idea how he could be anywhere near me. The thought fills me with dread.

“I don’t know,” I say after Wesley confirms it.

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