Page 92 of Refrain

Arno’s eyes flash a dangerous green. “Oh, hell yeah,” he says. “More than enough. He, um,persuadedMack a little bit more to make sure he wasn’t fucking around. We think we know which warehouse will be hit next. The plan is we get there tonight. Ambush.”

Espi sighs, his jaw clenched. “Do you think Dante—”

“Don’t know,” Arno says tightly, cutting him off. “If you need anything, see Francisco. He’ll stay back at the—”

“I’m not letting you go there alone.” It’s final. Decided.

Arno doesn’t bother to argue as Espisido slips his jacket on and pulls the zipper up to his chin. He looks back at me, his eyes questioning.

It takes everything I have in me to shake my head.

Arno observes the exchange with barely any reaction. “You ready?” he asks.

Espisido follows him.

Once they’re what Arno must assume is out of my earshot, I hear him say, “We have got to work on your taste in women.”

This is when I realize I’m not wearing my sweatpants. Or underwear. With I sigh, I sink to the floor and fish them from the tile. Then I creep into the bathroom and shower, doing my best to scrub myself clean, wiping away every last drop of him. I have to make myself presentable, after all. There isn’t time to savor—but I do anyway.

It could be the last time I have the luxury. So I relish the feel of him inside me. The aching soreness that flares whenever I move. I let it wash the taint of my past away for a little while before I’m finally forced to shut the water off, face the world again, and redress in the same clothes. I blindly return to the kitchen and pull drawers open at random, searching. Hunting. It isn’t until I’m standing on tiptoe and lowering a black case from the top of the fridge that I find two knives, thin and made of steel. They fit easily inside the pocket of a borrowed sweatshirt. I take a syringe too, filling it to the brim with liquid from a vial.

I blink a burning sting back. There isn’t time for guilt.

I replace the case and then leave the house, locking the door behind me. It’s a long, quiet walk to the hotel where Piotr is waiting. This time, I don’t placate myself with fantasies of killing him. I just remember…everything. The pain, the beatings, the fear. Mainly the fear. The way he used to hold me, the words he would murmur into my skin. The way my heart used to crave his approval. Was that love?

If so, then I prefer hate. Caressing fingers and searing looks. Letting my body go wild. Not having a checklist of requirements to tick off with every encounter.Smile. Simper. Wider. More. Let him touch you. Moan—but not too loudly.

I let the darkness of those days sober me from the very last dose of my latest addiction. He leaves me for good the moment I enter the lobby of the hotel. Or does he? A man is lingering near the entrance, his head covered by a low hood. He’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt in a building that caters to men who lap at the Petrovs’ wealth. Did Piotr change the uniform of hissoldat?

I try to catch a glimpse of his face and flinch. Flashing blue—but the features are all wrong, what little I see of them. The body is too big. But those eyes…

I step closer, aiming for another look, but he turns and crosses over to the other part of the lobby. I dig my nails into my palms to keep myself from following. I’m stalling. The delay only buys me a precious few seconds of sanity before I take the elevator up. The door to the suite is unlocked once again, but this time, I find five guards lounging in the entryway.

One of them spots me and reaches for his gun. “Name?”

I don’t bother to give him one. Rather by recognition or sheer confusion, he doesn’t pull the trigger as I brush past. Piotr is waiting for me in his study, but tonight…he isn’t alone.

My nostrils flare, catching a feminine scent that belongs only in my memories. Not here. Sweet like roses. Soft like the sunshine we used to play in as children.Anna.Her presence floods my body seconds before I register her standing there beside his desk.

Her slight frame is balancing upon an impossibly high pair of white heels. He dressed her head to toe in the color—a gown that swallows her slender body, formed of swaths of white chiffonand lace. The maid must have arranged her flaming hair into a single braid that drapes her shoulder.

But no amount of expensive silk or hairdressing could disguise what lurks behind those unique navy eyes. Nothing. Blank. Emptiness.

“Do you like your present, Ksei?” Piotr gestures from my sister to me. There’s something in his other hand. Round. Metallic. He raises it when I don’t answer and strikes a button on the front with his thumb.

A buzzing sound hums in my eardrums. Then Anna jerks back, her fingers twitching at her sides. There’s something around her neck that I notice only now. It’s tucked against the neckline of her dress. A thin strip of black leather, secured by a metal buckle. A collar.

“Say your name,” Piotr commands.

“Anna,” the girl says woodenly on cue.

God.It’s exactly how I always imagined her sounding had she lived to be old enough. Soft. Delicate. Little Anna. Everything is the same but the pain.

“What the hell is this?”

“Tsk tsk,” Piotr remarks, shaking his head. Seven years later and I still recognize the dangerous signs of his disappointment. So does Anna. She inhales sharply as he speaks again. “Yourfullname.”

“Annastasia Olenova.” She sounds so young. So terrified.

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