Page 148 of Lethal Torture
ZINAIDA
I starethrough the tinted windows at the gray London streets, breathing deeply to try to calm myself.
It doesn’t work.
My heart thuds dully, my skin alternately hot and cold. Bogdan Kozlov’s cold eyes float in front of my own, a spectral ghost from my worst nightmares, one I never thought I’d see again.
I wish Luke was here.
Had the room not been full of my staff and his, I’d have fallen into his reassuring solidity the moment I saw that face on the screen, and to hell with my best resolutions. By the time he cleared the room, I’d gathered myself enough to know I need to have this conversation first. And that I don’t want any witnesses to whatever is about to be said.
“Zin.” Charlie’s concerned voice comes through the intercom. “We’re here.”
“Thank you, Charlie.” I step out of the limo before she has a chance to open the door for me, keeping my face averted. “Wait here.” I don’t need any of my staff close to this particular encounter.
Tension prickles my skin as I approach the private apartment adjacent to Sophie’s House and enter the code for access. Sally, sitting just inside the door, takes one look at my face and says, “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Then I’m alone.
The apartment is warm, bright, and freshly scented with candles I chose. It’s silent but for the soft whirr of kitchen appliances.
There’s no sign of the woman I came to see. But I can feel her here, sense her waiting for me.
I take a deep breath. “I’m here,” I say into the silence. “Can we talk?”
She appears in the doorway, pale faced, brown hair scraped back into her customary ponytail. She’s painfully thin, her eyes cavernous in her face. For once, though, her fingers don’t pluck restlessly at her clothing, and there’s a spark in the soft brown eyes that could almost be defiance.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Meeting her eyes is harder than I imagined it would be. “All this time. Working here, of all places.” I gesture around at Sophie’s House. “You must have guessed it was named for you.”
She blanches, her eyes widening in shock. “You know?” Her voice is a harsh whisper. “When?”
“An hour ago.” I suppress a shudder. “When Luke showed me a photograph of Bogdan Kozlov’s face.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies me. Then, suddenly, her shoulders go limp. She looks down at the floor, biting her lip, swaying as if she might fall.
“Sit,” I say gently, leading her to a chair. “I’ll make coffee.” I go to the kitchen counter, almost pathetically grateful for the distraction. After all these years of waiting, now that I’m finally facing my cousin, I have no idea what to say to her. Nor am I at all sure that she wants to hear anything I might have to say.
“Do you remember that day at Tetya Ana’s?” She begins speaking while my back is turned. “When Bogdan took me away?”
I wince, closing my eyes against the memory, which only brings my father’s face into sharp mental relief. I see the disgust on his face as he looks at Sophie, hear his sneering voice:“Add this one to the special delivery to New York.”
And I remember Bogdan Kozlov standing beside him, eyeing me greedily:“You want me to take them both?”
Then my father’s horrible laugh:“No, muy droog. Nobody touches this one but me. Not for many years to come...”
I turn around, forcing myself to face my cousin. “I remember,” I say dully.
“When I woke up that day, he was angry.” Sophie’s voice is small and thin, but oddly, it’s also stronger than I’ve heard it before. She meets my eyes directly. I wonder if she was ever truly shy or if it was just a mask for her deceit. “I was on the back seat of his car, tied up. Bogdan was drinking and talking to himself. He said it wasn’t fair that Oleg always tookthe pretty ones. Bogdan felt he deserved better. He always believed that,” she says, a bitter edge to her voice. “That was why he kept me for himself, instead of putting me into the container bound for New York. It was also why he left Oleg, in the end.”
I swallow hard. “Hekeptyou?”
Her mouth twists. “Oh, yes,” she says softly. “Bogdan kept me close. He liked to tell me that you were living the high life. Oleg had made you his star attraction, he said. You were thebest dancer in his club, treated like royalty. He told me you had forgotten all about me.”
I stare at her, unable to hide my shock. “Likeroyalty?” I give a choked laugh. “Did he tell you Oleg had me chained inside a cage, and that my star act was being whipped by him for the enjoyment of his friends?”
Sophie’s already pale face blanches. “No,” she whispers. “I only found out about that after I came here.”
I shake my head, breathing deeply against the old fury rising inside me. “It doesn’t matter.” I hold her eyes. “I want to know your story, Sophie. Not tell you mine.”
