Page 152 of Lethal Torture
What is surprising is that I no longer want to.
A year ago, I might have been impressed by Sophie’s coldness. Now it just makes me sad.
“Oh, you do, do you?” Kozlov’s tone is sneering. “I asked you for the Melikov bitch’s schedule. Not your fucking opinion. Do you have it or not?”
“I have something better.” On the screen, I watch Sophie hand him a piece of paper. “It’s the access code for a private entrance to the Quartier, one that opens directly onto the royalbox, which will be empty tonight. There are no cameras in that box, and Zinaida will be onstage at midnight. It’s the best chance you will ever have to take her out.”
His eyes narrow. “How the fuck do you know all this? And what about her security? I thought that place was locked up tighter than a nunnery.”
Sophie shakes her head slowly. “For some reason, Zinaida has lost trust in her security detail. She’s planning to perform tonight, but she clearly doesn’t want them to know, because yesterday she asked me to pick up her costume and deliver it to her personally. This entrance is the one I used. She told me that code is her private one, a master code that can override any security changes to that entrance. She has it in case of emergencies, or for when she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s coming or going.”
Kozlov’s mouth curls. “But she gave it toyou?Why?”
Sophie’s smile is as cold and hard as any I’ve ever given. “Because I’ve spent the last two years convincing her that I’m a pathetic victim, desperately grateful for her rescuing me and willing to do anything at all that she asks without question.”
He gives a surprised cough of laughter. “You’ve turned into a hard little bitch, Sophie, you know that?”
She lifts a shoulder, her face a hard mask. “I am what you taught me to be, Bogdan.” She turns flat, dark eyes to meet his directly. “There’s more.”
“More?” Kozlov infuses the word with skepticism, but I can see the curiosity in his eyes.
“After I delivered the costume, I called Niamh O’Connell.”
“The NCA bitch?” He looks truly startled. “What the fuck, Sophie? Nobody told you to talk to her.”
“I took a chance.” Sophie’s smile is truly disturbing. “The reason you couldn’t get ahold of me yesterday is because I met O’Connell in one of the apartments at Sophie’s House, whereno phones are allowed. I said it was an emergency, that I knew something I couldn’t keep secret anymore. When she came, I told her that the person behind Minos, the person the NCA has been looking for all this time, is Zinaida herself. I told Niamh Zinaida has been playing a double game all this time, pretending to rescue girls but in actual fact trafficking them herself and using Sophie’s House as a cover. Exactly like the stories Simon has been planting about her in the papers.”
Kozlov moves so swiftly there’s barely time to register what he’s doing before his fist slams into Sophie’s stomach. She doubles over, gasping for breath.
“Fuck,” Luke mutters into the comms. “Hold,” he adds warningly to the listening men.
“Fuck this,” snarls a Scottish voice in my ear.
“I saidhold,Bryan.” Luke’s voice is calm but authoritative.
“Who thefuckdo you think you are?” Kozlov snarls. “Have you been so long around the Melikov bitch that you’ve begun to think like her? You don’t make decisions here, Sophie. You forget who you are.Whatyou are. And now you’ve likely fucked up any chance we’ve ever had to get to that bitch. How long do you think it took O’Connell to go straight to Melikov with your little story?”
Sophie straightens up. Her face is pale but set, and she doesn’t shy away from Kozlov’s eyes. “Because,” she says coldly, “I showed her this.” Pulling down her sweater, she shows him the Minos brand burned into her shoulder. “And then I showed her the bruises you left me with at our last meeting and told her they came from Luke Macarthur, acting on Zinaida’s orders. I told Niamh that the brand is a permanent reminder of who owns me—and the bruises are a warning of what happens to anyone who dares speak out.”
Kozlov’s astonishment is almost comical. “You’re saying she actually swallowed that shit?”
“Of course she did.” Once again, Sophie gives him the psychopathic smile that breaks my heart, not least because it’s so familiar. “Women like O’Connell have bleeding hearts and a savior complex. I should know—I’ve been working with them for two years now. And no matter how much they might pretend to like Zinaida Melikov, deep down they fucking despise her. All O’Connell ever needed was an excuse, and I just gave her one.”
“Christ,” Paddy says quietly in my ear. “She’s fucking good at this.”
Too good.
There’s something hideously unsettling about hearing Sophie’s cold recital and knowing that, had circumstances been only slightly different, I might be listening to a genuine conversation.
This is what she came to Sophie’s House to do,I think. Despite the warmth in the van, a gnawing sense of sadness and loneliness creeps like ice through my belly.Will it always be like this?The thought comes unbidden into my mind, bringing with it a bleakness colder than any winter chill.Will I spend the rest of my days living in fear that those I want to trust might, at any moment, betray me?
To my utter horror, unexpected tears blur my vision, hot and uncomfortable. I blink frantically, desperately trying to rid my face of them before anyone notices.
A large, warm hand slides over my clenched one. Luke’s fingers gently pry my fist open, then interlink with my own. The ball of his thumb strokes the back of my hand reassuringly. I stare down at our joined hands, two lone tears tracking down my face, feeling the strength of his slow, steady pulse flow into mine.
I can’t look at him.
Neither of us speaks.
